And I Call Myself Mother
All about:
cracked nipples,
guilt,
mastitis,
parenting
My sister-in-law paid a visit one night while I was using the breast pump to relieve my engorged breasts. I was glad for a chance to have someone commiserate with me on my mastitis, my seriously cracked nipples, and the fact that I had banned Eli from latching on to me until I healed (the shame of it!).
Inday came upon the comic (if it wasn't so painful) sight of me with one breast on the pump, and the other poised dripping over a feeding bottle. She oooh'd over how ripe they'd become and tsk'd at the moistly dark scabs forming over the cracks on my nipples.
In my anxious miserable state, she couldn't have possibly fathomed the gratefulness I felt at having another female to share, if not the psychological, then the physical deprivation I felt of not having Eli's little face sucking away at my chest. That plus the guilt of allowing my pain threshold to overcome the maternal instinct of letting my infant suckle.
I wasn't even about to tell her what happened that morning as I gingerly tried to nurse, with Woog worming his way into my arms for attention at the same time. Truth be told, I yelled at Woog. Worse, I yelled at Eli as well. And he was in mid-smile too. This person who dared call herself “mommy” turned that sweet baby's grin upside down...waaay upside down.
We ended with Woog sulking at his desk and Eli wailing with a broken heart. What I would've given to be an ostrich and bury my head in the sand of shame.
Self-preservation aside, if there was any head-bashing to be done, mine would be the one with a dent the size of Mindanao.
Do all harassed mothers do this? I remember my mother yelling so often at all of us, but she had five kids and I only have these precious two. How could I waste this fleeting stage when both the boys still need me? It won't be long before they grow up and start needing other people, and oh how I'll regret my waspishness then.
Inday bid me goodnight and wished me luck. I was grateful for her visit, yet oddly desperate at the kind of person I think I was becoming. I have no words.
Inday came upon the comic (if it wasn't so painful) sight of me with one breast on the pump, and the other poised dripping over a feeding bottle. She oooh'd over how ripe they'd become and tsk'd at the moistly dark scabs forming over the cracks on my nipples.
In my anxious miserable state, she couldn't have possibly fathomed the gratefulness I felt at having another female to share, if not the psychological, then the physical deprivation I felt of not having Eli's little face sucking away at my chest. That plus the guilt of allowing my pain threshold to overcome the maternal instinct of letting my infant suckle.
I wasn't even about to tell her what happened that morning as I gingerly tried to nurse, with Woog worming his way into my arms for attention at the same time. Truth be told, I yelled at Woog. Worse, I yelled at Eli as well. And he was in mid-smile too. This person who dared call herself “mommy” turned that sweet baby's grin upside down...waaay upside down.
We ended with Woog sulking at his desk and Eli wailing with a broken heart. What I would've given to be an ostrich and bury my head in the sand of shame.
Self-preservation aside, if there was any head-bashing to be done, mine would be the one with a dent the size of Mindanao.
Do all harassed mothers do this? I remember my mother yelling so often at all of us, but she had five kids and I only have these precious two. How could I waste this fleeting stage when both the boys still need me? It won't be long before they grow up and start needing other people, and oh how I'll regret my waspishness then.
Inday bid me goodnight and wished me luck. I was grateful for her visit, yet oddly desperate at the kind of person I think I was becoming. I have no words.
So help me God.
July 2006
July 2006
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