So...Trevor might have gotten in trouble yesterday.
Why?
Because he came home and made Banner a bottle using formula instead of warming up the breast milk in the fridge. And yesterday was the first day that we could give my milk to Banner after the antibiotics, which was brilliant timing because we used the last of my frozen milk on Sunday morning.
(Not to mention the fact that the antibiotics very nearly dried me up completely, and I worked hard for those eight ounces. VERY HARD.)
In other words, not a day had passed in Banner's 187 days on the planet where he had not had at least SOME of my breast milk. A fact that I was very proud of (because I'm clinging to strings here, people), and something that my husband very nearly ruined.
Once I realized that the B-Man had consumed formula for dinner, I got quiet. Then angry. Then burst into tears. Then poop scooped the dog run in a rage, before storming back to the bedroom to take a shower.
And apparently Trevor got the message that I was upset about something, because when I got out of the shower, there he stood at the bathroom door holding Banner like a shield.
Trevor (nervously): "Banner, you want to tell mommy what you just did?"
[Cut to me glaring at Trevor]
Trevor (continuing): "You just ate three whole ounces of mommy's milk on top of your dinner? What a good boy!"
Banner [with a happy look on his face that completely melted my heart]: "Burrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp!"
So, basically, Trevor force fed our baby breast milk to appease me and maintain a completely nonsensical breast milk streak that no one cares about except for me.
And, yes. This is completely insane. I had not even realized I cared so much about the breast milk until I was sobbing hysterically about it. I think it is because I intended to breast feed for a year. That was my goal. And then I got chronically ill with an infection my immune system couldn't handle, and had to change my plans again and again to accommodate drugs and my ever decreasing milk supply. This stupid consecutive day streak is really all I have left, and - considering how little I am still producing (only 7 to 8 ounces A DAY as opposed to 40-50 ounces just a few weeks ago) - I am not sure I'll be able to continue much longer. It is like my body has thrown in the towel.
But Banner has taken well to formula. He doesn’t care what he eats as long as he gets fed (he is Trevor’s son, obviously). I guess it is hard to let go sometimes. I had also really wanted to have a natural childbirth, and, well, that didn’t happen either. It took awhile for me to forgive myself for that one, too, because – as silly as it sounds – I felt like my body had betrayed me. But at least I was in control on the breast feeding front. Or was until the antibiotic resistant bacterial infection and the months of fever, sore throats and general feeling of “ick” took their toll.
And, again, this is crazy talk because all that really matters is that Banner is healthy and happy. I’ve lasted longer on the breast feeding bandwagon than most women in this country, and have been super lucky to have a supportive boss and work environment that has allowed me to pump so easily at the office. I should really be counting my blessings instead of agonizing over the inevitable day sometime soon when Banner will cease to receive any milk from me. Because, again, the only person who cares and feels guilty is me. Banner is exceptionally easy going when it comes to the contents of his bottle. And, well, I’ve honestly done the best I could.
And, yet…
Y'all, mommy guilt is a b*tch!
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