Let me start out by saying this about what I'm going to write. I have to call it "boobing" instead of the real word so the psycho believers that think you're the devil if you don't boob won't google my buns and write threatening messages to me about how my children will turn into goblins or gremlins if I don't boob.
Secondly, this is a VENTING post to get it all out of my system. This is my own way of therapy for myself. I'll probably read this post over and over each of my 11 days left and it will help me arrange my thought process about the entire matter. I know many of you are either for boobing or against it, or could care less. That's great, just don't think you're comments will convince me either way. I'm not writing this to be convinced. BUT, don't get offended either, just let me get it all out.
Let me start from the beginning so you know my history of boobing. When Jake was born I was a naive little 22 year old girl who thought boobing your children was something every woman was born with the ability to do. No one really warned me of the struggles, the sweat, the blood (literally), the pain, the hard ache, the frustration...the list goes on. So when Jake popped out, I of course began the "idea" of boobing him. The hospital experience was crazy. I had about 30 different people from nurses to doctors to lactation consultants in my room every second asking me if I'd boobed him or not, how long, which boob, did he latch, etc. More people had their head all in my boobs in that 2-3 day period than ever before in my life combined. It was a blur. It seemed like everyone who TRIED to help me just made things more complicated. Everyone had a new idea or a new way to hold him, a new method for me to try. Nothing worked. I was frustrated, but I knew once I got home, I would be alone and could focus more on what worked for ME AND Jake.
Once home, it just got worse. The thought of boobing consumed my life. I would dream about it when I was asleep, think about it when I was awake. It seemed like nothing else mattered except THAT. I had nipple shields, breast pumps and even tubes that were supposed to "trick" Jake into thinking milk was coming out. There were so many contraptions available for me to use I didn't have enough hands for them all. I got so overwhelmed that I began to get pretty depressed. So depressed in fact, that I would consider those first few months, some of the WORST months of my entire life. I would lay on my couch in pain as Jake would cry and cry in his bed. I didn't want anything to do with him because anytime I held him I could only think about WHY I couldn't accomplish something that was supposed to be so natural for a woman.
I ended up giving up on the actual boobing and turned to pumping only after about 1 week of being home. Thinking this would solve all my problems, I was wrong. I became a pumping mad woman. I pumped ALL the time. I pumped during the night, I pumped during the day, I pumped in the car, I pumped at friends' houses. After about 4 weeks of pumping, my boobs became severely cracked and mutilated. I ended up getting mastitis in both boobs at the same time and even after that, I pumped until I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't keep up. I quit. But, I felt so much better afterwards. All the depression left with the pump I threw in the garbage. The clouds opened up and the sun shined, there was hope.
Because of this horrible experience, I vowed never to attempt boobing again. The day before Kora was induced I wrap my boobs up tightly in an ace bandage and kept them wrapped up until my milk went away. She never saw a boob and was strictly a formula baby from day one. I was okay with this, but I KNEW from the way she sucked on her bottle that she was different than Jake. I had guilt because I wondered if she would have been able to make it work? Maybe I should have let her try? Jake was such a dead fish as a baby and Kora just seemed so much more aggressive when she ate.
SOOOO, that brings us to birthed baby number 3. Here I am finding myself in the same situation as with the other two. Do I boob? Do I attempt another stab at this? This could possibly be my last child, my last and final chance to see if I can make it work. I worry that if I DON'T try, I'll have regrets, but if I do?? Will I over stress myself? Austin asks me why I even consider putting myself through this again. He said I shouldn't even worry about it and avoid it all together, but he's not a woman. He doesn't understand that I'll have guilt if I don't at least try.
The thing that makes me the MOST angry is when people try to tell me to do THIS or THAT like every boob is made on an assembly line and they should all work perfectly. It seems like everyone I talk to has a new idea or a secret they wanna share with me to make it work. That's not the case with me. I'm different, we all are. We all have different issues. I wish I had perfect boobs and boobing wasn't even a question with me. I'd love to do it. I want to feel normal. I think it's funny when people who CAN boob and have no problems tell me how much easier it is to boob than not. How much more convenient it is. Not that I don't believe you, I'm sure it is. But when you DO have problems boobing, it's not convenient at all. It's hard and it takes longer and it's frustrating. It consumes you.
Now, don't get me wrong. I admire all who can attempt this task and succeed. I wish that were me. BUT, I have to prepare for the worst. I'll probably try it out for a while. I'll give it all I've got and say lots of prayers to give me strength to get through it, but if I fail again and begin to get overwhelmed, I'll stop. For the sake of my sanity and to avoid my entire family being brought down by MY depression, I'll quit and at least I'll be able to say, "I tried."