I've been keeping a very big, giant secret from most of the world at large... I am absolutely one to keep secrets when I start something new. I'm a total hush-hush when it comes to my complete failures in life. Mostly because I've been trained by my mother not to say when I'm trying new things so I don't have to hear, "I TOLD you so!" when I don't always succeed. I can't recall a time she's ever patted me on the back for trying something new and having it actually work out in my favor, not that that part matters much to me. It's the "I TOLD you so!" with her know-it-all tone that grates at my every fiber of self esteem.
She's fantastically up-beat in that way.
As it is, I've since learned in my 30 years of life to try any and all things on the total and complete down low, hush-hush silence, just in case things done go my way. Far be it for my mother to judge me, I'm fairly used to that, but to have the rest of the world do it to, completely petrifies me.
AM surgery time) to try breastfeeding on for size. Not that that is any kind of big deal for the greater population at large, but its a completely HUGE deal with me. I am. not. a co-sleeping, breast feeding, baby wearing mother.
Nope. Not me. Not even a little bit.
What I am is an, "I love you but please don't touch me, " kind of a mother. I have issues with bubble space. Particularly when people enter my bubble space. Including my off-spring.
Especially my off spring.
Those little heathens have no clue what bubble space is, nor do they care.
In my head, I punch them. I real life, I play dumb. "Oh, reeeeally...?!"
Now, as life has it, Lydia has this tiny little auto immune whatnot called Celiac Disease. Which means breast feeding would have had no here nor there when it came to her food intolerances. All arrows point to faulty intestinal absorption thanks to that there disease.
Now if only my head would FULLY register this fact...
It took me until week 8 or 9 before I decided, "Huh, I think we've got the hang of this..." Before then, it was absolutely agonizing for me every. feeding.
Where the fuck is their trophy?
Second, the awkwardness Why even bother to put a shirt on those first few weeks? And WHY do people insist on wanting to sit and visit when they know you have a baby to feed and have NO desire to show this baby your tits, much less your company?
And thirdly, the hour long feeding session. For someone with bubble space, that shit is excruciating.
So that's left me, juuuuust about two weeks of having decided, I think we can do this. Maybe I'm not a failure, after all.
A lesson learned from Kyra's baby days... diapers don't burn! I wanted to cloth diaper with Lydia but was somehow all consumed with trying to stop the screaming that cloth diapers fell off the agenda completely. Go figure.
There you go. My secrets. Laid out for all to judge. Because: da-da-daaa! I'M!! NOT!!! FAILING!!!!
What I am, is two more steps towards hippy town. Vegetable gardening, farmer's market buying, home preserving and organic, from scratch cooking. Hippy Town shouldn't be too far away, at this point.
P.S. Ruby doesn't handle dairy. AT ALL. Three kids, none of them have handled dairy. Jeremy doesn't handle dairy. *I* do handle dairy. Which makes food intolerances: All. Jeremy's. Fault. (insert grin and a wink, here)