The pumping of milk, it does not go smoothly today. I know, realistically, that the milk supply at the end of the day is not the bountiful supply that comes at the beginning when you're all rested and cozy in a full night's sleep. At least, that's a full night for me. I choose to sleep through rather than get up and pump twice because I get little enough as it is already. (Back to the original topic) but really, going from my measly almost one ounce at wakeup to a bare covering for the bottom of the container for nighttime? That's like adding insult to injury here.

Among the many other decent and medically sound reasons I'm pumping is to save money down the road. I'd do it if only because it will give my Robbie a better chance to stay healthy in the NICU. The part where the preemie formulas cost almost 20 bucks for a 12.8 ounce can of powdered formula is not an insignificant factor in wanting to give the breastfeeding my best shot now. So you see when the emotional piece comes in, when I look at many other mothers and the Breast Police who all insist that this is a piece of cake and that every woman's body is fully capable of producing enough to feed their infant- it makes me want to cry. Two weeks in and I'm trying to pump fenugreek and blessed thistle into my body with as much water as I can remember to drink and pray that it will kick something loose in there. I'm trying. When I cry to the Boy about it he leaps to my defense. Among many things said to me the first night Robbie was born was that he fully supported whatever decision I came to about this. He saw what I went through with the Toddler. He saw the endless pumping and drinking and supplements and the tears when I'd fall into bed exhausted because there was just nothing more in there to give. When the nurses at the NICU ask you every day for more milk because they keep running out, I felt like a bad, neglectful mother because I could not produce any more. The LCs and nurses told me for weeks that the supply would come, that it would eventually come, that one day it would step up. It never did. Combined with the Toddler's refusal to latch and I gave up in a mess of tears and guilt because the milk? There was no more milk. There was one bottle of pumped milk for every two or three of formula, maybe a half ounce for every feeding that I could give her. I gave her every drop I had.

For Robbie? I'll do the same. I'll keep praying for a miracle with milk this time around. I think I may stand a chance. I hope so. I'll hope for anything at this point.