This time
I know that this is not everyone’s experience, but nursing a second child has been infinitely easier than nursing the first. The first few weeks still sucked. I experienced nipple pain that made me reconsider my dedication to breastfeeding in the first place and the mastitis, which I thought for sure I’d be able to avoid since I was an old pro, made me hate breastfeeding even more. But the mastitis cleared up in a day or two with antibiotics, the pain stopped so gradually that I suddenly realized I stopped wincing every time the baby latched, and I realized that breastfeeding is really easy.
Now six months in I’ve pretty much stopped leaking altogether. My breasts are no longer porn-star sized. Ben doesn’t nurse anywhere near as much as Sam did. He actually follows the every three to four hour rule instead of the every fifteen minutes rule. I don’t know if that’s nature or nurture and I don’t really care. I enjoy the freedom of simply feeding a baby, not having him attached to me nonstop.
But freedom is relative. I’ve been pregnant and/or nursing for 42 months now. In six months I will have been pregnant and/or nursing for four years. No matter how easy it is this time, I still feel ambivalent at times. I miss my body. I miss sports bras at the gym. I miss pretty bras. I miss bras that don’t unlatch at the cups. Sam weaned when I was pregnant with Ben so I have not had a break at all. My body has not been my own for three and a half years. It’s a strange feeling. It’s a relief that nursing is so much easier for me this time around.
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