Catherine Boucher

Did You Know Thursday is Mother's Day?

by Catherine | Dec 6, 2011 | Faith, Family

Ok, so maybe we don’t celebrate Mother’s Day on Thursday, December 8th in the United States, but I’m going to make the case that all Catholic families should.

In the Catholic Church, we celebrate the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary on December 8. The Immaculate Conception is a Holy Day of Obligation celebrating that Mary was free from the effects of Original Sin from the moment of her conception. Pope Pius IX elevated December 8 as a Holy Day of Obligation in 1854 when he declared the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception.

It should come as no surprise that December 8, The Immaculate Conception, is also a national holiday and Mother’s Day (El Día de la Madre) in Panama. Because it is a national holiday, families are free to attend Mass together in celebration of their spiritual mother, Mary, and come together to celebrate their earthly mothers as well. Family members give moms a day off from her usual labors and honor her with a special meal that they prepare for her. How cool is that?

Consider making December 8th Mother’s Day for your family. (I’m sure the mothers in your life wouldn’t object to celebrating in May as well!) Children and husbands, tell the mother in your life to take the day off from laundry, cooking, and cleaning. Make her breakfast in bed. Guys, if cooking isn’t your thing, go out to dinner as a family at her favorite restaurant. Write her a card letting her know how important she is in your life. Encourage all of her children to do the same. Nothing beats a handmade card or gift from a child!

Don’t forget where you came from! Write letters or give a call to Grandma and Great-Grandma as well. Share stories of the matriarchs in the family.

We must not forget to celebrate the other spiritual mothers in our lives. These women are usually forgotten on Mother’s Day because they may not be physical mothers. Perhaps there is a special consecrated religious, faith-filled neighbor, old teacher, or a great friend who, by her presence in your life, draws you into a closer relationship to God. Thank her.

On December 8th, we should give thanks to God for the gift of our spiritual mother, Mary. We should pray that our earthly mothers (biological, adoptive, or spiritual) will magnify the greatness of the Lord for their families, local communities, and the world. May all women come to live out the fullness of their vocation as physical and spiritual mothers.

The hour is coming, in fact has come, when the vocation of woman is being acknowledged in its fullness, the hour in which women acquire in the world an influence, an effect and a power never hitherto achieved. That is why, at this moment when the human race is undergoing so deep a transformation, women impregnated with a spirit of the Gospel can do so much to aid humanity in not falling.*

* Taken from Closing Speeches, Vatican Council II, To Women, read by Leon Cardinal Duval of Algiers, Algeria, assisted by Julius Cardinal Doepfner of Munich, Germany, and Raul Cardinal Silva of Santiago, Chile, December 8, 1965, printed by the Daughters of St. Paul, Boston, Mass., 29.

Feast of St. Nicholas and a Great Book

by Catherine | Dec 5, 2011 | Faith

How is your Advent going? I’ve been enjoying my daily Advent devotional on EWTN’s website. The daily reflection is based on a Scripture verse. Then, there is a short reflection followed by an “Advent Action” (something you can do to put the day’s lesson into action), and a closing prayer.

Philip gave me a wonderful book that I have to recommend for every Catholic home! Fittingly, it’s called The Catholic Home: Celebrations and Traditions for Holidays, Feast Days, and Every Day by Meredith Gould, Ph.D. (I’ve linked to Amazon.com, but I encourage you to purchase the book from your local Catholic bookstore if you can.)

The book introduces the reader to the beautiful traditions available to us through the celebration of the liturgical calendar. In addition to the liturgical seasons, there are other sections on topics such as daily devotions, honoring the sacraments, making time, Mary, essential prayers, and recommended resources.

This book has been a great resource to me. I am learning so much, and I am loving all of the ideas I am getting for our home and family. Next year, for example, I hope to adopt the tradition of having a Jesse Tree. How cute is this one?! Here’s the link with directions on how to make this particular tree.

The author suggests giving Santa “a sacred makeover” by restoring St. Nicholas Eve (December 5) and St. Nicholas Day (December 6). St. Nicholas was a fourth-century bishop of Myra (in modern-day Turkey). Among his contributions were being present at the Council of Nicaea and condemning Arianism. On her section about St. Nicholas, Gould says:

During the sixteenth century, the stately St. Nicholas, Bishop of Myra, patron saint of children in the Eastern Churches, was transformed into a boisterous, hefty old man with a long white beard. The red getup and beard happen to have been modeled (by Dutch Protestants) on the Norse god Thor who lived in “Northland” and traveled the skies in a goat-drawn chariot. How St. Nicholas morphed into Santa Claus is somewhat of an enigma, although Nicholas of Myra was known for comforting orphans with little gifts (20).

