We’ve all seen the pictures. The beautiful bond between a mother and her baby. Soft, quiet…
For some moms, breastfeeding comes so easily. So naturally. The baby latches and away they go. Unfortunately, I didn’t get this kind of experience. I WANTED it. I wanted it very badly. My goal was to breastfeed exclusively for six months. My doctor, whom is so very straightforward, looked at me and said, “That’s a hefty goal. Don’t get your hopes up. He might not latch…you might not produce enough…” Oh, but he would and I will is what I thought. We bought tons of storage bags and cleaned out the freezer. I bought an expensive pump and thoroughly read through all the instructions. I was going to breastfeed and then pump whatever the baby didn’t consume. I was ready. And then Grady was born…
Breastfeeding the first few nights in the hospital were a piece of cake. I had round the clock help from the nurses and lactation consultants, coming in and instructing me when to wake the baby to feed, different breastfeeding positions and how it should feel. I needed that kind of help. I had spent 30 hours in labor and delivery and I was delirious from all the fluids of induction. It was a completely different story when I got home.
Grady was supposed to be feeding every three hours. The first night home from the hospital he ate NOTHING. He screamed all. night. long. I couldn’t get him to latch. This little bundle of joy, that was so docile and sleepy in the hospital, was clawing and pushing away from me and screaming. Of course, no one at the hospital informed me that if my milk hadn’t come in to supplement with formula. Or try pumping the milk out and giving him a bottle. I was clueless. I had no idea what to do. So all night long we fought. Me trying to get him to latch, sweating and exhausted (it was August) and this little peanut of a person flailing and wailing.
As the sun started to rise the next morning, Grady was starting to slow down. His lips were chapped and his mouth was dry and “cakey” (if that is even a word). My husband (Scott) and his mother insisted that he wasn’t hungry and that he was just tired and he needed to sleep – that’s why he wasn’t latching on. But in my heart of hearts I knew that wasn’t the case.
Scott made a trip up to the pediatrician that morning to fill out the paperwork for Grady’s first visit and was explaining to the nurse practitioners that I was having trouble getting Grady to latch. One of the pediatricians overheard and told Scott to bring me and the baby in and that she would see us without an appointment. When we got there, she looked at Grady, opened his mouth and said, “He needs to be fed….now.” Without a moments notice, she ran out of the room and returned with a bottle of formula and a syringe. She showed me how to “trick” him using the syringe and formula and then quickly pulling him to my breast. It worked!!! And he was hungry. I started crying with relief because I was FINALLY feeding my baby.
We took the formula and syringe home and I began the task of “tricking” him and then placing him on my breast. It was a fight every time, but I wanted to breastfeed. After about two weeks, I started to lose hope. I began pumping and giving him breastmilk from a bottle. I felt so disappointed. Everyone said to not be so hard on myself but it was difficult not to when I had set a goal for myself.
Around the third week, when everything had calmed down and everyone had left and gone home, I was sitting with Grady on the couch in the living room. It was quiet and we were home alone. He started rooting around in my arm. Knowing he was hungry, I started to get up and make him a bottle but then I thought, let’s give this ONE MORE GO. He latched! I couldn’t believe it! I made note of how I was holding him for the next time. I nursed him until he was done. For the first time in three weeks, it happened – NATURALLY. We had a smooth transition into exclusive breastfeeding for about three weeks….and then I got mastitis.
If you’ve never had mastitis, good for you! If you’ve never heard of it, it’s a clogged milk duct. And it’s the most horrific pain one can experience. I would never wish it on my worst enemy. It started out as a sharp pain in my nipple and in the middle of the night that same breast started to hurt. It was also hot to the touch. This was followed by flu symptoms that lasted for three days. My doctor told me to continue to nurse on the infected breast to get the clog out. But the pain was so excruciating I started to just pump it out. Then I went to exclusively pumping altogether. After several days of antibiotics, I woke up to a nighttime feeding drenched in sweat because my fever had finally broken. Yet, I was so upset with getting the mastitis that I didn’t go back to breastfeeding because I was scared of getting sick again.
Fast-forward a few weeks and my mom asked me if I was still breastfeeding. I told her no, I was pumping. With some gentle nudging from her, I started again. (It’s not a wonder that my kid is ultimately confused with feeding.) By our four month appointment, we were exclusive again. He was precisely 8-9 minutes per breast every two hours. I soaked up every minute. When he was up at six in the morning for a feeding, I would bring him into bed and feed him there. I finally felt like I had “that bond” with my baby.
But then, by five months, I could tell I was starting to dry up. I would feed him and he would be screaming an hour later and he would down five ounces of formula. I started just breastfeeding him first thing in the morning when I knew I had enough supply and I would pump the rest of the day, only to get a few ounces here and there. My doctor put me on a prescription to increase my supply and I was engorged for about three days. After that, my supply reduced by an ounce every day. Eventually, I had to let it go.
I got depressed at the fact that I couldn’t feed my baby the way I wanted to. I was disappointed in myself because I couldn’t provide for him. At his six month appointment the pediatrician asked how breastfeeding was going and I broke down in tears. I felt ashamed. I know – it’s silly. It took me a while to get over it. Looking at the positive, at least I was able to breastfeed for a short period of time. At least I was able to get those special moments burned in my brain – the ones where we spent time together quietly in his nursery. At least I was able to provide for my baby what no one else was able to. For that, I am thankful.
Photos: Andi St. Germain Photography