Doctor, doctor, Gimme the news, I've got a bad case of loving you

Today was Violet's first doctor's visit and I'm relieved it was scheduled so soon. Violet and I have been having struggles getting her breastfeeding habits down and it's been difficult. I wasn't taking too much offense to how many nurses it took us to get her to feed while we were at the hospital over the weekend or how it was proving to be largely unsuccessful when we finally got home. I know, and have been told, how there is a big learning curve on both the mother and child's part in getting into a rhythm.

I was not going to be deterred. I knew I wanted to go this route even before countless people started spouting stacks of data to support breastfeeding. But I also knew that sometimes, it just doesn't happen and it means nothing other than having to take alternative actions to nourish the baby. I was not going to let the first few detours throw me off. But, after last night's long marathon of *(editor's note) no little result, I was getting very worried that Violet wasn't getting was she needed, hence the relief to have an appointment with a medical professional.

They were nothing but nice in checking her out and even allowed me to sit with an incredibly kind and patient nurse who actually SHOWED what Scott and I could do, rather than just wake me up in a mostly sleep deprived state to shove Violet around me and leave before I could really ask a proper question once my brain finally caught up with being awake and alert.

Last night's frustrations added to many, many people repeating, 'Don't take it personally; it's perfectly natural; it has no reflection on you' and the fact that everything on my body aches, from my toes to my head, I finally had my first Mommy Freak Out.

With everyone saying, 'Don't worry', 'Don't worry', it's basically like saying to someone: DO NOT THINK OF A PINK ELEPHANT. WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT THINK OF A PINK ELEPHANT. Well, guess what? I thought of the damn pink elephant. In fact, I ended up thinking about a whole herd and that herd stampeded over me with a large dose of hormonal-losing-it.

I was disappointed and a little worried before, but I was fine with the pediatrician telling me that we needed to supplement Baby Girl's breastfeeding with formula. And I already have a breast pump, so she will still get what my body produces for her and I was never under the thrall of the ideal and magical bond she and I will share with breastfeeding. I already knew if that wasn't going to happen, it's not the end all, be all in bonding. Where my 'fine' derailed is person after person telling me it's fine and don't worry and don't give up. I had no intention of doing any of those things until the chorus of those people's well intentioned encouragement did the opposite effect and completely spun me out.

It took me a little while to regroup and find my inner voice I was listening to before the freak out, but I found it, I resumed the doctor's orders and Violet and I (and Scott who had to talk me down from the ledge) continued on with our evening. We have another appointment tomorrow and we get to see the result of the first day's work.

It's just funny how I react to what people's go-to idea of what 'support' means.