If you would like to honor this saint, consider adopting the tradition of writing a letter to the Christ Child like the European and Canadian Catholics do. Be sure to leave the note on the windowsill for St. Nicholas to pick up and deliver.

If you’re more hardcore (and confident in your children’s religious formation), adopt the tradition of Eastern Europe and the Low Countries. Have St. Nicholas arrive on December 6. Rather than a red suit, he wears a white robe and the bishop mitre. Holding his staff, he asks children to recite their Catechism or prayers. Traditional gifts include cookies, chocolate, apples, nuts, and holy cards. Instead of opening gifts on Christmas Day, children receive their presents on January 6th, The Feast of the Epiphany (celebration of the Magi’s visit to the Christ Child).

The book says nothing about shoes, but the Feast of St. Nicholas tradition at my house will involve shoes! My children will leave their shoes outside of their bedrooms, and St. Nicholas will fill them with gold chocolate coins, a clementine (or other fruit), and a Holy Card. How cute are these precious little shoes???

Have you ever celebrated the Feast of St. Nicholas at your house? What do you do to celebrate?

Breastfeeding Bedlam

by Catherine | Dec 4, 2011 | Family

So, let’s resume my breastfeeding saga starting after I got home from the hospital…I’ve decided to split up my experiences with Janie and Walt because I don’t want them to melt together. Who knew I’d have so much to say about this? I’m warning you that this is a really long post, but I didn’t want this to become a 3-part series. Apparently I had some issues to work through!

I kept up with the nursing routine with Janie that we established in the hospital. Janie ate like a champ, but it became obvious after two weeks that the milk wasn’t there, and she was not happy about it! It got to the point where I had to feed her every hour and she’d be hungry the next. With Janie, I had the stress of knowing that maternity leave would end quickly and that I had to establish a milk supply before she returned to daycare. With Walt, I had the stress of feeling like I had to get my feeding routine figured out pronto so that I could take care of him and fifteen-month-old Janie in the best way possible. Having to feed a baby every hour wasn’t really working out well for anyone!

Between the visit when I was told I might have to supplement with formula and my decision to stop breastfeeding around 3 weeks, I was in such emotional agony. I’m really good at guilt. Here’s why I felt guilt with Janie:

The financial investment we made in a great pump in the hopes that it would help me to produce more milk and return to work with a stockpile ready for Janie. Unfortunately, my record was 2 oz. per breast.
I wasn’t able to produce enough food for her.
I was so tired and in pain that I wasn’t keeping up with the housework or cooking.
I wasn’t bonding as well with Janie because I was so unhappy.
I was so consumed with my physical recovery and emotions that I wasn’t as available as I should have been for Philip.
The pediatrician was anti-formula and condescending about my lack of success with breastfeeding. He basically told me that I needed to figure it out because breastmilk is best. You can imagine what it was like for me to go to Janie’s next appointment after I stopped breastfeeding and have to give her a formula bottle in front of him with his disapproving look. Lesson learned: You’re not married to your pediatrician. If you feel like your child’s doctor is not helping you to be a better parent or support you in your role, it’s time to find a new pediatrician. (Note: That visit, combined with him being a too aggressive with antibiotics, led us to switch to our fabulous new pediatrician.)

I’ll never forget how sweet Philip was throughout the whole process. He even got up with me for most nighttime feedings. He sat on the nursery floor and kept us company, telling me that he didn’t feel right sleeping while I had to be up. He kept telling me how proud of me he was and that I was doing a great job. He asked how I thought things were going several times a day, but he knew that something had to change. When Janie was nearly three weeks old, I reached my breaking point, and Philip knew it.

Philip sat down on the couch next to me while Janie was taking a nap. I started crying and telling him all of the reasons why I was feeling guilty about things. I told him I felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders and that I was failing in every area of my life. I imagine I looked a lot like this:

Philip gave me a big hug and told me that I was a great wife and mother. Bring on the tears! He said that I should be proud of myself for even trying to breastfeed. He told me that if I wanted to stop breastfeeding that he would support me and that I shouldn’t feel guilty because I had done the best that I could. I told him that I did but I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t want to stop giving Janie the best possible food. I didn’t want to stop having that close connection. I did want to stop the hourly feedings and constant exhaustion that was preventing me from recovering and being a happy person.

