Thursday, June 17, 2010

Eight weeks of boobs

Squeaky is eight weeks and two days old today, and in all that time she's only ever eaten breast milk - my breast milk. She's packing on the pounds, too - up three whole pounds from birth. I don't know why this boggles my mind, but the fact that my body can sustain a whole other being - and that that being can thrive at my breast just... just... blows my mind.

Most natural thing in the world, all mammals do it, blah blah blah. Whatever. I'm nourishing a human being, here!

And of those approximately 580 feedings, about 574 of them have been at my breast. (The other 6 have been varying degrees of successful bottle feedings of expressed milk).

It's getting easier. I don't have to curl my toes as much when she first latches on. If my boobs are particularly full or particularly empty, it hurts more, but my milk supply is regulating itself to Squeaky's seven-hour sleeps overnight and her frantic cluster-feeding every evening (though that too is leveling out).

Hmm, now that I think about, it's coming up on one year since my body began sustaining her completely. Can I celebrate her one-year 'date of conception' anniversary, or would that just be weird?

But back to breast milk. I'm fascinated by the biology of it, and the amazing feeling of having Squeaky grow and thrive and learn to laugh and smile and try to crawl... all powered by milk from my own body. That's cool stuff.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Living by the sea

Last night as Squeaky was screaming in my ear and my nipples were rubbed raw and I was so, so tired, I started tallying up all the woe is me sob stories and things I have to complain about - the self-pitying that comes from fatigue and a broken antique rocking chair (*sob*).

Our house is still a construction zone.
The walls are all marked up from moving furniture.
I'm tired.

My nipples hurt
My rocking chair just broke.
My baby won't stop crying
Why won't my baby stop crying??
Man looks so sloppy and lazy on the couch with his laptop playing solitaire and oh my heavens I hate it when he plays solitaire
You know, all the things that will really make you feel sorry for me. And then I heard, above the roar of the wind and the cracking of the fire and the draught in the chimney, the waves crashing ashore not 40 feet from where I was sitting.

I've got saltwater all around me. Life isn't so bad after all.