My son is two months old already. His life is already going by faster than I care to acknowledge. When I look at him, usually when he is laying at my breast, fully satiated and half asleep, I think of all the ways I am afraid I will one day let him down. Hell, it has already started. I wanted so desperately to exclusively breastfeed my baby. I both admire and resent the women who do this, the women whose babies have never met a baby bottle. In my realm, it is just not possible. The first time I put a bottle to his lips, I wept. I looked into his sad eyes and felt heartache and disappointment transfer from him to me in that exchange. How could a mother give up on breastfeeding? How could I expect my infant son to understand and process the logic of providing a bottle to satisfy his hunger if I couldn't do the same? And what if it wasn't hunger? What if his tears were the ones that meant he needed to be held and to nurse from his mother for comfort, not susten