National 'lets talk about why you're a terrible mother' week

Last week was National Breastfeeding week in the UK.
This is a fantastic thing.
There should be a Natitonal Breastfeeding Week.
Woman should feel supported to breastfeed their child whenever and wherever they like.
Employers, businesses, friends and partners should all support women in their right to breastfeed.

Ok.

That said...

Shut up about National bloody Breastfeeding week!!

Bit of background before I'm lynched:
By far the most attended/ recommended mum&baby group in my local area is the local Breastfeeding Support Group. I attend most weeks, as do a number of mums who live in my estate. It is, therefor, the ideal place for me to meet local mums and make some mum-friends, of which I previously (read currently) had very few.
At the same time, my child NEVER breastfed properly. She pretended to for the first 2 days of life (she would mostly just fall asleep) before screaming the house down for 6 hours solid, despite having my boob in her mouth the entire time.Clearly, something was amiss. She is our first. We worried. We panicked. We called the maternity ward. We were told to give her a little expressed milk in a bottle, which is exactly what we proceeded to do.

She slept peacefully for 5 hours (a marathon sleep for a 2 day old, I assure you).

From that point on she never again fed directly from my breast. This was not from lack of trying on our part. We even went to our local Breastfeeding Support Clinic, as recommended (commanded) by our midwife. This consisted of over an hour of some horrid woman forcing my baby's mouth to my breast and holding her there, while she struggled and screamed. Over an hour. No breaks. An hour of screaming. If that's not traumatic for a four-day-old, I don't know what is! So she was bottle fed from the start, first with my milk, then with formula.

There are two key points I wish to make here:
1) My child has never gone hungry. I fed my baby. Yes, from 6 weeks onwards, I fed her formula milk, but she was fed. She has grown. She is healthy. She is happy.

2) There will never (as far as I can tell from how I feel right now) come a time when I am not incredibly bitter about this whole experience.

I have spent my entire adult life with ridiculous, oversized, pendulous (ug!) breasts! When I began looking for nursing bras, it turned out I had the choice of only 3 bras across 2 companies in the whole of the UK! That should give you an idea of the kind of size I am talking about here without me actually posting my boob-stats on the interwebs.

I hate them. I have pretty much always hated them. Even worse, I am defined by the bloody things.

So I hope you understand when I say that the idea of whipping them out on demand wherever I may happen to be was not an idea that appealed to me. Still. I prepared. I wore the stupid suction-cup nipple-formers for about 10 weeks. I asked for additional info at our parenting classes *those council classes were totally shit. Next time we are definitely forking out for the NCT class!*. I was placated time and time again.

'What if they're too big?'
'Don't worry it will be fine.
'But what if they are not the right shape?'
'Don't worry it will be fine.'
'But what if they are too ridiculous and baggy and soft to actually work?'
'Don't worry, it will all be absolutely fine.'

They were too big, not the right shape, and too soft for my baby to breastfeed.
Thanks a lot.

Anyway, getting back to the now. I have a beautiful 6 month old daughter. She is huge (not actually, but it feels like that compared to how tiny she once was) and happy and healthy and I love her to bits. *This f**king baby keeps kicking me in the ribs! God damn it! Why won't you sleep!!*

This last week was National Breastfeeding week. Instead of our normal group (a cup of tea I actually get to finish, chocolate biscuits on tap, loads of other cute babies, and some much needed adult conversation), the organisers have opted to make 'celebrate your positive BF experiences' posters, invite NHS midwives from the aforementioned (and slated) BF support clinic, and show TED talks of some BF Guru for all to 'enjoy'.

Well, shit. Thanks very much for that.

Now instead of getting to enjoy the one thing we actually do together every week (I'm shit at joining new things), I'm faced with the prospect of watching mind-numbingly patronising 'self-help' videos whilst trying very hard not to punch anyone wearing an 'I make milk, what's your superpower?' T-shirt. And Yes, they do actually exist.


And after all of this, I only know one thing for sure; I'm jealous.
I longed to breastfeed my child, despite my fears, despite how I felt about my body. So it's hard to watch others who seem to find it all so easy sharing their 'positive BF experiences'. In fact, it's crushing.

I know I should get over it. It's no one's fault. It's not my fault either. It's just how it is.
But I'm not ready yet. I still need to be at least a little bit upset. I'm not done yet. It still hurts.

So I'm sorry if I change the subject whenever anyone talks about their BF experiences. I'm sorry that I seem on such a downer about the whole topic. And I'm especially sorry that all this hurt comes out as anger at those who haven't shared my pain.

Mostly, I'm sorry I'm such a bitch. It's pure jealousy. Honest!