That’s when Philip took my hand and said it: “Why don’t we stop?” Oh, the tears. I was such a hot mess. Philip kept talking while I sobbed. He said that it was obvious I was miserable. He said forcing breastfeeding to work but being miserable wouldn’t be doing Janie any favors. Despite the great health benefits, she’d be a much happier baby if she had a happy mom. I couldn’t disagree with that. I told Philip that the thought of giving Janie a formula bottle didn’t terrify me nearly as much as it used to and that it actually made me feel relief.

Janie had her first formula bottle from Philip that day. She finished it in record time and slept a solid four hours before she woke, ready for another feeding. A new calm settled over the house. I began to get some rest, and so did Janie. Philip was able to return the pump, freeing me from that guilt. Janie started sleeping through the nights just weeks later. I had the energy to be a wife and mother again. Philip was glad to have his smiling and happy wife again. Looking back, I don’t think I had post-partum depression with either baby. I think I had a bad case of the baby blues combined with the terrible guilt. I hate thinking of the sad, detached zombie mom I was to Janie those first few weeks.

After switching to formula and seeing how much happier all of us were, we kept asking each other, “Why didn’t we do this sooner?!”

I finally forgave myself and was able to move on–until six months later when we got the exciting news that we were expecting another baby.

I’m always thinking about things, trying to plan the future, making lists, and fretting away. So, as you can imagine, one of my first thoughts after finding out that we were expecting was, “Do I dare try breastfeeding again?”

Philip and I talked it over, and we decided before Walt arrived that we would give it another try. Here were our reasons:

Obvious health benefits.
Mother/baby bonding.
A second delivery should be an easier recovery.
I’m staying at home and don’t have to worry about creating a milk supply for daycare.
Breastfeeding is less expensive than formula feeding.
Maybe it would be easier since we knew what to expect from having Janie.

So, I got really dedicated to the whole thing. I asked friends who had nursed successfully for all of their tips and took copious notes. I read at least three books cover to cover, underlining and inserting Post-It notes. I wanted to get to the bottom of what I did wrong the first time around so that I could make breastfeeding work with “Baby Boucher 2.0.” Although I had forgiven myself for not being able to breastfeed successfully with Janie, I was still bummed about the whole thing. We decided we would rent a pump this time around to see if it worked out. We also invested in a nursing pillow called “My Brest Friend” (who comes up with these names???) to help me get situated duri
ng feedings.

We bought a cute nursing cover, but I can’t remember if we ended up with a “Hooter Hider” or an “Udder Cover” (more weird names).

We bought some sleep nursing bras and one everyday nursing bra. We had to special order them because nobody, not even the special lactation consultant who carries “special sizes,” had my size! I should have known that the investment in these items would only add to the guilt if things didn’t work out.

Walt arrived, my perfectly healthy budding linebacker baby, weighing in at 8 lbs. 13 oz. Like Janie, he ate like a champ and we did everything right according to the lactation consultants and nurses. I was so optimistic about nursing the second time around. The delivery (and therefore the recovery) was so much easier, I had more confidence, and I was feeling like I could take on the challenge. I told Philip how happy I was that we were trying it again. I tried to make every feeding session be a time of bonding for me and Walt.

My good feelings went away a few weeks later when Walt failed to gain enough weight between pediatrician visits. Our sweet pediatrician is a mother herself, and her nurse (also a mother) is a certified lactation consultant. They were both so supportive. They asked if I would be comfortable having the nurse take a look at me nursing Walt to see if they could troubleshoot. After taking a look, the nurse said that things looked great. She gave me all of the advice I heard from my friends and the books: eat steel-cut oatmeal, put Walt to my breast as often as possible, drink plenty of water, and get plenty of rest (ha!). We had already reached the point where we were doing hourly feedings, so I was hoping for some kind of magical solution I hadn’t heard.

