It’s Over

Today Monito is six months old.

Today is the first day Monito will get no fresh breast milk.

There are still a few frozen bags that will be used over the next week, but they won’t last long.

Our breastfeeding relationship is over. I will never breastfeed again.

It happened rather unceremoniously. I didn’t even realize that the last double pumping session was the last double pumping session until the day after, when I decided to use a hand pump to relieve a little pressure. I’m glad I didn’t realize it was the last session at the time, because I probably would have cried. That might seem silly to someone who loathes pumping, but I spent a lot of time with that machine, it allowed me to give something precious to my son, something I couldn’t manage to give him on my own.

I hated it, but I loved what it did for my baby. I don’t know if that makes sense.

It’s a complicated relationship, and I’m glad I wasn’t forced to face those difficult nuances when I was actually attached to it the damn thing, lost in its rhythmic whirring.

Weaning has been going pretty well, mostly because of the sage (that stuff is POWERFUL). I’ve only been pumping once a day for a few days now, and today I barely pumped 2oz with a hand pump, just to relieve a bit of pressure. I don’t think I’ll have to pump at all tomorrow.

Mostly I’m relieved, but there are moments when it hits me, that we’re done, and I’m sad, sometimes desperately so. I grabbed my prenatal and DHA vitamins last night and it felt like a kick in the chest, the realization that I didn’t have to take them anymore, that I’d never have to take them again. My reaction to that was visceral. It’s hard to explain how it took my breath away.

I took them anyway. I just couldn’t not take them. Not yet.

Last night I bagged up all the pump parts, preparing them for a friend. I was also bagging up the smaller 4oz Dr. Brown bottles and parts because Monito is graduating to the bigger 8oz bottles. I felt so wistful, packaging up all these integral parts of his babyhood. I can’t believe we’ll never need these things again.

I am really quick to give stuff away. I am constantly adding to the bags that go to the consignment store, to friends with babies, to a resource center for pregnant teens. I’m constantly culling the stuff we no longer need, and preparing it for immediate removal from my house. Sometimes I wonder if I’m making a mistake, getting rid of it all so quickly. What if something happens to Monito and we try to have another? What if someone I love wants these things some day?

But I know I need to get rid of it. Every. single. thing. I need to clean it out so that I can heal. If it stays something deep inside will fester. I’m not quite sure what it is, but I’m afraid to face it, so I pack it up and move it out. And I don’t think too much about why.

Monito is no longer a tiny baby.

We are done breast feeding.

Mostly I feel relief, even some happiness, but there is also sadness, disappointment, guilt, failure, and regret.

I took my first med yesterday morning, and it felt wonderful. It really did. My post yesterday, and a conversation it instigated with a friend, pushed me to do some research on the medicine I take. I guess my shame kept me from doing that before, and I’m kind of shocked that I hadn’t looked into it more. Shame really is a powerful motivator, because not knowing what I’m putting in my body is not like me. AT. ALL.

Evidently the medicine I take is an anti-depressant (but not an SSRI) that is also used to treat ADD in children and adults. This makes sense. As I was trying to explain to my friend, I’m never sure how much it helps with my ADD symptoms, but I do know that I do better over all–I don’t have my high highs and my low lows. Even Mi.Vida has noticed how much more emotionally stable I am when I’m on it. When I’m not on something, I am constantly cycling in and out of depressive periods. You can read back through my blog and easily see the ebb and flow its dark, seductive hold on me. When I take this medication I don’t experience that at all. SSRIs have never worked for me, and I kind of quit trying to treat my depression when I started this, because, well, I didn’t feel depressed anymore. At the time, I thought maybe the alleviation of my ADD symptoms made me less depressed. Maybe it’s the opposite, maybe when I feel less depressed, I can handle my ADD symptoms better. Maybe it helps both.

Knowing that there is absolutely some aspect of my mental health that this is helping makes me feel better about taking it. I still plan on looking into long term, non-medicated solutions for my mental health, but right now I am very confident that I am taking this medication for the right reasons, and that it is the best thing for me now. And that feels really, really good.

So that is the big upside and I’m trying to let it buoy me up when the negatives try to pull me down. I read recently that only 16% of mothers in the U.S. breastfeed exclusively until six months. I did a good job. I worked really hard and I gave my son breast milk for the first half of an important year. I want to focus on what I have done, not what I didn’t manage to do. To look at our breastfeeding relationship as a success (because it was, in so many ways) and not a failure.

