If you had told me five months ago that I would be writing this post I wouldn’t have believed you. Five months ago I didn’t believe I would continue breastfeeding. The proof is in the receipt for the most expensive pump on the planet. Yet here I am…
The other day I went for a run. When I arrived home Ruby was screaming, and Jason looked like he might start in with it too. He had just laid her down in her crib and walked out of the room. He had reached that point. The point when you let the baby cry so you don’t accidentally slip and throw her into the wall.
I picked her up and she settled right down. She knew what was coming next. I quickly checked in with Jason to make sure he was all right.
“This is why I want to get her to nap in the crib.”
Okay, point taken. Ruby has yet to nap anywhere but on a person. Usually that person is me, and usually it’s with a boob in her mouth. There are some obvious drawbacks to the boob nap, but for the most part it works for me.
The problem is it doesn’t work for Jason. She’ll drink from a bottle, but she needs the real deal to get her to sleep. I know how it feels to try and calm an inconsolable baby, and I feel terrible that I’m asking him to do this for me. Because that’s the thing – this is for me.
Postpartum depression has made it difficult for me to bond with Ruby. Much of the time I am so completely overwhelmed with feelings of guilt, anxiety and inadequacy that it’s hard to find space for love and joy.
It’s in those moments when she’s cradled in my arms, sleeping, kneading her little hand into my chest and periodically waking just enough to take another pull that she seems most content, and I am most at peace.
My heart breaks to think of giving up this special time we have together. I’m just not ready yet.