Into my third week now. The Cookie has his moments and sometimes I get flustered trying to hush him out of one of his fits. BF is progressing well and I'm making plans on how I can manage BF while on the outs without having to expose one breast to the public eye and juggle shopping and BF at the same time. I'm tempted to try the breast pump. But to do that, I may have to feed him on formula for one day while I pump for the second and introduce him the rubber teat which I imagine, will cause him to forget how to latch.
On that. I find myself going bonkers just thinking about him not on breastmilk but on formula. I am somehow convinced that he'd be missing out on a whole lot of good nutrients and having him on formula will make him a lesser person. I know that's not true and I'm still trying to convince myself out of it. Because how else am I going to head back to work and my exercise regime?
I also imagine that people are trying to sneak in other forms of liquids to him that to an extent, I dream of it happening! Last night, I dreamt I had bought three bowls of yam paste dessert and later found out that my dad had fed one of them to him. At 3.30am, I woke up and realised it's been almost five hours since the last feed and started to worry how much milk supply has depleted and if my dad really did feed him yam paste!
The madness of motherhood.
Yesterday, Joa and I went shopping after a checkup with the gynae. I started getting paranoid over germs in the air and kept checking to see if Cookie was still breathing. Strangers who enquired about him guessed he was about more than a month old. Then when I said he was barely two weeks, you could see this silence that befell on their faces. Like taking him outdoors now was an abomination. And that added to my fears.
We're planning the full-month party, or rather, parties now (we're having three sessions). Getting ready the cakes, caterers and sending out the invites. Friends will come a week later so don't panic if you haven't got it yet.
The Cookie is up. I need to go now.
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