I'm looking down at my new daughter, who is sleeping at my breast. She looks so happy. Actually, she looks a little drunk. But she is clearly enjoying herself…more than I am probably.
I love nursing, but I remember now why I was so happy to give it up last time. Before Pru was born, all I remembered was how sad I was in the days right after I stopped nursing her sister—the feelings of defeat and guilt. Now I recall how annoying it is to turn your body into a buffet. Remember the fire hose flow of milk all over your clothes and furniture? Remember feeling smacked in the chest every time your milk lets down? Remember how frustrating it is to have a fidgety baby fighting with your breasts until they're sore?
But much in the same way that I enjoy watching Lydia enjoy herself at Chuck E. Cheese even though the restaurant makes me want to toss myself off a cliff, I enjoy watching Pru bliss out in a milk coma. You're welcome, kid.