Ow, My Boob!

[PLEASE NOTE: I wrote this back near the end of May. My boob is much better now. Thank you for asking. -K. )



Ow. Ow. Owww!

Remember way back when, that time I said I was lucky that I hadn’t experienced some of the complications that go along with breastfeeding, like blocked ducts and mastitis? Well cross the blocked duct thing off the list, friends. This is not a new phenomenon, actually. It has been happening off and on for several months; I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve had to deal with this. (Did I mention that I feel like whining today? I’m really, REALLY sorry. I won’t even hold it against you if you want to stop reading right now... still with me? OK then).

Commence whining in 5... 4... 3.... 2... 1. IT HUUUUUURTS! It really, really hurts! Just for purposes of reference for anyone who hasn’t had this particular experience: Have you ever had a really nasty toothache, the kind that is just completely distracting, and you can’t accomplish anything because this one teeny, tiny part of your body hurts so bloody much? Imagine that consuming your boob. Not the whole boob. Just, say, half of the boob. That’s what it feels like. A toothache of the boob. Have I said boob enough yet? Boob. Plus, as a value-added bonus, you get this rock-hard ball stuck to your chest, getting in the way for the day or so it takes to clear up.

So yeah, I’m not a happy camper today. All you can really do for a blocked milk duct is apply heat and massage (gently, and it still hurts!) as often as you can, and keep feeding the baby on that side. Because as much as the feeding hurts, letting the pressure build up is even worse. Ooh, and painkillers really help... a bit. This would be fine if caring for the boob (there, I said it again!) was all I had to do today, but it’s just not so. I’ve got my little guy to take care of, a hyperactive dog to deal with, and packing to do- did I mention that we’re moving next week? I’m ashamed to admit it, but I woke the hubby up this morning to ask- just to ask, mind you- if he could take a sick day for my boob. Apparently he can’t. Fine...

Like I said, this first happened months ago, and yet I’m still playing the dairy cow for my baby. Boy, am I dumb! If I had half a brain in my head, Simon would be happily drinking formula. Here’s the thing: it’s not because it’s good for him. It’s not for the bonding, though I still adore the feeling of closeness I get when he’s nursing. It’s not even the money, though goodness knows we still can’t afford formula. The reason I’m still breastfeeding him is this:

In the middle of the night, it’s just so much easier to whip out a boob than it is to prepare a bottle.

How sad is that? I’m willing to put up with pain and inconvenience because I’M TOO LAZY TO MAKE A BOTTLE. OK, so I’d miss it if I stopped- the feeding, I mean, not the blockage. I really would, in spite of everything. Am I crazy? Probably. What's your point?