My little boy needs his Mummy to get to sleep.
He wasn’t breastfed.
When something upsets him he only wants Mummy cuddles.
He wasn’t breastfed.
My little boy loves to hold my hand.
He wasn’t breastfed.
My little boy and I have such a beautiful bond.
He wasn’t breastfed.
My little boy is thriving.
He wasn’t breastfed.
My little boy is incredibly affectionate.
He wasn’t breastfed.
I would bend over backwards and do anything for him.
But I couldn’t breastfeed him.
I was physically and mentally cracked open into a wound and the anxiety and agony I felt before each feed was crippling.
So I made the hardest yet best decision to stop trying, even though I tried through toe curling latches and pumping pink milk until my tears ran dry.
It just wasn’t meant to be.
But I’m no less of a mother in his eyes,
Or in mine now.
Because I show up every day for him and love him entirely. This is what it means to be a mother, not if you’re able to breastfeed.
Just because some will succeed, it doesn’t mean you’ve failed.
Resilience, determination and sacrifice aren’t traits of failure.
My little man wasn’t breastfed but he still blooms, I’m simply blinded by it and he loves his Mummy so much.