I Am The World's Most Rubbish Lactivist

Breastfeeding sucks. And I do not mean that in a cute, literal way because I am watching my son chow down on milk straight from the tap.

Instead of this magical bonding picture (that I have experienced for all of 15 minutes since Baby Stoat was born), I am sitting here with the low fever, chills and "flu-like symptoms" of a plugged milk duct, which is yet another of those "Things they don't tell you about breast feeding." If breast feeding is an area that requires a whole industry to explain and support it, the things they don't tell you about it is the dark side of that Force.

I know breast feeding is best and that formula feeding turns magical, rainbow-pooping babies into axe-wielding maniacs who blame their parents for their failings in later years. As a formula-fed axe murderer myself, I get it. It's just that when you've been through D-MER, a c-section, bad latches, tongue tie and nipple confusion that axe murderer option starts to look pretty good. Believe me, it's looking even better since I came down with this plugged duct and all of the accompanying crappy feelings that go along with it.

I feel like I have the flu and yet I am Mum, so I have to not only allow a small, pointy (need to file those nails!) flailing person access to my aching ta-tas, I have to continue my fight to get him on the breast with more screaming and flailing (from him, not me). When I am not continuing that uphill struggle, I have to sit with my breast pump -- a machine I now spend more time with than I do with my husband. My LC says we *will* get it and reminds me that I am an excellent mother, but holy God in heaven I am tired.

I continue on the path of the not-really-too-militant lactivist because let's face it, if I formula feed and he *does* turn out to be the next Raoul Moat, I *will* blame myself. And probably be first on the hit list.

I don't know a single mother who has not had a problem with breast feeding. That has to make you wonder how we've managed to survive as a species.