The problem was, I didn’t just breastfeed. I became a breastfeeding martyr. I became obsessed with ounces and feedings and lost myself in a sea of guilt that I was not doing enough for my baby. I would sit in our green chair-and-a-half with an ottoman armed with the Boppy pillow around my waist and the remote. Patrick would nurse and fall asleep, and I would watch TV. Then I would feel guilty because I wasn’t playing him classical music or teaching him baby sign language.