It was in between that pediatrician visit at 2 weeks and the next at 4 weeks that I decided to stop breastfeeding Walt. I wasn’t able to pump more than a one-time record 3.5 oz. from one breast, and Walt wasn’t going for more than an hour between feedings. I was a walking zombie again, but this time I also had Janie to take care of. I wasn’t as good at multi-tasking as this mom or have her handy dandy hands-free bustier:

Miracle of miracles, we timed Walt being born when Philip had some time off between finishing up medical school and beginning his residency, so he was able to be at home and help out for awhile. Walt was born May 19th, and Philip didn’t start resident orientation until the end of June.

Poor Philip received mixed messages from me about how to support me. I told him before Walt was born that to be the best support, he needed to not let me quit “cold turkey” (or “cold cabbage” as he says!) and move on to the formula. I told him if it got tough that I’d like to try supplementing first.

Things got tough. Philip and I had to have another chat on the couch about the status of things. I, of course, sobbed like I did the first time around. I told Philip I was miserable. Philip asked if I wanted to try giving Walt a bottle of formula. I resisted and told him I wanted to keep trying a combination of pumping and nursing to see if I could get my supply to increase. I was drinking tons of water, eating the oatmeal, and getting as much rest as possible. I saw no increase to my supply, and Walt was very hungry. Philip suggested I take a night off from feeding so that I could recover and get some rest. He said he’d do the nighttime feedings and give Walt everything I had pumped and supplement with formula if he needed to. Can I tell you how glorious that night of sleep was? It was like manna from heaven. I woke up like this, and I never wake up like this:

Hearing Philip’s glowing morning report about how quickly Walt finished off the bottles and how great he slept should have made me happy. Instead, it made me upset. Here I was, running myself ragged, trying to supply my baby with as much milk as possible, but he didn’t miss me at all overnight! He finished the bottles in record time and moved on to the formula without batting an eye! Didn’t he need me?! I held onto that feeling for a day or two before the exhaustion set in again from the hourly feedings. The crazy, sad, zombie mom returned.

I was doing everything right, but my body wasn’t cooperating and I felt like a failure. On top of that, I was feeling tremendous guilt for not being able to give sweet Janie the attention she needed. I was feeling so completely tethered. Walt was eating every hour so I didn’t feel like I could leave the house. Janie was only sixteen months old so she had to be restrained in a stroller if we went anywhere, but she’s never been interested in being restrained for any long amount of time. Besides, I stink at nursing without my awesome pillow and don’t have the guts to nurse in public unless it’s an emergency and I have to. Not only do I hate the strangers staring and grossed out looks, but I’m modest and it’s really hard to hide my “special size” chest under a cover with (1) a really active baby and (2) a curious toddler who likes to play peek-a-boo with the baby. I didn’t feel like inviting friends over because I didn’t have any milk pumped most of the time. I knew I’d probably have to nurse while they were over, and I didn’t think either of us would be comfortable with me nursing in front of them. Feeling so exhausted, tethered, isolated, and like a failure was rough.

This is how it feels to nurse in public. Here’s a campaign dedicated to raising breastfeeding awareness.

Philip saw me reach my breaking point again and suggested that we stop. He said to stop feeling any guilt because I had done my best and had gotten a few weeks further with Walt than I did with Janie. We talked about what a relief formula had been with Janie and how much easier it was and that we needed to change something because Walt wasn’t gaining enough weight. I was wary of trying to supplement too much with formula because it was making my already limited milk supply dwindle. Ultimately, we decided to end the breastfeeding and start exclusively formula feeding. Like the first time, it was a huge weight lifted off of my shoulders. Walt started sleeping through the night almost instantly, and everyone returned to their usual happy selves. I was thrilled to be a happy mom again and had the energy to be a mother of two–and so were they. I harbored guilt for that first week and tried to nurse again, but my milk was gone. I hate to admit it now, but I think part of me was glad that my body decided for me to end breastfeeding.

I’m still so happy I tried breastfeeding with both babies. It was hard for me, but it was so rewarding when I had successful feedings and I could tell that the babies were full. Breastfeeding is worth fighting for, but I don’t think it’s worth fighting for if it’s making you miserable. It’s not supposed to be miserable or a daily struggle. Yes, it’s hard work and it takes awhile to get the hang of things, but I don’t think what I experienced is how it’s supposed to go. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to successfully breastfeed my babies. For now, I plan to breastfeed Baby #3 whenever that time comes. I’d be thrilled to figure it all out. I can only imagine the sense of accomplishment I’d have after all of my failings with breastfeeding! I’m dedicated to trying to make it work with our future babies, but I’m learning that there’s much more to being a good mom than whether or not you breastfeed.

