Fair warning: excessive and arguably unnecessary use of (astericked-abbreviated) profanity just ahead. Do not read if you are under 18, easily offended, my mother, or future versions of my children.
Let's do this...
F*ck the following:
F*ck my broken, lazy ass boobs with their pathetic supply and terrible let-down ability.
F*ck leaving a crying 4 lb baby in the care of perfect strangers.
F*ck this worthless 1200 dollar breast pump.
F*ck spending 4 hours a day pumping.
Duck you, autocorrect.
F*ck my shattered goddamn iPhone screen.
F*ck my incompetent mother f-ing reproductive system that evicts babies after 31 weeks.
F*ck sleeping for one or two 60-90 minute intervals each night
F*ck being told to 'get some rest!!' -- but don't you dare go more than 3 hours between pumps.
F*ck lactation consultants and their weird goddamn agenda to save the world through breast-fed babies.
F*ck you hormones and uncontrollable sobbing and feeling like I have no shred of control.
F*ck my full, throbbing boobs and cramping uterus.
F*ck the Internet and it's ability to turn me instantly into a crazy person.
F*ck that stupid, smiling, lactating lady from the instructional video with her stupid 90s bangs and geyser-ass nipples.
F*ck procardia and magnesium and modified bed rest and hospital bed rest and everyone who implied or said explicitly that didn't do enough or did too much.
F*ck having to go back to work so I can afford to take maternity leave.
F*ck feeling so angry and frustrated that I can't seem to stop using the F-word.
F*ck my sore left deltoid from my Tdap vaccine.
F*ck that idiot nurse who tried to instruct me at discharge to continue taking procardia and progesterone when I got home.
F*ck being so de-conditioned that a flight of stairs or a 100 yard walk gets me winded.
F*ck drinking 30 gallons of water a day.
F*ck this blog post for making me feel better.
That is all.
* thank you for enduring that so patiently. I totally understand if you are *over* my blog and never intend to read it again. I plead pregnancy-hormones, if you're the sort of person who accepts excuses. I am not and will probably personally boycott reading future posts of mine. As for my amazingly patient husband, who has put up with quite enough of my crap already today, I apologize... Assuming you've read this far and haven't already packed a suitcase (socks are in the dryer).