Breastfeeding, or lack of.

So, here is my contribution to the (Breast)Feeding Carnival over at SarcasticMom. Hooray!

I was pregnant for a long time. No longer then anyone else but it felt like a long time. I watched a million births on TV and saw the worst that could happen during labor & delivery. I spent time preparing myself for any scenario I could possibly face. I sat and thought hard about pain relief options and how I would handle situations that were out of my control. What if I needed a c-section? A forceps delivery? Baby might be sick. I felt confident that I was prepared for ANYTHING.

My mum breastfed both myself & my younger brother for as long as we wanted it. I breastfed for the last time at ten months, Mum continued to offer it but I refused and never nursed again. Not being able to breastfeed never crossed my mind, I assumed it was a natural process. Someone would show me how to do it and it would just happen. And this little person and I would bond and share amazingly intimate moments for many many months. I was wrong.

Lilly’s birth was amazing. She was immediately handed to me and began nuzzling my chest instantly. For weeks before her birth I would wake numerous times through the night saturated in colostrum and so during those first few minutes she nursed contentedly. For the next 48 hours she demanded to be fed constantly. I went to the bathroom with her attached to my breast, when I showered she had toddler-like meltdowns over the 10 minute wait for her boobies to return. But she was always so hungry and I wasn’t satisfying her at all. I gave in on the second day and sent my Mum to buy a dummy. The hospital frowned on this and initially refused to sterilize it for me. Eventually after some choice words from Mum they did it. This thankfully gave me at least a few short rests in between nursing.

By the time we arrived home from hospital Lilly spend 90% of the time crying, she was obviously in some kind of discomfort. The nurses and lactation consultant said she was just a normal newborn. My breasts were still soft, I had no pain, none of the full feeling that everyone told me about and when I told the nurses they said don’t worry, your milk will come through. It didn’t.

By day seven I knew something was wrong and went to see a different lactation consultant. She showed me again how to get a correct latch. I had a correct latch from day one. My baby was not the problem, I was the problem. I spent a lot of time crying or frustrated. I punched the shower walls and screamed. I was angry with myself, what kind of a mother can’t feed her own child? I hated my body; my wonderful body that had created this beautiful human being was the target of all my anger. I resented other nursing mothers including my own.

The nurses told me how horrible it would be for me to give Lilly top up formula feeds and how she would have nipple confusion. How I would jeopardize my chance of feeding her at all & that it would make my milk even less likely to come through. On day 10 Lilly had lost weight, I was exhausted and we gave her a bottle of formula. I cried during the entire feed, I was devastated that I had failed my child.

At this stage Lilly was feeding about every two hours. She would spend 30 minutes on each breast and after getting no milk would give up. I’d then give her a bottle, put her down and pump 10 minutes each side to stimulate my let down. I spent days laying in bed with skin to skin contact with Lilly feeding constantly. Nothing helped, it didn’t work. Not once did a nurse, lactation consultant or doctor tell me it was ok to stop trying. The kept pushing and telling me to persevere. I was exhausted, I was miserable and by day twenty I couldn’t do it anymore. I gave up.

My nurse told me what a “terrible mistake” I was making my stopping breastfeeding while my baby was so young. I wanted to slap her, I probably should have.

It wasn’t until Lilly was almost six months old that I came to terms with the fact that this was not my fault and that this one minor setback did not mean I was a bad mother or a failure.

If I could go back and do it over I wouldn’t have pushed myself so hard. I hated the first few weeks of Lilly’s life and secretly wished it wasn’t happening. I felt so terrible about myself I couldn’t stand to be in my own presence.

Breast is not always best & things don’t always happen the way we planned. In the end it never made a difference to our bond. She loves me just the same & isnt that all that matters?