There are so many weird and unusual things that I now think about constantly that would have never crossed my mind before having my son. Poop. The color, smell, texture, quantity of the gross stuff. Its always on my mind. Has he pooped? When did he poop last? I’m always concerned. Having said that (Oh gosh, did I say poop again?), the single thing that gives me the most pleasure, pride and strife (and is directly related to poop) is my milk supply. I am certifiably obsessed with it. To think that I am solely sustaining another life through my breasts is amazing and terrifying. What if I don’t have enough milk? Is he getting the fore milk instead of the hind milk? How is his latch? Am I exposing myself too much when I feed him in public? Is my diet good enough to provide the nutrients he needs to grow and flourish? etc, etc, etc.
Sometimes I sneak out to my deep freezer to look at the stash of milk I have frozen. My soul fills with such pride and accomplishment staring at all the little bags of frozen milk. Every so often I will count how many ounces I have left, always fearing its not enough. I feel like a hoarder. Never wanting to give any of it away but also knowing I will eventually need to use it. I’m so hesitant to use any of this liquid gold that I would get up 10 times a night to feed my son vs having my husband take a shift with a bottle of the frozen stuff. He asks me constantly what I’m saving it for if its not to feed the baby. On occasion, when I pump during the day and my husband is home, I’ll run out of the room with a half bottle of milk in my hand exclaiming, “look how much I pumped!”. A huge smile on my face as if I just climbed Mt Everest. He never seems as excited as I feel at that moment. How can milk bring me so much joy?
Everyone swaps stories about how they have an oversupply or under-supply. “I make so much milk my baby can’t drink it all! I have to donate it!” or “Whats that herb, funkygreek? I heard you can increase supply” or “I’m back at work and I barley can pump 2oz all day!”. Its a constant topic of conversation.
The one thing that puts everything in perspective is at night, when I put my son to bed. I stare down at him, latched on, like there is nothing better in the world. He makes soft, sweet sounds and I feel my milk filling him up with nourishment and love. I am there for him in a way no one else in the world an be. My milk will sustain him for as long as I am able and those moments are to be cherished. All the worry and concern diminish when he pulls off my breast and looks up at me with a big smile, milk running down his check. He is satisfied and so am I.