I'm a breastfeeding fiend
At 6 months old, my daughter is a regular Rip Van Winkle. But while she sleeps soundly, I've been waking up at 4 a.m for a date with my breast pump.
In the beginning, I kept my early-morning appointment so I could create a cache of milk for my baby while my husband and I vacationed in Jamaica. Then I kept it going so I could shore up my stash for the babysitter to use while I returned to work. Now, that I've settled into a routine of feeding my daughter before and after work and pumping during the day in my company's quiet room, you'd think I'd allow myself some extra zzzzs. But get this: I can't stop. I've got some weird form of mommy anxiety that equates skipping pumping sessions with the certain drying up of my milk supply.
My sisterfriends tell me to give myself a break and sleep soundly. They say that if it comes to it, one bottle of formula a day won't hurt my little one. WHAT? I've come too far, pumped too long, survived too many bouts of soreness and near-plugged ducts to turn around now. No, now that we've made it six months, we're going for nine. And, then, a year! Take that American Academy of Pediatrics! I have become a breastfeeding fiend.
It's only appropriate that I celebrate my efforts now during World Breastfeeding Week. Don't get me wrong, I am too modest to be of the whip-it-out anywhere crew. And I don't plan to join the extended nursing crowd, who breastfeed beyond a year. I just want my child to have the best possible start in life. Because I am physically able to give her this boost, I will.
This is what happens when an overachieving, but admittedly formula-fed GenXer embraces a challenge.
So should I skip the early-morning session? Maybe. But I think I'll keep it up just one more day