One of the first pieces of advice I received as a new mother was to never let my baby use me as a pacifier. I took this advice to heart, resolving to keep my daughter on an ironclad feeding schedule: once every two hours, 20 minutes on each side, so regular that I may as well have asked her to punch in and out at each shift.
Even with these strict self-imposed limits, breastfeeding was more of a commitment than I had anticipated. For the next few weeks I barely left the house so that I could remain topless and layered with lanolin salves. I was so sore that even the spray from the showerhead made me wince. But I powered through and stuck to the schedule even as I struggled to produce milk, deviating—begrudgingly—only when the pediatrician suggested that I supplement with formula to help my daughter gain weight.
[For more of this story, written by Megan Margulies, go to http://www.theatlantic.com/hea...fort-feeding/475836/]
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