no, i don't pump chocolate milk. it's fucking formula.

"but you're nursing, so that'll help with the weight."
"do you need to use the other room to pump?"
"why is your breast milk that color? are you pumping chocolate milk?"
"blah, blah, blah."
"yadda, yadda, yadda."

mom shaming and i just walked through the door. yes, you look at me and think, surely that's a woman who ONLY wants THE BEST for her sweet, innocent, baby. and you are absolutely right. but, no, i did not pump chocolate milk, because i didn't fucking breastfeed.  it was fucking formula. and thanks for making me feel like a bigger dick about it. 

that's actually a lie. i did breastfeed. for about two weeks. my husband prefers for me to be actual in my day count so he doesn't experience the mom-guilt associated with being partnered with "the bad mommy" who stopped that shit before the socially acceptable three month window. but, truthfully, i can't remember the actual day count because i was too preoccupied not sleeping and using a spray bottle on my vag. every time i had to pee. which no one told me about ahead of time, so you're welcome soon-to-be-mamas.

here's the deal. i had all intentions of breastfeeding until little mama went off to college. i was looking forward to whipping my boob out in parks and coffee shops and rocking one of those cute aiden and anais receiving blankets and having all the moms walk by and be like, "aww, such a beautiful gift to feed her baby so naturally," and all the dads walk by with a mixture of straight up grossed out judgement or intrigue on their face.

but, (cliff hanger) shit happened. more on that in your future.

and making that decision to stop breastfeeding SUCKED. sucked on so many levels and for so many reasons.

one, there was the expectation that i set for myself. i teach yoga for Christ sake. that's what yogi's do. they fucking breastfeed and brag about it over organic bean fa-coffee (fake-coffee) and gluten free dairy free sugar free taste free scones. so there was that. 

two, i took the goddamn breastfeeding class where it was embedded into me that breastfeeding is the bestfeeding. that is, if you want you your child to be immune to all the horrible things in life - cancer, adhd, obesity, trump.

three, i wasn't breastfed. my mom didn't even think twice about it. but i just thought, well, it's not the '80's and we know better now. i did know better. i thought i was better. i was not.

four, the g*d damn "mama guilt" that will be written about in every mama blog from here until eternity. not to brag, but my porn-star-esque breasts and little mama's latch were idyllic for a breastfeeding frenzy. and i absolutely loved the bond that i felt in those every two hour moments that were shared just between her and me. so the thought of stopping just because i was scared, worn out, emotionally and mentally drained, fearful, nervous, anxious, and uncomfortable, sucked. 

once i finally made my decision to stop, the guilt did not pass. every time someone asked me how nursing was going, i felt a ping in my stomach and obligated to allude to the crap ass year that i had been dealing with (pre-baby) to gain an ounce of pity. every time i handed little mama to a stranger and she looked at them like they were her mama, i was convinced that if i breastfed a min, day, week longer, she would know that i was the one that pushed her out of my hoo-haa and that she belonged to me. every time one of my mom friends talked about how hard it was to wake up in the middle of the night to feed and pump and pump and feed, i felt inferior to their super woman strength and jealous of their selflessness. 

and truth is, i'm not sure i'll ever be over it. every cold she gets, every pain she feels, every failed math test in her future, will remind me that i put my needs before my baby's, and that's something i am just going to have to be okay with. 

they say, a happy mama is a happy baby. i'll raise my glass of chocolate milk to that and pray that that's the truth.