Dear Lily: You have a fever.

As I type this (on my phone), you're sound asleep on my shoulder. It's reminding me of those long days and nights when you were a newborn, those hours you spent snuggled on my chest, breathing deeply. Now, though, you take up more than my whole torso, even with your legs tucked up under your tummy, and my hand and wrist are numb from  holding your weight. You woke once, hearing a neighbor's dog bark, but your daddy rushed to the window to close it so you could settle back to sleep right away.

From where I sit in the glider, I can feel Rosie's tail draped across my feet; she's sleeping on the footstool, near enough to keep an eye on you. Your daddy has set up mission control on your nursery floor, the very one we chose a year ago now. With pillows piled beneath his chest, he's propped up watching QuickDraw, but he's quick to check in if you stir or whimper. I'm fairly certain Ozzy and Guillie are close by, too, likely just out of sight on the other side of Daddy or watching from the hallway.

We are all here, my sweet, because you don't feel good. Because each member of this family wants to take away your aches and sniffles. I've rubbed a cool washcloth over your warm torso, just as my own daddy used to; your daddy has sung to you just as both our mommies used to. We are, ironically, so grateful your first major fever came on a Saturday so that neither of us faces the distress of watching you in pain alone.

So, yes, we have missed a party with friends today. And we will change tomorrow's plans as needed. And we are prepared to sit up all night, rocking you gently, soothing you softly, taking your mind off your discomfort in any way we're able. Because it's our privilege to care for you, our sweet daughter. Because we want you to know--always--you will never be alone. Because--in light of recent devastating news stories of a much loved missing daughter--we treasure the moments we spend, overheated and pinned to a glider, loving you.

Sleep tight, my sweet. We'll be right here when you awake.

With all the love our healing hearts can hold,

Your mommy and daddy

I Hate Breastfeeding,

Please don't tell me it's beautiful.

Please don't remind me how fortunate I am to be able to do it.

Please don't show me evidence of how beneficial it is for Lily.

Please don't explain to me how it will get better.

We're over seven months in, and I still hate breastfeeding. I have a freezer stash that's ridiculous (we're not even into our August milk and it's mid-September); I pump enough most days that Jeff barely has to give a bottle that's not fresh while I'm at work; we have a designated "Mother's Room" at work, and my boss has no issues with the breaks I take to pump.

I still hate breastfeeding.

So, more than seven months later, why do I do it?

1) It's economical. (Formula costs a lot more than what I produce.)

2) It's "best" for Lily. (Read the campaigns. There's no overwhelming evidence to encourage formula.)

3) It soothes our daughter. (Even though it usually hurts me like a bitch.)

Yes, I've seen the lactation consultants. Yes, I've discussed--and tried--changing her latch, switching the flange size, or altering positions. Yes, I've read every article and soaked up every post on how to make breastfeeding more comfortable/rewarding/enjoyable.

None of that has changed how I feel. I resent the fact that I'm Lily's primary nutrition source. It pisses me off that every day ends with me pumping... and the next morning starts the same way. I hate the guilt I feel from a "pump and dump." I have such intense anger about the way my body has become the property of my daughter instead of the property of me and my husband.

So, I will continue to breastfeed--because I understand the benefits, because I logically see why I should, because our finances dictate it.

But for anyone out there reading this post and experiencing what I am, I have to reassure you that you are not alone. That I don't know if it's okay or appropriate or approved, but that I, too, hate breastfeeding.

P.S. This post doesn't include a photo. Because I'd prefer none are taken of Lily nursing. Because, again, I don't find that action, or myself doing that action, beautiful--and I have no desire to preserve it for posterity.

(I originally wrote this post Saturday night but removed it this morning, embarrassed of what I'd written. However, at Jalara's encouragement--who saw it before I took it down--I'm trying to be courageous and repost it. I haven't changed any of the original post.)