The Cons of Pumping

I meant for this post to be about the negatives AND positives of pumping, but after the cons got super long, I decided to split them up. Don’t worry, I’m sure the pros post will be just as long as this one is–I’m actually quite pleased with my current set up and have no desire to stop pumping whatsoever. Of course, that doesn’t mean there aren’t negatives to weigh against the positives. This post looks at what I don’t like about exclusive pumping. Tomorrow I’ll discuss why I keep doing it, despite all these things.

Is it weird that I can’t figure out if I’m technically “breastfeeding” right now? I don’t feel like that word applies to me, and yet when you pump, so many of the same restrictions apply. Of course, some restrictions DO NOT apply, and many of the same benefits are present so I’m just not sure if the word describes our experience.

In fact, I feel so far removed from the “breastfeeding” experience and so entrenched in “bottle feeding” as it were, that I was considering submitting a piece to the Fearless Formula Feeder before I remembered that I don’t actually feed my daughter formula, so my experience doesn’t really apply. I don’t have much commentary on this at the moment but I hope to touch on it more later–it seems significant to me that although I provide my son with breast milk I don’t consider us to be “breastfeeding.”

I’m currently three weeks into exclusively pumping and I have no plans to stop anytime soon. So far my 4xday-15mins/session schedule feels very manageable and the amount of milk I’m getting (35-40 ounces) definitely makes to worth my while.

After three weeks of pumping (and I know my schedule is so different from most who exclusively pump–in that I pump far few times, and for far fewer minutes each session–as to make this post almost inapplicable to others) these are the aspects that I love–and don’t love–about being hooked up to a machine like a bovine mistress.


– The act. Did I mention I have to be hooked up to a machine like a bovine mistress? There is something about sitting and having milk mechanically extracted from one’s breasts that makes one feel like less than a lady.

– The pump parts. Washing them. Storing them. Putting them together. Taking them apart. Keeping track of them. Making sure I have them when we go out. Just pump parts. Period.

– The dishes. Pumping definitely creates more dishes, though the bottles are what make up the bulk of them so I don’t feel like the pumping-related dishes are really that bad. Still, it sucks to do dishes–and the pump parts are particularly annoying to wash as they have so many weird little nooks and crannies–so I’m putting this in the post.

– The sound. Oh the sound! How I loathe it. Luckily my Game of Thrones book on tape drowns it out pretty well.

– The time commitment. It is inconvenient that the act of feeding my son and extracting the substance I feed to him are separate. The extra time chaffs me most at 5am (which is when I’m writing this post) because it also means I get less sleep. (Oh sleep, precious sleep, how I miss thee.)

– Accommodating my children. I suppose this falls under the umbrella of “time” but it feels like a different issue because it’s not so much about the actual minutes as it is about what can feel like the impossibility of figuring out when and how to pump when Monito is awake (it’s hard to tend to a baby when you can’t hold him well, or even walk over to where he is) or even Osita is around. Osita HATES when I pump, she seems to resent it far more than I do, and she has little mini meltdowns when I have to hook myself up to my machine. Anything that causes stress between me and my toddler right now is a definite negative.

– Scheduling activities around pumping. I am EXTREMELY lucky in that, with my 4-times-a-day schedule, I enjoy a good six hours in between pumping sessions. Such extended periods of time means that it’s relatively easy to plan outings around when I have to pump next. Still, there are instances when I feel anxious to get home so that I can relieve my heavy breasts of their burden. It also sucks to have to lug my pump to events; I had to bring my pump to both my parents’ and my in-laws yesterday and I was terrified I was going to forget parts and end up not being able to pump while I was there. It can be frustrating to feel beholden to my pump and what it does for me.

– Physical discomfort. Pumping means I suffer the general discomforts of a breastfeeding mother. While I have no nipple pain from feedings (THANK GAWD!), I do spend most of the day with heavy, full breasts. The best hours are the one or two RIGHT after pumping; that is when I feel noticeably lighter both physically (because I am a good 9-10 ounces lighter) and mentally (because I know I don’t have to pump again for a while). I also have to deal with random let downs, though those have decreased exponentially since I started pumping (I think emptying my breasts completely has thwarted my overactive letdown issues). Finally, I am still trying to determine if I still have thrush or if the milk itching/burning sensations are due to pumping or just remnants of the two months I was putting all manner of cramp on my breasts to combat the thrush.

