#NursingMamaProblems

Leaky boobs. Seriously. Why does this have to happen? When we were at Garrett's follow-up appointment three days after our discharge from the hospital, our pediatrician was impressed with Garrett's weight gain and commented that my milk must have come in. As we're getting ready to go a little bit later, I realized that noting Garrett's weight gain was irrelevant; all our pediatrician would have had to do to notice my milk had come in was look at the front of my shirt and the massive milk spot that had leaked through my bra pad. Awesome.

Listening to your partner snoring at 3:00 in the morning. I love Darrell and will (proudly!) admit that he does just about everything he can to make the nursing journey as easy as possible for me (including doing all diaper changes in the middle of the night). But there's something about listening to him snore while I have a hungry little monster sucking away on my boobs that makes me want to hand Garrett over to him with a bottle and call it quits.

The unpredictability of nursing on demand. A few nights ago Garrett nursed at 815. He averages two to three hours between feedings. By the time I got the house tidied up, prepped a few things for the next day, and polished off half a pint of ice cream (don't judge), it was getting close to 1015. Cue the debate: Do I go to bed immediately and try to get whatever sleep I can, even if Garrett gets up in a mere ten minutes to nurse? Or do I find a few more things to do (and there's always more things to do) and just stay up until his next feeding? (Spoiler--I went to bed and he slept until 1130. Win.)

Continued alcohol deprivation. Yes, I know, major first world problem. But I can't help it that I like my beer (and wine and tequila). And when we're having pizza for dinner, nothing sounds better than enjoying it with an ice cold beer. But when we're eating dinner at 530 and Garrett will (likely) be wanting to nurse again around six, I suck it up and be the responsible mom and pass on the drink. (Of course, he may not nurse again until closer to seven, which means I could have at least some of the beer--see aforementioned problem number three about unpredictability.)

Of course, none of these "problems" would ever make me want to legitimately consider throwing in the nursing towel; I feel very blessed that I was able to nurse William for thirteen months and that I am starting (what seems to be) another successful endeavor with Garrett. Nothing good comes without a few sacrifices, right?