Apparently girls are made of sugar, spice, and vomit. It's nice.
Don't get me wrong, I love my kids. But there's literally no amount of money you could pay me to ever do this again. The only thing that's getting me through each day is reminding myself that as long as I somehow survive this, I never have to do it again. And every day that I survive, she's 1 day older and closer to being not as "new." My daily mantra: One day at a time. Try not to get upset if things don't go according to plan. Because things will never go according to plan. Ever again. Plans are for suckers.
I planned to breastfeed with Sydney. With Nathan I was desperate to breastfeed. He was my first child and he had a rough entry into this world, so I wanted to ensure he had the best of what I could give him. Although it was frustrating, painful and emotional, I somehow managed to stick with it for 6 months until my body could no longer keep up with his demand for food. In the early days, I had been careless with all the milk I'd pumped and instead of having a huge stash in the freezer to help bridge the gap, I was faced with supplementing with formula. I remember the day the pediatrician said those words. Supplementing. Formula. I was crushed. I had worked so hard, I didn't want to give up. I didn't want to be a quitter. I didn't want him to have formula. I didn't know which formula to give him. I didn't even know how to use formula. I cried about all of these things in a Fairway parking lot while my husband tried to convince me that this was not a big deal. Plenty of babies have formula and they all turn out fine.
Even the side of the formula bottles say "breastfeeding is recommended..." Thanks for making me feel even worse, formula.
This time I had a plan. I was going to pump and freeze every last drop just in case the same thing happened again. And right now I have enough milk in my downstairs freezer for the entire neighborhood... and nobody that wants it. Sydney is apparently not so into me. When I tried to nurse her, she'd take a little bit and then immediately pull off and scream. This happened every single time. Confused and desperate, I'd try to shove my boob back into her mouth and she'd scream even louder and bat it away. Does she not like my milk? Does she not like my boob? Who doesn't like boobs? I was thoroughly rejected and dejected. So I'd spend my days and nights pumping the milk out and giving it to her in bottles. However she never looked happy nor content, she was fussy, gassy, cried all the time and never slept. Then my husband said the word. Formula.
Second baby syndrome is amazing. I don't know whether I've just given up, or I don't have enough time or energy to care, but I literally just agreed. No argument. No supermarket parking lot tears. No second thoughts. In reality I can't be tied to a pump all day and night with 2 kids. Formula lets everyone share in the feeding responsibilities, lets me try to focus on taking care of myself, and maybe, just maybe she'll sleep through the night earlier. Besides, this girl spits up so much, I'd probably cry if I saw my precious milk that I spent hours pumping ending up all over a burp cloth. Or rather, back all over me. You see, I didn't plan this, but formula and I have recently become very close. I love it so much now, I like to have it coughed all over my face, dribbled on my shoulder, violently splattered down my shirt. I love to clean it off my couch and clothes multiple times a day. I love you formula...