– Policing my intake. Of course it sucks to have to regulate when I drink alcohol and I can’t enjoy a Diet Coke right now like I do when I’m not breastfeeding (though I do enjoy many, many Diet Cokes), but the thing that sucks the most about pumping is not being able to take my ADD meds. It’s been well over two years since I stopped taking them to start TTC #2 and I miss them terribly. Right now pumping is the only thing standing between me and feeling like myself again and I suspect it is needing to go back on them that will eventually provide the tipping point to stop pumping. I do look forward to reclaiming my body in its entirety when I stop pumping; after 14 months of TTC, nine months of pregnancy and however many months of pumping, I will be so relieved to know that whatever I ingest affects me and only me. I look forward to that day.

So that is what I dislike about pumping. Tomorrow I shall write about all the reasons that I’m thankful I can do this, because there are many and they are significant. I feel privileged to be able to feed my son this way and I wish I had considered this set up when I was agonizing over whether or not to stop breastfeeding; it has provided the best of both worlds for both me and my baby boy.

If you’ve ever pumped, what did you hate most about the experience?

Positive Spin

Lately I’ve been feeling a little down about things. Mostly down about being at work and our financial situation. Sunday night I was so depressed about work the next day. The luster has worn off and I’m kind of hating being there right now. Part of it is that my schedule is so brutal, I have to have five completely different things ready to teach at the beginning of the day and I’m always behind. I feel like I’m constantly scrounging to put some lame lesson plan together and each class is more and more haphazardly presented than the last. It’s starting to wear on me.

And more and more I think about Isa and I miss her. I want to be with her and I’m not. I’m far away, dealing with other people’s children while someone else is dealing with mine. The whole situation feels like it makes less and less sense.

Except it does make sense, it makes financial sense. I realized last night that with my raise this year I make more than Mi.Vida, quite a bit more. It’s actually not that much, but when you make as little as we make, it’s substantial. It would not make financial sense for me to take off a year or two like I had hoped, at least not while my partner is at his current job. More and more I’m realizing that I will probably not be able to be a stay at home, not even for one year. That makes me very sad.

I oscillate between feeling excited to start trying again in a year to wondering what the point would be. Do I want to have another baby so soon just to miss out on much of his or her life? Would waiting even make a difference? I don’t know. I wish money weren’t such an issue.

Anyway, I have all these feelings and it’s hard not to let them get me down. But I’m trying, more and more, to change the way I look at these situations. I’m obviously feeling “half empty” about things when I could easily see them as “half full”. Here are the happy spins I’m trying to put on things:

I do not get to be a part of Isa’s day to day activities.

Isa’s aunt who loves her and is incredibly qualified is watching her every day (and updating a blog twice daily with pictures of my beautiful girl).

I have to be at work and miss out on spending time with Isa.

I get to see my friends at work and interact with adults on a regular basis.

I don’t get to be a stay at home mom.

I have tenure, seniority and am at the highest pay step at a school that I like. Plus I get four weeks off during the school year and eight weeks off during the summer.

I had a pumping fiasco and was not able to take my first class of the day on time.

I have a very understanding colleague who took my class for ten minutes and offered to take them the rest of the period.

I hate pumping and feel like it is taking over my life.

I was able to breast feed my daughter exclusively for six months, giving her a very good start and saving myself a lot of money (man is formula expensive!)

I have five different preps and never feel like I’m prepared for school.

My last two classes of the day are very small and if need be we can work on their homework as they all need a lot of support.

I don’t understand how to make friendships thrive as a working mom.

I have some old friends who will always be there for me and some of the new mom friends I made are still interesting in getting together every once in a while.

I feel like my relationship with my partner suffers more now that I’m at work.

My partner has stepped up and is doing so much more around the house and with Isa, both relieving my burden and showing me how much he cares.

Of course, the most important thing to remember is that all of these “problems” exist because I am lucky enough to have the most amazing daughter imaginable. I worried, at my very core, that I would never be a mother and now I am and it fills me with such joy and contentment. So whenever I’m really feeling down, I just remember that I wouldn’t give up these grievances for anything, because they are what comes with being a working mom, and the “mom” part of “working mom” is a role I cherish more than life itself.

