The trials of breastfeeding: cold eggs and espresso

It's been one of those nights. 

I couldn't shut my mind off after laying down with Baby E. Reading only made it worse because now my thoughts are swimming with witches and wizards and what HP may do next. 

Silently I slip off into some unknown dream that will never come to surface because I hear her. Stirring on the bed beside me. Wiggling & grunting. She's getting ready for a cry. I sleepily pull her onto my chest where she snuggles up and nurses. 

I repeat many times through out the night. 

Before I know it, its morning. The 7a.m. sunshine is creeping through the curtains & Baby E lays wide eyed beside me. She sees me awake and smiles. Flailing her arms about and emitting a high pitched squeak. 

We get up & start the morning routine of a diaper change & a new outfit. For her. I'm lucky if I choose the clean undies out of the 2 piles of clothes that lay next to my bed. But at least she looks cute. 

I can smell breakfast downstairs. I'm grateful my husband cooks or else I'd probably never eat. 

After a few moments of toy play Baby E and I head downstairs, greeted with the aroma of turkey sausage, eggs and toast. She gives her daddy a big smile and giggle as I sit her down to play. 

I sleepily step into the kitchen, feeling like I'm clearly in the way (but never being told that). I grab the Starbucks espresso and pour it into the new espresso machine I got for Christmas. I continue to make my 'fancy iced coffee' drink, then sit down to enjoy it. Great timing. Breakfast is done too. As I sip my iced latte & get the first bite of sausage, I hear the whimpers. 

Whimpers & grunts. The sounds that only a long nurse & nap can soothe. I hesitantly set my plate aside, while listening to my stomach growl in protest, and stare down into the big blue eyes of my baby girl who just crawled to my feet. She greets me with a whine, a hopeful expression & a stretched out little arm. 

I pick her up and we cuddle. 

She begins to nurse. 

I sip my latte while simultaneously feeling guilty about it. Should I even drink espresso? It has a lot of caffeine. Caffeine travels through breastmilk. Or worse, should I be drinking the milk that's in it? I know damn well when I have too much dairy it upsets her stomach. 

Settling on the excuse, it's just one drink. Just one drink. I'll drink water the rest of the day. I push the guilt aside... For now. 

As I'm balancing a plate beside the now sleeping baby, I try to force my left arm to stabilize and bring the food to my mouth. It's not an easy feat, being right handed, but I'm getting most of the eggs to my mouth. I ask myself, if this food is enough? Should I have added another food group? Fruit maybe? Am I getting enough nutrients in this meal? Will my breast milk get enough nutrients from it? Maybe I should skip the butter. Ah, but the toast is already buttered. I'll just eat. 

I finish my plate and S. (my husband) takes the dish into the kitchen to lay with the dinner dishes I couldn't do last night, as I am now plastered to the seat with a sleeping baby, again. 

I sit & rock. Wondering. 

I let my mind slip into that what if place. That place I know will cause my heart to race & my guilt to surface yet again. 

What if she took a bottle? Dad could feed her at night. I could sleep. What if someone else could feed her? I might get to eat a warm meal. Would it be easier? What if I'm spoiling her? What if I'm doing her more harm then good? What if?

Don't get me wrong. 

I love breastfeeding. 

But it does cross my mind. 

I push aside the what if's. I stare down at my sleeping baby and continue to sip my iced latte.