Yesterday was pretty productive but to be frank, last night was hell. Everything was going smoothly until it was time to put Kyra to bed. She'd just woken up from a little cat nap on her daddy around the usual time she goes down. I figured I might as well take her upstairs to feed her and put her down. She thought differently. After changing her diaper and getting her latched on she started to squirm. She was hungry and still tired. Those two factors do not equal a happy baby or a happy mommy. After about 15 minutes Josh came upstairs and took her from me to see if he could get her calmed down. His calmness and old soul never fail to come in handy.
He calmed Kyra down and insisted I tell him what I was feeling right. that. second. After stewing a little longer I explained how frustrated I was with breastfeeding Kyra. How it was always a struggle. How I was over it but I would trudge on. He stared straight through my wall of frustration into my eyes and told me I didn't have to do it. That we would formula feed and he would go get a bottle of breast milk now. I sat there rocking with my knees against my chest feeling my frustration slowly melt away. I remembered how much I wanted to breastfeed. I remembered that it was the best thing possible for Kyra. How honestly, it was the best thing for our budget. I remembered I was breastfeeding because I wanted to. Not because my husband expected it or demanded it from me (because he doesn't, obviously). The relief of knowing Kyra won't grow an extra leg if I were to want to stop breastfeeding. All of that took the pressure off.
Kyra was calm and Josh handed her back to me. She latched on, got comfortable and ate like the champ she is.
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