“You know, your tension goes into your breast milk” – my stepmother, helpfully (?) warning me against ranting about the shoddy install of a hot water heater that has left our pipes knocking despite three follow-ups.*
I know this is true, that Spud can sense my mood when feeding. I wouldn’t be surprised if my milk was different when upset. So I try to remember to relax my shoulders, to breathe deeply to allow a let down. To approach a feed with contentment.
It is hard. In the past week or so, breast feeding has started to really hurt again. By the end of the day my nipples are sore, and burn when being suckled. Not the initial latch pain, the whole time. It makes later feeds, the evening cluster feeds, agony. I’ve reached out for lactation help and hope to hear from a consultant today.
In the night, to stay awake, I poke on my phone. The news cascading in from our neighbours to the south, so unneighbourly, so horrifying, is not making relaxation easy. I will read a book instead, but that will not change that the doomsday clock is ticking steadily toward midnight again, something I did not think would happen in my lifetime. Or if it did, that the US would be on the wrong side of events causing it to count down.
I am worried. I do not know how anyone could not be. Forecasting forward, we are headed to war, and this was only week one of the new regime (it does not feel like an “administration”). I don’t want this, but am having a hard time seeing what I can do to steer events differently.
* fourth time was the charm, no more pipes knocking, or leaks, and we have hot water. So that, at least, is fixed.