My pajamas and sheets are milk-stained – whenever one breast feeds, the other lets down some milk in solidarity.
Earlier this week I went through what I think was a bout of mastitis, with fever and chills and generally feeling miserable. My MFM’s nurse, who’s also a lactation consultant, sent in a prescription for antibiotics but encouraged me to try and get the ducts unclogged manually. Heat didn’t seem to help, but ice packs did. It had been the same when my milk came in after we lost A&C, though I only remembered after the fact. And while I was physically much more uncomfortable this time, I can assure you that it’s much better with a baby to drink the milk. (Not that you’d have any doubts.) We just spent the whole morning in bed, snuggling and sleeping.
Yesterday I hit the point where I’m starting to realize why people don’t get anything done with a newborn in the house. SB seems to be sleeping less already (do they really grow up this fast?) so while I had grand plans of writing up the birth story and making myself something nice for dinner, I held and nursed my baby, cleaned up poop from more fabrics than I care to remember, ran laundry and ate granola. And cried a little about not having gotten to experience any of this with A&C, about how much I love this little girl, and with generally being overwhelmed. (This tends to happen 1-2x per day. It lasts a few minutes and then I’m better again.) So, while wonderful, it’s not exactly easy. But still wonderful.