Infinite Feed
Breastfeeding is not for the faint of heart.
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My little snapping turtle has discovered that chewing on the nipple is nearly as much fun as latching properly for a feed. His tiny jaw is shockingly strong and has to be massaged to open.
My supply is a fire hose when he first latches on. He pants to keep up, and you can hear him gulping from across the room.
I feel like the Very Hungry Caterpillar. I try to set up snacks by the recliner for the night feeds: I eat one banana, six Babybel cheeses, eleven raspberries, four bell peppers, seventeen Brazil nuts, eight dried apricots, and half a box of cheese straws. And I am still hungry.
On the one hand, he wants me! In particular! On the other, it has to be me. In particular. I’m sure we’ll figure out a pattern where he sometimes drinks pumped milk from a bottle, but right now we’re still letting the biology stabilize: my body produces milk in direct response to his demands. I don’t want to mess with supply by under- or over-producing.
But it’s untenable to keep this up. A baby needs to eat every three hours or so, around the clock, for 4–6 months. I’m still recovering; eventually, I’ll need a good night’s sleep.
