Monday, July 7, 2008

dictator's decree.

Things I am not allowed to do while breastfeeding:
-breathe loudly
-laugh
-sneeze
-cough
-read a book or magazine
-eat
-talk on the phone
-send a text message
-rustle through papers or bags
-pick my nose
-make any sound whatsoever, with the exception of singing or humming favored songs
-make any movement that is not related to nursing

Moreover, people inside or outside the house may not make any noise. Nor may the cats, other birds and animals outside, or any passing cars/trains/other vehicles.

Should any of these rules be broken, she will pop off and REFUSE to latch back on, while milk sprays everywhere. I then cannot coax her to come back to the boob for a good long while. These days, I feel more and more like an unmilked cow. A cow pumped up with hormones, udders reaching the ground, with PETA employees photographing it for their next big pamphlet.

My overzealous supply makes me desperate for a nursing session, and Bee will quit at the slightest provocation, and so I am ashamed to admit that I have been trying to follow these unfair, unspoken, RIDICULOUS rules.

I wonder how much more she gets away with simply because I have oversupply. I mean, if I say, "Whatever, don't eat then," I'm uncomfortable, and oh how I loathe pumping and hand-expressing!

When she's older, should she demand that the crusts be cut off at precise angles, I am not getting out the protractor. I am going to say, enough is enough. Eat your damn crusts.

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