Truly, 2 am is not my finest hour.

~
I didn't really breastfeed my older two kids.

I realize that the Breastfeeding Gestapo will gasp in horror at this and may try to hunt me down. Fine.

I realized something when I tried to breastfeed my daughter. Newborns eat about every two hours. Even at night.

Game over.

If I do not get at least six hours of sleep straight, I turn into Medusa. And even with 6 hours, I will still exhibit Medusa like qualities. Just not the head full of snakes.

So I admitted with my daughter that I was entirely too selfish, and after two weeks she got formula.

With my son, I was able to breastfeed him during the day. He got a bottle of formula at night. My husband fed him.

But with Baby Girl, I really wanted to breastfeed. Plus, you know, we don't have the money for formula. So I sucked it up.

Is it easy? Let's just say it's getting easier. But the one thing that makes it really easy? I WILL NOT FEED HER BETWEEN 12 AM and 5 AM. (Take that, Breastfeeding Gestapo!)

Please do not call the police. I'm not letting her scream hungrily in her bassinet. If she wakes up during that time period, she gets a bottle of breast milk. And my husband has to feed it to her, because I don't want to create nipple confusion. (At least, that's my story, and I'm sticking to it.)

This plan has been mostly working. Except for the other night.

I fed the baby at 11 pm. I put her in the bassinet. My husband had fallen asleep earlier, so I shook him awake and told him that he was in charge of the baby.

Then I did the dishes, picked up the living room, and went to bed around 11:30.

Boyo woke up at 12. "I haf a bad dweam, Mom," he told me pitifully when I stumbled into his room.

I sympathized and soothed, tucked him back in, and returned to bed.

At 1 am, I woke up to Baby Girl screaming her head off in the bassinet. I lightly tapped my husband. "Baby needs you," I told him. "The bottle's on the nightstand."

He sat up, scooped up the baby, and held her right next to my head where she continued to scream. He did not give her a bottle. He did not change her. He rocked her and said, "Shhhhhhhhhhh," for about 30 minutes.

At this point, I was imagining punching my husband. So instead I snatched the baby from him and began to breastfeed her.

My husband laid back down and went to sleep. The phrase "I saw red," doesn't even begin to cover it.

I lost my mind. "Are you awake?" I snarled. He snored. "WAKE UP!" He snored again.

I punched him in the shoulder. He startled awake. Just to be sure he was awake though, I punched him again. "WHAT?" he snapped. "I'm awake! You didn't have to punch me!"

"You should be thankful all I did was punch you!" I snapped back. "Did you hear ANYTHING I told you tonight?"

"No, but I'm awake now. What do you need?"

I sputtered in anger. Baby Girl began to fuss again. I thrust the baby at him. "She's done eating. Burp her. Take her into the living room. Put her in her swing. Here's a bottle. Now get the f#@% out of here so I can go to sleep!!"

He sleepily took the baby and left. I laid down and seethed, thinking murderous thoughts, but then I realized that I would have 3 kids to raise by myself. (I'm joking! I love my husband even when I hate him, to quote Crazy Stupid Love. It's just hard to remember that at 2 in the morning.)

And 30 minutes after he left? Girlie climbed into bed with me and proceeded to kick me for 3 hours in her sleep.

I'm beginning to think sleep is for the weak.