“Nursling” is the official word for someone who is breastfed. Isn’t it the cutest?
I have determined that I will use it as much as humanly possible.
(“Come here little nursling!” “Is that my nursling I hear waking up?” “Keep an ear out for the nursling!”)
Brian should prepare himself now.
In honor of World Breastfeeding Week (don’t tell me that you all don’t keep track of when that is too…) I thought I would whip up a post about breastfeeding.
I have a unique perspective to share,
Because here’s the thing:
I sometimes hate it.
I KNOW that it is the best thing for the baby, and it is a terrific bonding experience…but it has never come easy to me and mine.
Let me start out by saying that, if you did not / do not breastfeed your child, you will receive no judgment from me! Some women cannot, some women chose not to.. bottom line is it is a HUGE commitment, and if you don’t think you can stick it out, then that is your choice. No one else can breastfeed your kid. (well…kind of. Let’s not go there mmkay?) Basically your boobs = your choice.
As for me, I have always struggled.
Cracked nipples (remember this post?! Ack!), clogged ducts, mastitis, stretch marks… yeah. IF you had told the younger me all that my fun-bags would go through, I would have burst into tears.
However, fear not, dear readers. They are now like leather and I feel no pain (or any sensation at all. If you know what I mean.)
My children have also never been really good at nursing. They pop off, they bite, they stretch, they decide they are done just when my milk let’s down and squirts them in the face… It does not come easy.
With all of these trials, you would think that I would have turned to formula long ago.
At times I have held warm washcloths to my aching chest and eyed that free carton of formula they send home with you from the hospital (darn them!) longingly.
But, here is the bottom line:
About once a day, there comes a breastfeeding session that is absolute heaven.
Isaac falls asleep while nursing, and I see a satisfied smile flit across his face.
There is no popping off or yanking, he just gets the job done.
Then, he lets go and snuggles up to my breast, milk dripping out of his mouth, totally satisfied.
I look at this mammoth baby and his dimpled knuckles, cleavage (Gaah! Baby cleavage! couldn’t you just die?), and rolls. And I think- I did this. I have sustained him, by myself, for the past six months, and turned him into the fattest, jolliest little guy I have ever seen.
And then I absolutely love it.
And my little nursling too.
(mid nursing- popping off to see why in the world I am taking a picture at a time like this)