Dancing with Daffodils

Last year on March 29th I was hoping to deliver a baby.  My other two had been relatively on time so I anticipated number three would be similar.  Eleven days later she finally arrived.  This week as I was thinking of celebrating her first birthday, this swell of frustration overcame me.  Those eleven days were so miserable.  The waiting, the anticipation, the [wonderful] parents who every day asked when she was going to come because we’re only here for two and a half weeks, the discomfort and a great need to just have my body back all contributed to this frustration.  A year later and I can still feel it. I recently went to the library and as I went to check out my books, a librarian came over to help me.  Inwardly I groaned because it was the mean librarian.  I have dubbed her so because two or three years ago when I had a small toddler and a crawling baby, we had a bit of a run-in that I’ll sum up by saying I was frazzled, she was not very ...

Just to warn you, this post gets a bit personal.  This is something I’ve been wanting to write about for almost a year but every time I decided to go for it, I get nervous, but this time I’m not wimping out. There are women out there who need to know they are not alone so I’m just going to say it.   I loath breastfeeding. I took the class before I was to become a mother and I was committed because breast is best and all of my sisters had done it so I could do it too.  Then I had a baby with a terrible latch and even with three visits with a lactation consultant (despite the fact that I am rather modest and was totally uncomfortable with someone besides my husband watching me try to nurse) and months of effort, it still hurt.  I pushed her feedings for as long as I could and tried all of the creams but she never nursed without clicking her tongue and I never nursed without pain.  After three months I got used to the pain but getting her on was always a p...