My third and final attempt at exclusively breastfeeding a baby ended this weekend. Nolan had a weight check on Friday, and despite my best efforts to get him to gain enough weight on breastmilk alone, he’s fallen completely off the growth chart. Sigh.
I won’t lie, I’m really disappointed. I’m annoyed at my body because it has never produced enough milk for my babies. I’m irritated at the stress in my life that is most likely contributing to a low supply. I’m mad at myself that I spent a ton of money renting a pump that I never had time or motivation to really use, and then when I did use it, barely got any output anyway. And I’m sad that this isn’t working as well as it needs to, because it is working. Nolan is my first baby who breastfeeding isn’t painful, and from the beginning has been so much easier. And I don’t want to buy formula, or wash bottles.
So, waaaaa. Whine, whine, whine. And moving on.
I know- it’s not about me. It’s about making sure he’s fed, and growing. And he’s still getting breastmilk for the majortity of his food (we are starting with supplementing about 8 oz/day with formula).
I’m about ready to close this “infant feeding” chapter of my life- it’s been a really stressful, emotional road, and I’m tired of thinking, and overthinking, it.
But this teeny tiny (hopefully not for much longer) milk-drunk baby- he’s the best.