breathless

(photo by phil)

The little boy in that photo makes my world go round. Lately he has taken to throwing his chubby arms around me possessively when sleepy and I love it. Even his tantrums entertain me. Much more his new words and excitement to use them. His latest things are “dromedary” (obviously?) and trying to figure out how to use pronouns right. I get “Carry you?” a lot when really I don’t think he’s offering to give me a ride up the stairs.

And the bird. (who doesn’t look as birdlike in this photo as he generally does, but I love it) My funny little 2nd born. He has taken us to hell and back. Today was the day for switching him to prescribed (and disgusting smelling) formula, to see if he’ll eat, gain weight and be better without the dairy. Oh my I hope so. But I find myself overwhelmed with emotion over it all. I know that formula isn’t the enemy, and I don’t feel like I’ve failed… more like I’m missing out. Because he wasn’t take a bottle from me, my mother-in-law did all the feeds today. By tea time I missed him, so I tried (and he took it!). I already miss his smell, because all he smells like now is regurgitated “hypoallergenic” formula (and this is worse than your bog standard Cow and Gate, believe me!).

Breastfeeding is so weird. I’m sorry if I’m letting all my “breastfeeding warrior” friends down, but it’s weird. And amazing. Amazing that my body can create a baby and then provide all he needs. Sadly he simply wouldn’t take it and wasn’t thriving. Carrying on would have been selfish (and yet I feel selfish for stopping). Tonight as I put him to bed, he took the bottle I offered, but kept turning his head just in case a boob was around. That made me break a little.

He is only 12 weeks old and I already feel as though I have missed so much through the trauma. When he is feeling ok (like today, when for once he had a full tummy!!!) he is the most cheerful funny little guy. He chatters on like it’s a competition and freely gives out his “kermit” smiles to anyone who’ll stop and look at him. He was born with a whole heap of opinions – just to fit in I think.

We’re moving on and it looks like (fingers crossed) the hell is on it’s way out… so why am I grieving?

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