So, after all of my struggles, I want every mom out there to know that she can be a great mom even if she ends up having to formula feed her baby. If you’ve figured out a way to make breastfeeding work for you and your baby, you’re incredible to me! What a blessing that you’re able to do exactly what God intended for your body and for your baby. Please, show me the way! If breastfeeding didn’t work for you or if you never tried for whatever reason, it’s none of my business, but I think it would be great if every mother at least tried. That being said, enough with the mean looks for mothers who do have to formula feed for one reason or another. Maybe they have a health condition, are an adoptive mother, or are babysitting and what you see in that bottle is breast milk. If I see a mother who is breastfeeding in public, I make it a point to give her an encouraging smile. I’m all about modesty, and I’m not hoping to see a stranger’s breasts, but I think it’s a beautiful thing when a mother is able to feed her baby without shame. More power to her if she’s one of those talented moms who can pull it off discretely without a cover! (How do you do that, anyway? Is that only possible if you’re not “special size”?) If we’d stop objectifying women so much in this country and viewing their breasts as sex toys, we’d probably be more comfortable with seeing women breastfeed in public and actually think it is beautiful–because it is.

Hopefully by the time Baby #3 comes on the scene I’ll be less neurotic, more confident, and the queen of milk production. If not, Janie and Walt seem to be doing just fine, so I’ll try not to beat myself up for the third time if it doesn’t work out. If that’s the case, there will inevitably be tears, and I’ll probably have to re-read this blog post between tissues, but at least I will be able tell myself that I did the best I could and get on with the business of being a mom.

My Experience With Breastfeeding, aka “I feel like such a failure! I’m a terrible mother!”

by Catherine | Dec 2, 2011 | Family

I was so thrilled to see another mom write that formula feeding is not an evil thing in this blog post yesterday: Breastfeeding Bullies. It made me want to share my experience with both nursing and formula feeding, and why I feel that (1) mothers who breastfeed successfully are my heroes, and (2) that mothers who end up formula feeding are not evil.

Breastmilk is Best
First, I should say that I firmly agree with the American Academy of Pediatrics that breastmilk is best for babies. That’s why I chose to breastfeed Janie and, despite it not working out, why I decided to try giving breastfeeding another go around with Walt. Hubby and pediatrician-in-training Philip is happy I’m on board with this philosophy! I think a mother who is able to breastfeed her baby successfully for any period of time is doing a wonderful thing.

I loved nursing Janie and Walt. Not only did I know that my babies were getting all of the awesome health benefits by breastfeeding, but we were bonding in a way that I couldn’t replicate with a bottle. Some of my fondest memories those first few weeks of their lives were rocking them in the nursery and having them doze in and out of sleep against my body as they gazed at me.

Passed out in the nursery with Walt our first day home from the hospital

This is not to say that a mother who does not nurse, an adoptive mother, a father, or any other relative bottle feeding cannot bond with the baby. Using feeding times for skin to skin contact, singing, or just gazing into one another’s eyes is a very powerful experience — and thank goodness it is, because nursing didn’t work out for me with Janie or Walt beyond three or four weeks!

“If it works out, great. If not, it will be okay.”
This was what I told myself my philosophy with breastfeeding would be before Janie arrived. I should have revised it to, “If it works out, that will be awesome. If it doesn’t, I will remind myself every other minute that I am not a complete failure as a mother.”

Tired, Hormonal Women in Pain Do Not Mix Well With Pushy, Hands-On Lactation Consultants or Snarky Nurses
Miracle of miracles, Janie and Walt both arrived perfectly healthy, and both got the hang of nursing right away. With Janie, I let the lactation consultants in the hospital know that I was committed to nursing in the hopes that they would give me a little space and let me show them what I learned in the breastfeeding class I attended. A girl can dream, can’t she? Unfortunately, in their excitement to get me nursing, they were so pushy and quite literally hands-on (without asking) that it stressed me out and made me feel like they were critiquing my every move. I knew they were there to help, but I was a brand new mom, and I wanted that time to figure it out on my own and bond with my new baby. If I had it to do all over again, I would have just asked them to please leave and that I would call if I needed help. They said that we had all of the mechanics worked out and that we were doing great, so I didn’t understand the need to show up in my hospital room every few hours to “check on things.”

