Breastfeeding is, without a doubt, the hardest thing I have ever done. For something meant to be “natural” it is incredibly challenging physically, and that’s without mentioning the mental and emotional aspects. My son Finn is seven weeks old and has only taken a handful of bottles, so I have been breastfeeding nonstop since his birth.
I oscillate between feeling grateful and resentful when it comes to breastfeeding. There is a lot of pressure that comes with being the sole food source for an infant, and it can be lonely. But sometimes it strikes me that I am exactly what my son needs, and there are so many sweet moments when his little body is curled around me, his tiny hand gripping one of my fingers. When he’s hungry, Finn gets frantic. And when he latches, his clenched fists unfurl and his brow relaxes. My older son, William, would run his ringer along my collarbone once he latched and was contentedly nursing.
It feels so hard to be perpetually tethered to my baby but this time, with my second baby, I am able to lean into it and know it’s not forever.