Henry is almost four months old, and I already hate breastfeeding. I don’t have any latch, supply, tongue-tie, allergy problems. Henry feeds like a champ. In fact, he likes it so much he still refuses to take a bottle. Maybe he knows that if he did take a bottle we might be slowly creeping towards weaning. Crafty little fella. Refuse the bottle and I can’t sneak any formula into your tummy.
If nothing is actually wrong with our breastfeeding relationship, why do I announce my hatred? Okay, so “hate” is probably the wrong word. Sometimes, maybe even usually, I really enjoy the feedings, often the mornings and evenings when Dave is home and I can have some uninterrupted Henry cuddle time. But he eats every two hours! Every two hours from start to start! Amelia was the same, maybe more on the three hour schedule, but pretty much the same, and yet I wasn’t as eager to ditch the boob so soon. But then again she took a bottle and I wasn’t placed on boob house arrest. Oh, and she didn’t have an older version of herself competing with her attention.
The blood was Amelia’s, the tears were mine (and Amelia’s). She is totally fine, but the first (and second) instance of gushing blood from your little baby is always memorable, even if the cause is a teeny tiny two times over split lip. I’m a little surprised it took Miss Amelia ten months to scare me like this, but I’m not at all surprised that my reaction (after cleaning her up and cuddling) was to fish out the first aid book I got from the Red Cross a few years ago and take notes on what to do in emergencies. My plan is to print up these notes and laminate them. So yes, a split lip made me brush up on CPR. 
