It’s hard to predict how any given breast-feeding session might unfold. Weeks and weeks ago, before Trixie learned to comfort-nurse, it was hard to get her to feed for more than five minutes at a time. Once she decided she had had enough, she would just sloooowly lean back and freeze. Her eyes would still be open, bright and warily observing Jennifer, but her body would be totally stiff. Now this defense mechanism is successfully employed against predators by many animals, such as possum and lizards, “But really, Trixie, we can see your eyes are open. We’re staring right at you.”
We don’t see much of that anymore. Now-a-days, when she’s full, we get a lot of her sluggishly rolling around, “No, really, I can’t possibly eat another bite.” But just as often she’s content to latch on for hours and hours with a “No, that’s OK. I’m fine right here, thanks for asking.” And occasionally she just goes to sleep after a good feeding.
Sometimes, however, she pretends she’s starving and settles in to nurse for a few minutes. She then becomes frenetic, thrashing around like a shark tearing into a seal. Growling, spit-bubbling, limbs flailing, chomping and shaking her head from side to side, she violently attacks Jennifer — only to wear an innocent, perplexed expression when abruptly pulled away.
Sitting her down face to face, Jennifer demands, “Trixie, WHAT is going on!?”
Trixie just sits there, staring back wide-eyed. Then she leans forward, squints her eyes and grunts, “HEY! Trying to nurse here!”
Then Trixie will pretend to be hungry again and that THIS TIME it’s for real and that she promises to calm down and nurse right, but of course 60 seconds later there’s a fresh Trixie attack. This behavior has lead to more feedings by bottle where’s there less chance of Jennifer getting mauled.