It's natural! Like a kidney stone. Or Ebola.

Last night I dreamt I was signed up for a four mile race.  There were three interesting points:  1) I had to carry Crusher while running, 2) The first mile was slogging through waist-deep ocean water, and 3) I was wearing rubber rain boots (a-la Landon).  I ran my heart out and thought I had a good chance of winning, but I came in last.  I lost so miserably that all the other contestants had already finished their post-race barbecue parties in the stadium.

That is how I feel about breastfeeding.

Boobs are magical, in case you hadn't noticed. They regulate the temperature of newborns and provide nutrient- and antibody-rich food for free. And they just kinda look cool.

Breastfeeding, however, is one of those things that seems like it should come totally naturally and be this blissful, easy experience. If its not, something's wrong with me.

Well, by golly, it's just hard. And nothing's wrong with me.

After a mere three days of feeding via magicboob, I was cracked and bleeding. And crying every mealtime. Which was approximately every 2-4 hours. Around the clock. Crusher seemed to only enjoy eating milk flavored with the salt of my tears or the tang of my blood.  There were moments when I was sure that the boob pain was worse than labor. So I called up the lactation consultant.

After sobbing in her office for a while, she told me there was hope and gave me a nipple shield. I had mixed feelings. I had heard horror stories about nipple confusion and throwing the small piece of clear, easily-lost plastic across the room.  It did clear up the bleeding problem, and things evened out for a while.  In a follow-up, they determined his latch is great and my technique is adequate.  Hooray!  I felt like I passed a really important mom-test.  In my rational brain, I knew that breastfeeding is just hard sometimes for a variety of reasons and I can't take complete responsibility when I am only one person in a two-person act (especially considering the other person is pre-verbal and definitely not rational).  In my emotional brain, I felt like I deserved a prize.

Until a few days ago.  I noticed some redness and pain.  Increasing pain.  Lots of pain.  When he ate it felt like knives attacking my nipples and shards of glass being sucked out from my shoulder blades forward.  Then burning, burning, burning all day long with no break.

Awesome, right? So I called the lactation consultant again. And she decided I have thrush (a yeast infection that causes the above symptoms).  I drove all over town trying to find the OTC treatment, crying in Walgreens when they didn't have the right kind, and crying the whole way home at the thought of delaying treatment and thus suffering from aforementioned excruciating pain.  A trillion phone calls, a probably inappropriate frantic text to my doctor, and loads of self-doubt later, and we finally found some meds which David kindly picked up.

If it works, I should feel better tomorrow.  We'll see. In the meantime, I'm still stuck with the feeling that it's my fault somehow.  That I fail because I struggle to feed my son, even though he 's eating, pooping, and gaining weight just as he should.  That my body is betraying me because this is hard for me.

I would never have these thoughts about someone else.  I know I'm a little addled from fatigue and pain, but c'mon!  I wouldn't blame someone else for getting chewed up by another person, or for getting an infection.  This isn't a race and it's not a test.  It's a path, and I just need to keep on the course.  At the end of the day, I win if my child is fed and loved.  Check.