This pictures speaks very clearly to what my breastfeeding relationship with Penelope has been like.
The bottle is in focus and me and Penelope are in the background, slightly out of focus. I love how you can see me doing hand compressions. If I want to her to get milk, this is what I have to do. My arm feels like its going to fall off after she nurses, because I am compressing like a mad woman. As if each suckle might be her last and its still a do or death situation to get milk in her belly.
But I am happy, oh so happy and grateful for every single time Penelope nurses.
And that bottle, I have love/hate relationship with it. So happy for its invention, Penelope would have been one of those babies long ago that died from not being able to nurse. The pump and the bottle literally saved her life.
But oh, how I hate that thing and everything it “stands” for in my mind. I can’t tell you how much physical pain it causes me to bottle feed her in public around people who don’t know me. I wish I had a sign on my forehead that said “IT’S BREASTMILK, BITCHES!”