Those of you who have had a baby know that needing sleep, sleeping in the same room as a newborn, and being in the hospital don’t mix. I’ve heard women say that they wish they could stay in the hospital longer after having a baby. Not me! I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible both times so that I could get some rest and be back in my own bed. The constant interruptions made it impossible for me to get any rest, and I need rest to be able to function–let alone nurse. I had no idea how many interruptions there would be in the hospital! We only had immediate family come to visit both times, and of course I am thrilled that they all came to meet Janie and Walt. What shocked me was the number of non-visitor interruptions — nurses to check on me and the baby (every few hours), the pediatrician the next morning, my doctor the next morning, pushy lactation consultants, the in-hospital baby photographer, food delivery people, etc. I know they were just doing their jobs, but I nearly reached my breaking point both times in the hospital from these non-visitor interruptions.

With Janie, I nearly reached my breaking point with a pushy lactation consultant. I had a rough delivery, was in A LOT of pain after, and I was exhausted. I feel the need to share the details of what happened leading up to meeting this woman so that you might sympathize with me: I started having painful contractions that woke me up at 6:30 a.m. on Tuesday morning, was in active labor for about 15 hours, had to push for three hours before Jane was born at 11:58 p.m. Thursday, and I didn’t get to go to my post-partum room and sleep until about 2:30 a.m. Friday morning. Yes, that’s nearly three days between the start of painful contractions and when Janie was born. Needless to say, I was exhausted before Janie even arrived and the real work began. So, on our last day in the hospital, I had had enough of the pain, lack of sleep, and constant interruptions. When I heard the lactation consultant coming down the hall, I asked Philip to block the door and tell her that we weren’t needing her assistance, thank you. If you were me, you would have asked your husband to tell a pushy broad who wanted to grab your boobs without your permission “no thanks” too, right?

At least I learned the second time around with Walt to be my own best advocate while in the hospital so we had fewer interruptions and I got more rest. With Walt, I nearly reached my breaking point with a snarky nurse I had on my last day in the hospital. We were renting a pump from the hospital, but before we checked out of our room in the hospital, we had to make sure the pump worked. We went through three different machines that didn’t work before we discovered that it was the kit, not the machines, that wasn’t working properly. Having a screaming, hungry baby, being all packed up and ready to go, but having to wait for the lactation consultant to fetch the three different machines and a new kit from the lobby store during this two-hour exit from the hospital grated on my nerves. So, when the nurse who was supposed to discharge us took her sweet time getting to our room because she was chit chatting in the hall and then made comments like, “He doesn’t look comfortable in that carseat. He looks really mad. Are you sure he’s going to be warm enough?” I thought I’d kill the woman. Do you notice a trend here? It’s the last day people who received my wrath. I wanted to say to her, “Of course he’s unhappy in the carseat! He had to wait for you to end your conversation so that we can leave! Don’t you know I’m already a crazy woman with raging hormones?! I don’t need your attitude right now!” For the record, I think Walt was warm enough. It was May 19, he had a blanket, it was sunny, and the temperature was in the 70’s.

Hungry and sick of waiting to leave.

This doesn’t even look like Walt. He looks like he was in a prize fight.

The Milk Never Arrived
Despite doing everything I was supposed to, my milk supply never got to where it needed to be. When days four and five rolled around I was supposed to have the “real” milk, it just didn’t come. With both babies, it got to the point that the babies were eating every hour and would be ravenous an hour later. Keeping up with that and pumping in between to try and stimulate things ran me ragged–especially the second time around when I was running after Janie and trying to take care of Walt. No matter what I did and despite my attempts to follow the advice of friends, lactation consultants, and all of the books I read, my supply never increased. Both Janie and Walt lost weight in the hospital and didn’t gain enough back when we got home. After our visit to the pediatrician, I was told to supplement with formula.

So, what did I do? The level-headed and logical thing, of course. I agreed with the pediatrician in the office, but as soon as I got in the car, I sobbed, went into hysterics, and told Philip, “I feel like such a failure! I’m a terrible mother!” I was a crazy person.

I’ll pause here since this is already a long post. Stay tuned to find out how Philip convinced me that I wasn’t a failure or a terrible mother, and find out how I started to actually enjoy motherhood again.

My Experience With Breastfeeding, aka "I feel like such a failure! I'm a terrible mother!"