This post is going to be about breastfeeding and I am probably going to use crude slang. Scratch that. I am definitely going to use some crude slang. Avert your eyes if you’re too delicate to get real about what boobs are made for. I’m looking at you, nearly every man ever. (Just kidding, y’all are all right.)
One of the biggest obstacles I have ever overcome is breastfeeding. Yes, I gave birth in my dining room and that was tough but it was over relatively quickly. Breastfeeding has been an ongoing, sometimes very difficult, work in progress that began within the first thirty minutes of my child’s entrance into this world. I am happy to say that I have FINALLY gotten into a good nursing routine, and I no longer hate breastfeeding. In fact, I have come to enjoy it — something I never thought I would be able to say back when it felt like fire was licking its way out of my breasts twelve times a day. Back when feeling fabric run across my bare nipple made me want to snap someone’s neck. Those were tough times, and I wanted to give up a lot. And even though I still think about breastfeeding/nursing/pumping/taking supplements for my supply/etc. roughly 50 times a day, I am so happy to report that it’s no longer something I am stressed out by in general.
I had no idea it would be as difficult as it was for the first two months. I was told it would be challenging, but I did not expect to hate it for so long. Maybe some women-slash-crunchy-earth-goddesses have little to no trouble or just brief discomfort (I remember reading, so many times, “If it hurts, you’re doing it wrong!”). We struggled to get it right and to get comfortable for many weeks. Well, I struggled. Holden always had a pretty good (if somewhat shallow) latch. I suspect his mouth, sweet little newborn size that it was for the first couple of months, might have been on the small side, which led to my ongoing soreness. For a full two months I hated how nursing felt. It was uncomfortable to the point where by the evening, I would be so sick of the pain that I was in tears. I considered, many times, pumping exclusively, thinking that would be easier on me, but pumping is a lot of work. A lot more work than nursing. So I stuck with nursing, never quite getting comfortable with the idea of giving up entirely.
And I never thought I was going to get to this point but now I can say it and really mean it: I am so glad I stuck it out.
We turned a corner around month three. Suddenly one day it just didn’t quite hurt like it used to. I could take a shower without wincing as the water hit my chest. I could dry off with a towel and run it across my torso without having to delicately avoid very sensitive areas. I no longer lived in complete terror of the moment when Holden’s sharp little fingernails would scrape my nipple (that never happened, thanks to my NINJA-LIKE BOOB REFLEXES). Suddenly I was able to nurse that baby boy anywhere — and I mean anywhere — with a minimum of discomfort. I can’t really convey what a relief it is that it worked out for us.
Now that I’m back in the office, I’m really having to bust ass to keep my supply in line with Holden’s demand. I’m not quite there and I’m not sure I ever will be, although I’m trying not to get discouraged just three weeks in. I think I am at a slight disadvantage because I’m pumping in the evening as opposed to the morning, and in general you get more when you pump in the morning hours. I nurse pretty much on demand all morning and all weekend while I’m home, and Holden takes between 16-18 ounces while I am at work. That sounds like a lot to me but if that baby is hungry, he is going to get fed — end of story. I’m pumping four times at work (on most days; some days I only have time for three sessions thanks to the deadline nature of my job) and I usually bring home 9 or 10 ounces. I usually try to pump once more before bed after I get home (and get maybe an ounce and a half), unless I am just too exhausted (which happens sometimes when I get home after midnight). Most mornings if Holden sleeps through the night and I don’t have to get up and do a 4 a.m. feeding, I can wake up at 6 or 7 (before he gets up, preferably) and pump and get 5 ounces. I feel like a badass when I get that much but you should see my boobs as soon as I wake up. IT IS HILARIOUS. “Porn star tits” is how my midwife refers to the phenomenon. I can’t say that phrase aloud without tittering like a moron. Heh. Tittering.
Anyway. Even a journalist can do that math and see that we’re coming up a little short every day. So we’re having to supplement with some formula. As much as I would have loved to keep Holden exclusively breastfed, it’s just not worked out that way for us. I caved and gave him a bottle of formula before the first month was up, I think. It was after our two-week checkup where we saw that he hadn’t gained back his birth weight. We were told to feed him every two hours around the clock and my body and mind had both pretty much had it. I was delirious and exhausted and in a postpartum haze of hormones. He was hungry and I was in so much pain one night that I just sobbed at the thought of him latching on one more time. So I cried as I did it but I gave him a few ounces of formula. (This is in no way an indictment of parents who choose to use formula or who use it for whatever reason; this is a me-grappling-with-what-my-mind-perceived-as-failure-to-follow-through thing.) He ate it right up and seemed satisfied and my nipples got a couple of hours of rest. I really shouldn’t have given myself such a hard time about it, honestly. Like a friend of mine says, “Feed your baby.” Period.
It has taken me a lot of internal wrangling to be okay with that. I mean, I had a goal of breastfeeding exclusively for at least six months, shooting for a year and possibly beyond. I didn’t quite make it but I have to manage my expectations. I had to do what was right for my baby and for me. One thing all new parents need to remember is that SANITY IS IMPORTANT. And sometimes you have to do things you didn’t plan on doing to save your sanity. Of course there are sterile-gut evangelists out there who will make you feel like even a sip of formula completely negates every benefit of breastfeeding you’d hoped to achieve. Maybe they’re right; maybe they’re not. But you can’t let them occupy too much space in your head. Feed your baby.
I’m doing what I can to get my pumping output up. I’m on the Fenugreek (woo, maple syrup!) and I’m trying to eat oats when I can (I don’t like oatmeal). It’s sort of funny because I was really happy about all the money we save because breastfeeding is free. Except now I am buying these Fenugreek capsules that are not cheap and that you take eight of every day. El oh el.
Holden will be trying out solids in the next couple of months and relying less and less on breastmilk as his primary form of nutrition as he gets older. That’s so bizarre to think about. That first month, it felt like I was going to be struggling with this issue FOREVER. And it seemed so endlessly daunting. Now the bulk of that hard work is behind me and I know I am going to miss our nursing sessions. Those are the times when it’s just him and me, and the rest of the world can fade into the background. It’s a powerful feeling, knowing that you have exactly what your child needs to be soothed. Having a baby there in your arms being nourished by your body is an incredible privilege. Milk-drunk grins are sweet souvenirs and I am going to miss them (which is why I photograph damn near everyone one with my phone).
I’m writing this post in part so I can have a record of this experience but also in case anyone who reads this ever goes through something similar and can take comfort from what they read here. In addition to the two things I mentioned above — manage your expectations and save your sanity — I want to also add this: Your experience will be entirely your own, and people are going to tell you things that turn out to not be true for you. I am going to tell you things that turn out not to be true for you. For example, I was told that if you breastfeed, your period’s return will be delayed and you’ll lose a bunch of weight. Both of those things turned out to not be true for me. Aunt Flo made her bitch-ass return at five weeks — such cruelty! (was it that one early serving of formula we gave him? this question haunts me, but I know women who formula fed exclusively and still had a longer delay than I did) — and I am still as large and in charge as I was the day I gave birth. Maybe tomorrow I’ll wake up 30 pounds lighter but it’s looking more and more like I am one of those naturally Rubenesque ladies whose bodies plump up and then decide to stay that way for a while because it feels so nice to just spread out in every direction, I guess. Thrilling, says the two closets full of clothes I can’t even get up over my gut. But hey, this soft body makes a great cushion for that baby.