Working Momma Mondays: Pumping on the job

I don’t expect to be pumping much at work in the new year, but I figured I should write a little about what I’m doing now, in case anyone who reads is (will be) pumping at work and is interesting in knowing what that looks like for me, a middle school teacher with a very rigid schedule.

This is how my day looks with pumping at work.

First, I feed my daughter at 5:45am, right when I get up in the morning. I used to have to wake her up but after two days she caught on and now she’s in there, eyes wide, waiting for me with flapping arms.

I bring my pump to and from work with me every day. The only pump parts I have to remember are extra connectors, which I already have at work. I like to bring extras because they take a while to dry and I like to use a different set for lunch. It’s not a big deal if I leave them at home but if I leave them at work I can’t pump at night.

My first pumping session takes place at the end of my prep period. I start getting ready at 8:50am – plugging my pump into the outlet and hooking up the tubes. I also put together all the connectors, values, membranes and bottles so they are ready to go. When everything is in place, I pull up my shirt, pull down my nursing bra flaps and put on a strapless pumping bra, which holds the breast shields in place so I can pump hands free. When everything is put together I flip the switch and wait.

A best case scenario is I let down within a couple of minutes and am done pumping in ten (with some manual massage in the last three minutes). In the mornings I have about 6-8 ounces to show for my efforts. At lunch I rarely have more than five.

After I’m done pumping I unhook the tubes from the connectors but leave the pump on so the tubes can dry. Then I immediately take the pumps off and redo my bra, returning my shirt to it’s regularly scheduled position. I mess around with the amount of milk in each bottle until I have two easily recordable amounts for storage before pouring milk into pre-labeled bags. Finally, I bring all the pump parts to the back of the room to clean them.

I have a sink in my room but no hot water. I’ve been heating water in an electric kettle and then dumping that into a bowl with detergent. I only soak my parts in warm soapy water after the first pumping, rinse them in cool water and set them out to dry. After lunch (which starts at 12:10) I again rinse instead of wash, as I don’t have time to wash them during my measly 30 minute break.

After school (2:30pm) I heat water again and wash all the parts in a soapy bowl in my sink. Then I rinse them in cold water and put them in a sanitizing microwave steamer bag. I steam the connectors, valves and membranes every day. I steam the breast shields and bottles every other day (I can’t fit everything in the bag, so alternate on the big pieces, which are easiest to clean). I lay everything out on a drying rack and cover it with a towel before going home. I have to remember to return the two connectors to the pump bag or I will not be able to pump before bed (though I have ordered another pair so I can leave two pair at work and one at home).

I just make it back home in time to feed Isa her afternoon meal around 4pm. I’ve been topping her off with about 2-3 ounces after that. I do the same right before bed and if she’s too tired to take a bottle I dream feed her around 10pm, after I do my final pump and before I retire for the night.

And that is my pumping schedule. It’s incredibly time consuming and now that I don’t have enough milk to feed Isa when I’m actually home with her, it feels like pumping is only delaying the inevitable. Still, I’m hoping to continue breastfeeding through the winter break (while supplementing with frozen milk or formula), so I’m pumping for this week and next.

If you have any questions, just let me know and I’ll answer them to the best of my ability.

I am trying very hard…

… to hold my shit together but I’m failing miserably. I’m crying constantly, having mini-panic attacks where my heart feels like it will beat out of my chest for 30+ minutes, even feeling frustrated at my darling daughter. I’m super annoyed with breastfeeding, and I’ve failed to let down twice in the last 12 hours, and the one time I did let down, it was pretty measly. I’m supplementing our feedings with a bottle of stored breast milk every other time we eat, which makes me incredibly depressed. If I’m going to feed her a bottle anyway, what is the point in breastfeeding her? My friend reminds me it’s about being with her, bonding, but it doesn’t feel that way right now. Maybe, subconsciously, I’m trying to push Isa away to make Monday easier. Maybe I’m feeling frustrated with breastfeeding to get ready for when I can’t handle pumping at work and have to start giving my daughter formula. Maybe all of this negativity is just my way of getting through this, because otherwise I will go insane.

My grad school paper has been written. It’s not done, but the meat of it is there, on my computer (and backed up by dropbox, don’t worry). My partner is feeling better; today he’s off the couch and back in action, albeit tentatively. My mom is even coming tonight to deep clean my kitchen. I can, and will, be prepared for Monday. And yet, I’m still so stressed out I want to scream.

