(no subject)
Matei has lost interest in my bosoms. They appear to fill him with frustration and rage and he spurns my attempts at feeding him by using his wee baby muscles to thrash and throw himself back. I would be insulted by this behaviour, were I not quite enjoying having my bosoms to myself again.
This is a natural development of the fact that my milk supplies have been diminishing since month 4, and upping the child's formula intake (which he LOOOOOOOOVES, it's like crack to him) seemed less frustrating and angst-making than taking the advice for increasing milk supplies which was to basically have the baby hanging off my bosoms in a manner of a nipple tassel at every available opportunity throughout the day and night. Which no. Just no. I have worked too hard on a feeding-sleeping routine to throw it to the winds. When deprived of routine my child develops irritability that increases until his head is practically spinning around like something out of the exorcist and it's a terrible terrible way for both of us to spend our day.
So it's goodbye to all that I guess (pretty bras with underwire here I come! Spicy food! Pickled food! I will reunite with them all, and take fistfuls of non-wimpy paracetamol medication washed down with coctails! I will wear whichever frocks I choose without once having to pause to consider the logistics of Bosom Accessibility!)
I am so heady with freedom that I want to shout with the delight of it and burn my breastpump like a bra.
This is a natural development of the fact that my milk supplies have been diminishing since month 4, and upping the child's formula intake (which he LOOOOOOOOVES, it's like crack to him) seemed less frustrating and angst-making than taking the advice for increasing milk supplies which was to basically have the baby hanging off my bosoms in a manner of a nipple tassel at every available opportunity throughout the day and night. Which no. Just no. I have worked too hard on a feeding-sleeping routine to throw it to the winds. When deprived of routine my child develops irritability that increases until his head is practically spinning around like something out of the exorcist and it's a terrible terrible way for both of us to spend our day.
So it's goodbye to all that I guess (pretty bras with underwire here I come! Spicy food! Pickled food! I will reunite with them all, and take fistfuls of non-wimpy paracetamol medication washed down with coctails! I will wear whichever frocks I choose without once having to pause to consider the logistics of Bosom Accessibility!)
I am so heady with freedom that I want to shout with the delight of it and burn my breastpump like a bra.