Being a parent is hard, and nobody cares.
We have been having a teething week going on two teething weeks. I'm not normally bothered by dealing with extra fussing and clinging, since it's nice for someone else to be more fussy and clingy in this relationship for a change, but the baby has been on what I've come to find out is called a “nursing strike.”
A nursing strike is when babies stops nursing abruptly, for reasons the word strike implies are deeply meaningful to them and their communities, but they still need and want milk. How they're still gonna get it is your problem.
Luckily I have a pump, which I've been using night and day to feed my husky almost-10-month-old who throws all the food I cook for her onto the floor, I guess as a protest against corporate greed or the electoral college or something else over my head. I've been setting alarms to remember when I have to, and it feels an awful lot like I have a newborn again. I also look like I have a newborn again, and so does my baby.
Clothing is always optional at my house, but now it is a relic of simpler times, and my husband asked the other day if the fact that we can't find her comb is a sign of bad parenting.
“Is the fact that we can't find her comb a sign of bad parenting?”
“Yes.”
Nursing moms like to be self-righteous about the time they put in and sacrifices they make to feed their children, but breastfeeding is way easier than pumping or using formula. I mean, I put so little thought into feeding my baby that I don't even know how much milk she needs. I have to like, measure things in the middle of the night? This is too much.
There seems to be a direct correlation between the percentage of my day I spend crying in frustration while thinking of worst-case scenarios and how much I enjoy motherhood. I was in a bit of a funk last week when I spent all day just trying to get her to nurse, but since I stopped trying so hard we’re both a lot happier.
This seems to be a lesson I have to learn a lot.