I have not been to the grocery store in over 6 weeks. Partially because there are germs there and preshus ball of sunshine must not be exposed to germs! But… honestly, mostly because my boobies leak. Not like a drop here or a dribble there. They aren’t making a damp spot the size of a quarter on my shirt. No, when my milk ejection reflex kicks in (every 150 minutes with no stimulation, or any time I hear or smell or think about anything remotely related to Baby G) I can leak through my bra and soak the front of my shirt in five minutes. Literally. There are milk spots on my kitchen floor (because I am a lazy whore who hasn’t mopped in like 8 weeks!) where I drip all over while getting my water in the night before the 2m feeding. This is not one of my clever exaggeration stories. I wear breast pads and they help some, but am deathly afraid of being alone with Baby G at the food store with half of the shopping done when the presto change-o wet shirt magic happens.
Also, they don’t just leak, they also spray. Like a hose. More than once I’ve sprayed Baby G in the eye (paybacks for all the times he’s pissed in my face!*) when he’s spit the boob out while it’s spraying because he needed to catch his breath. Once, I sprayed my sister as she was too near when the tit came loose! I love the spray, it’s hilarious. I’ve been threatening Little C with it: “You better give Aunt Minta a hug, or she’ll spray you with booby juice!” But, also, it’s a little sad that my baby actually has to take a break to catch his breath because the milk is coming so fast and furious that he can’t breathe and I can’t stop it.
This is good problem to have. It means my body is definitely making enough milk for Baby G (evidenced by the fact that he is now big enough to have eaten the tiny baby we brought home from the hospital). Which is AWESOME.
Not only do I make enough for him, I’ve got plenty stored up for outings (G is embarrassed for me to nurse in public) or emergencies or that mythical night when G is going to take care of the baby and let me sleep. I also usually have a bottle in the fridge so that G can feed him and have some bonding time (he doesn’t believe that diaper changing can be bonding, too…). I even make enough that I have been able to be my niece’s wet nurse once without having to worry about Baby G’s supply. Again, AWESOME. Supply is going great.
Baby G’s latch is mostly good, too. My nipples aren’t sore or cracked. Sometimes he comes at my breast like a shark trying to bite it off, which I think is adorable. We call it sharking the boob. He sometimes gets frustrated when he’s tired and has a hard time getting hold of my gigantic nipple, but that’s to be expected.
All in all, feeding is going well. I’m not as excited about it as I am the cloth diapering, though. Nothing is wrong, it’s all great, but it’s also not that exciting. Honestly, I do have more fun with him during diaper changes than feedings. During feedings, he doesn’t want to be messed with. I can stroke his cheek once or twice, or rub his leg, but he doesn’t want me to. He let’s me, but doesn’t seem to enjoy it. There’s no smiling when the booby is lodged in the mouth, only sucking and swallowing. There’s oxytocin to go around and it’s not unpleasant, but it’s not play time. Diaper time, is play time. He’s all smiles (until he scares himself with some pee to the face) and coos. He enjoys the rubs and pats and being naked. That’s the fun part of feeding, the diaper change pit stop between boobs.
Of course, no time is as fun as bath time… But that’s another story for another time.
* Don’t be an asshole, of course I don’t spray the baby on purpose in retaliation for his spraying me. I just giggle to myself about karma when it happens on accident. 😉