Two nights ago I had a dream that I was at school. It was lunch and I had to pump but people started flooding into my classroom, all wanting to share a welcome back meal with me. I kept telling them all I needed to pump, they needed to leave, but no one listened. At the end of the lunch period I still hadn’t pumped and I was despondent. I woke up almost laughing at myself. I’m really stressed out about pumping at work, that much is clear as crystal.

I’ve been packing my bag, writing lists of what I need to bring. I can’t pack my pump until late Sunday night, after I’ve used it, and that makes me anxious. I do have my bag ready with pictures of Isa, a brand new expandable file folder for my students’ work, and a few originals I made at home to copy in the morning. I’m trying to decide what blanket I should bring of Isa’s so that I can smell her when I’m pumping. I’ve heard this makes it easier for your milk to let down. It will also be handy to dry the tears.

I think a part of me is still in denial. I cannot believe this day finally came. In September it felt so far away but now it’s here, literally here. Every Sunday since I started maternity leave I thought, I don’t have to go to work tomorrow – isn’t that grand? Not anymore. This Sunday I will think, Holy Shit. I DO have to go to work tomorrow. Well isn’t that shit.

I’m trying to keep it together. Attempting to put on a brave face. While I oscillate between barely achieving those things and failing miserably at them, I know that now matter how much I hate it, I do have to go back to work on Monday. Luckily my partner is being very patient and equally kind. I can tell this is wearing on him, and he doesn’t truly understand why I’m so distraught, but he’s trying hard to be there for me, and he is.

I have about 30 hours until I go to bed on Sunday night, with my alarm set for 6am and all my accoutrements waiting dutifully for me by the door. I hope I can make it that long without totally flipping my lid. We shall see.

So called liquid gold (and the lengths we go for it)

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Happy Halloween!

I did absolutely nothing to celebrate Halloween this year so I guess that is all I’ll be doing to celebrate it here. I did take Isa to get her photo taken in her peacock costume and I will post that as soon as I can buy a digital copy of it.

I realized that I since my thrush episode(s) I have not written much about breastfeeding on my blog. I think that is because breastfeeding is no longer an all-consuming part of my life. We’ve finally fallen into a routine (every three hours) that works for us and while I’m a little concerned that Isa is not getting enough to eat in the six (really it’s 5.5 because the last feeding is so close to the penultimate feeding that she can’t be getting 5 ounces) daily feedings, I’m trying not to let PTSD from the lactation consultant get to me and am assuming that my baby girl, who seems happy and looks healthy, is doing fine.

So for right now our breastfeeding situation is working pretty well and I have to say, now that she isn’t eating every other hour, my nipples hardly even hurt anymore. But, sadly, I return to work in four weeks and because I plan on continuing to breastfeed my daughter while at work (at least for a little while), I need to get a stock pile ready before my return.

For this reason, and because my daughter sleeps for ten hours straight now, I’ve started to pump nightly, before bed. Let me just say, I don’t love pumping. It’s a lot of work before, during and after, and the ritual adds about 30 minutes to my bedtime routine. That is 30 minutes I’d rather spend doing pretty much anything else besides pumping.

I know the medical establishment would have me believe that breast milk is the BEST thing I can give my baby (though there is very little actual research that truly proves this) and that by NOT pumping for her at work I’m condemning her to a less successful life on pretty much all fronts. I don’t really believe that. I’m a firm proponent of the mother’s happiness = baby’s happiness philosophy and that the benefits of breastfeeding should not be held, unwaivering and untouchable, over the well-being of the mother who is giving constantly and continually of herself (her body, her time and her limited resources) to make breastfeeding possible.

Right now, pumping at night is merely annoying. I have to take out the pump (as our kitchen is too small to leave it out all day), attach the power supply and tubing, take off my shirt, put on the make-shift pumping bra (that I fashioned myself with scissors and two x’s drawn on the nipples of an old workout bra), take out all the valve pieces and put them together (which is a puzzle in and of itself), connect the valves to the pumps and press the button. Then I have to achieve let down, and if I don’t do that pretty quickly, I know it will elude me unless I stop the pump, give my nipples a chance to sensitize again, and start all over.

