all about the boobie
Saturday, September 08, 2007
What's it like the second time around? I've been asked that a few times, generally by those entertaining the idea of a second one. Or, and with perhaps a nuance more edginess, those with a second already on the way. Well, so far for some reason it amounts to four times as much work in a quarter of the time – mathematically improbable, but doable. And Maggie is every bit as perky and personable a baby as her sister was, but without the terrible eczema and constant puking. In fact, the other day I jokingly referred to her as the beta version. Don't worry, I then promptly went and washed my mouth out with carbolic soap. Perhaps a better way of putting it is that I am the beta version of the mother I was when Becca first arrived.
The main difference is the boobie; in Maggie's case, the boobie, the whole boobie, and nothing but the boobie. For a number of well-rehearsed reasons I won't bore you with, breastfeeding Becca was tough. It hurt, and at eleven weeks in, much to my chagrin, I began to dry up. Maggie, at nearly sixteen weeks old, is still exclusively breastfed, and this time it doesn't hurt and supply is keeping pace with demand just like all the books say it's supposed to. What's more, Maggie is happy to accept bottled boobie if I need to go out, which is obliging of her as I'm teaching this month. Am I entitled to feel proud of this? To do so would be to disparage those mums who've had the same difficulties I had with Becca, or worse ones. Or are unable to breastfeed at all, for whatever reason. So relieved, and grateful, are mostly what I feel. Grateful especially to Maggie whose technique, unlike certain babies we could mention, does not entail mashing my nipples repeatedly between her gums like a rubbish truck gobbling its load. Comparisons are inevitable. But ultimately irrelevant.
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