The End of the Last First Year.
I need to make a confession. I had some serious anger my first time around motherhood. Having a baby with colic didn't help. Being an older first-time mom that was accustomed to her life being a certain way with a huge amount of personal freedom didn't help. The fact that I'm just frankly a little spoiled didn't help. I was bitter about nursing. I was bitter about pumping. I was bitter that I was the only one who could solve many many problems during that first year the first time around. I was prepared for this bitterness during the second round of motherhood. I knew what I was getting myself into. I steeled myself, was prepared to weather the storm and deal with all of the crap. I knew I was going to be tired. I knew I would have to make sacrifices. And most of all I knew I was going to sit in that little cinder block closet at work for two 30-minute shifts every work day and mentally prepare myself for the piddly ounces I would output. I knew my milk