Not that I could ever do it, but breastfeeder also would be on the list.
This is hard work.
The doctors told us we should feed every three hours. That amounts to eight feedings a day. Babies sleep most of the day. Thus, we are constantly waking her to feed her. Make sense? To me, that is kind of like waking someone to give them a sleeping pill. Believe me, this child has lungs like an Olympic swimmer. If she is hungry, she will scream it loud!
But my wife wants to do this parenting by the book. She is deathly afraid of our daughter not getting the nutrition she needs. So we feed every three hours.
The doctors also told us one half hour on each breast is an optimal feeding. Do the math here. If you feed every three hours and a feeding takes one hour, you only have two hours in between.
To top it all off, my wife has to pump to get her “milk in.” That’s what they call it. Pumping takes 15 minutes and there’s another fifteen minutes or more of burping, getting things together, putting things away, etc. When it is all said and done, one breastfeeding event could take two hours.
Breastfeeding every three hours. Each feeding could take two hours. You getting the picture?
Don’t get me wrong, I value breastfeeding. It is best for the child and it will save me money. But I recognize it is a tremendous chore. Sydney never makes it easy. She is always angry about being wakened, and she is strong enough to squirm and push and claw her way through the feeding. My poor wife.
I don’t have milk-producing breasts, so of course I am forced to relax and watch television while all of this is going on.
No, seriously, I do all I can to help. I wake up with her, get her all the pillows she needs to be comfortable and play with or talk to Sydney to keep her awake during the feeding. Yes, she tends to fall asleep in the middle of the feeding. This happens when you wake someone from a deep sleep and shove a gallon of milk down their throat. So I am constantly pumping her arms or tickling her feet to make sure she keeps sucking. That’s me, Daddy Court Jester.
I also have taken on the role of Chief Burper. I am not sure I am good at this, because Sydney inevitably has more gas 15 minutes after I burp her. But I do get a few loud ones out of her. A few that would make Roseanne Barr proud.
While I am burping, my wife is pumping. Not only does she have a child sucking on her for a half hour, a machine then vacuums her nipples for the few remaining drops. We have invested in a bucket of nipple cream.
If there is one thing this pregnancy has opened my eyes to, it is how difficult it is to be a mom. We dads get to burp them a little, bounce them on our knee, maybe throw them a ball. Moms spend their first year or so as a designated feedbag with an 8-pound squirming, crying, rooting little piglet attached to their nipple.
I’d rather take a shot at cleaning those port-o-potties.
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