Breastmilk is liquid gold, and I’m Fort Knox


I have a mental hangup about pumping and dumping, or using my expressed milk rather than nursing.

Much of this goes back to the beginning of my breastfeeding adventure. They wanted more weight on Aidan than he was initially gaining. It turned out that I just needed to nurse him more regularly, but I got nervous about producing enough milk then, and even though he’s gained weight on track ever since, I’ve never truly felt confident in my milk supply. I have friends who get way more when they pump than I do, too, so I also judge myself against them. Because it takes a couple pumping sessions to get a full meal out to store, I’m a hoarder when it comes to actually using it.

Sometimes, my hangup starts with pumping in general. I convince myself that I’m taking milk away from the baby, so he won’t find as much there when it comes time to eat. Considering I pump right before he goes down at night, when he has a full belly and won’t eat again for at least 5 hours, this is irrational, but I can’t seem to shake it.

As far as pumping and dumping goes, I have a guilt complex that says I’m choosing booze over my baby if I drink enough that I have to pump and dump instead of nurse him. Many nights, I’ll have a glass of wine after I nurse him for the last time at night because I know it will be out of my system before it comes time to nurse him again, but I never have more than one glass because I don’t want to risk there being any booze left in me when he’s hungry again.

I haven’t had more than one glass of wine at a time since November of 2011. At some point, I should go on a big date night with my husband and get a little happy on wine. Goodness knows if I’d even make it through a second glass at this point, but I’d like to give it a shot because I have a lot of fond memories of enjoying a bottle with my husband.

I don’t know what my issue is, but I’d really like to relax about all of this.

 

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