But tossing all that aside, I hit my worst breastfeeding day this weekend. A week ago, I was laying down nursing Max when he chomped down on my nipple and then pulled off. I screamed, he screamed, (and no, we did not all scream for ice cream) and I discovered that my nipple was bleeding in four places. It hurt terribly, but I decided to stick it through since I could mostly just nurse on the other side while that one healed. Then a few nights later, I was nursing Max in the middle of the night. I was dead asleep and woken up by another chomp. I sat up in bed screaming. (If you ever want to give you husband a heart attack, sitting up and screaming at three in the morning is the way to do it. I'm not sure he's forgiven me yet.)
Enter the Cold From Hell. I woke up early Friday morning and knew I was in trouble. I started coughing like I had lung cancer, the snot was flowing everywhere, and every five minutes I was either begging for blankets or tossing them off me. Problem was, Max was teething (obviously) and we suspect he was getting an ear infection, And all he wanted to do was nurse. And every time I tried to nurse him, it felt like a small animal was chewing on me. With razor blades. Add that to the Nyquil commercial I was living in and I have never wanted to wean so badly in my life.
Problem is, there's no way to wean a baby instantaneously and gently at the same time. Weaning a near-toddler (especially one as addicted as Max!) can take weeks or months, and that wasn't going to help me. I hopped on a discussion board to try to find some kind of quick fix solution and I found this:
Never Quit on Your Worst Day
That was it. I knew it. I knew that I would regret it if I stopped then. And you know what? That day was awful. I think I only nursed him three or four times that day, but everytime left me almost in tears. (Or in tears. Or hacking coughing. Or all of the above...) Saturday wasn't any better. But Saturday night I asked for a Priesthood Blessing, and then Max slept for nine straight hours. And by yesterday, things were starting to feel more normal again.
I know a lot of you are going to think I'm crazy for sticking it through, and that's ok. And I'm not posting this to show "Oh look what a dedicated nursing mom I am" or anything like that. Its because I think the sentiment is so profound.
You can't quit on your worst day.
So that means when I'm so frustrated with violin practice that I want to back over the violin with the minivan, I can't quit. (Or let Abby quit!) Because it will get better. It has to.
And that means that when I'm still feeling like I've been hit by a semi-truck, and I just got done with teaching five violin lessons, and I'm trying to avoid hacking up my lung, and I pop the frozen lasagna in the oven not realizing that I misread the directions and its going to take two hours to cook, I can't quit. Because my husband can bring home takeout so we don't have to eat half-frozen Stouffers Lasagna, and it won't seem so bad tomorrow.
And when the surgeries keep coming, and my kids are screaming, and the laundry is multiplying, the birthday party invitations are begging to be addressed, the bills are late, two phones are ringing, the violin student arrives, the snow is falling in early October, I couldn't stop coughing if you offered me a tropical vacation, and all I want to do is curl up under a blanket, hire a nanny, and sleep until Spring, you all have to remind me that if I take