Next I actually do the pumping. As my nipples stretch a good inch and a half and the monotonous drone of the motor whispers to me mysteriously, insignificant amounts of milk drip slowly into two bottles, slowly, eventually pooling into 2-3 ounce quantities. In my bovine-like state, I can do little of any substance (but, some would cry, pumping is substance enough!). Sometimes I read a magazine or the latest book I’ve been carting, dog eared, around my house, but it’s difficult to concentrate when (I swear) the whir of the pump motor is communicating with me subconsciously.

Finally, when I’ve massage every last drop out of both breasts and they hang, flacid, from the weight of the full bottles, I turn off the machine and unhook the tubing only to turn it on again (ah the whirring will drive me batty), to combat the small droplets of condensation taking up shop in the plastic tubes.

While the pump sucks furtively, slowly drying the tubes, I transfer the liquid gold into disposable bags complete with date and amount scrawled in Sharpie, before depositing them carefully into the freezer. There my pumping efforts will remain until the stockpile is needed to supplement what I pump at work or is thawed in cases of emergency.

The clean-up is, of course, the worst part. I have to do any dishes in the sink and wipe it down before cleaning out all the tiny pump pieces and placing them carefully on the drying rack. If I don’t wash the pump parts that night they won’t be dry by the following session… and, as the pump instructions chide, wet pump parts are a definite no-no. Despite being bone tired and knowing Mi.Vida is waiting in bed, I have to wash all those little parts before I can turn in for the night.

As for my pumping plans at work, I’m still very much on the fence about committing to pumping. I will definitely pump until the Winter Break, which is only a three weeks commitment and will bring Isa past the 6 month mark. If I’m totally miserable after that, I’ll just ween Isa in the New Year. If it’s not so bad, I’ll keep doing it and reassess at the February Break and then at Spring Break and so on. I don’t want to have any hard and fast deadline I feel obligated to meet. I have very little time, and NO flexibility, to pump at work and doing so will keep me isolated from my friends and colleagues, which are first and foremost the reason I love my job. Going back will already be so difficult, confining myself in my room during my only breaks will make it even worse; I truly worry I will need support from my peers when I return from work and I will be unable to receive that if I’m cooped up in my classroom with only my pump to comfort me. So I’m not letting pumping at work stress me out.

The good news is with all the pumping I’m doing now, I’ll have quite a bit of breast milk stored up. And if I do decide to stop pumping at work I might be able to stretch out my stock pile to cover about a month of breastfeeding while not pumping to keep up my supply.

Of course, myriad things could happen, like I might not have time to pump and my supply will gradually decline. Or Isa might decide she loves the bottle and won’t have anything to do with the breast. If either of these things happen, I’m going to let nature take it’s course and not fight against the inevitable. I’ve been pretty lucky with breastfeeding thus far and want to end the experience happily, and not angrily, or regretfully.

Until that time, I’m trying to take in every minute I have breastfeeding my baby. I know these moments with her are limited and I want to enjoy them while I can. For the next four months I will consider every feeding to be a gift, one that I treasure and never take for granted.

BUENAS NOTICIAS – Isa met her aunt this weekend, the aunt who will be her nanny in a short month. Of course they loved each other and while it was bitter sweet to see them get along so famously, I was very happy knowing that my SIL will be with her every day while I’m away.


Somedays I feel totally unprepared to be mother, to fill this role. Tonight was night seven of Isa’s Extreme Meltdown Marathon. I’m pretty sure it will become a fortnight and then a month. I tell my husband that what happens tonight has nothing to do with what will happen tomorrow but I’m not sure I believe it myself.

Sometimes I feel moments of complete and utter panic. Like a few minutes ago when my daughter woke up crying only seconds after I finished pumping ever last drop out of both breasts. Usually, when I am home, my daughter refuses to take a bottle. What were we going to do? Luckily she took the hastily prepared substitute without too much protest. But the moments before I was sure she’d eat where maddening. How could I have been so stupid to pump? She had been up on and off all evening. When will I stop making these obvious mistakes?

I’m beginning to dread bedtime. All day I count down the hours until its imminent arrival. As we approach the witching hour I wonder how long it will be, how loud she will scream, how many times I’ll be summoned to her bed by her cries. By the time she’s finally asleep I’m exhausted and worn out. I feel like I’ve participated in some kind of torture experiment. And all I have to look forward to another eight hours of being jarred awake by similar cries in the night.

I thought it got better so why is it getting worse?

BUENAS NOTICIAS – My daughter settled for a bottle tonight and thank god, because I had not a drop to give her.