Our Journey Through the Torments of Feeding

Let me preface this whole business with a little disclaimer (mostly because I really don't want/need any shit from anyone). Breastfeeding is a tremendously personal decision. It's really between you and your babe (and maybe your husband, if you have that kind of relationship) and everyone else should just butt the eff out! Obviously, breast is best. Custom made is always gonna be the better option...except when it isn't. I'm not here to preach one philosophy over another, I'm just here to share my experience. If you are a new mom reading this, please choose what will be right for you and best for your babe, and don't buy into all the guilt trips out there. This is the story of our journey.  

Lately I've been given a lot of praise for keeping up with the breastfeeding for as long as I did, which was about 3 months and change. Trust me, though, I'm no hero. It was in the plan to nurse for only 4-6 weeks, reaping the weight loss benefits for me (yes, I am that vain!) and the health benefits for her. And then we would move Z to formula and I could get on with my life. But then we found out about her tethered cord and the fact that our tiny babe would need surgery (You can read more about that here and here). Something in me changed and I became obsessed with making this whole breastfeeding business work until after she recovered sometime in July. I. must. be. insane. 

I know there are so many amazing mommies out there who happily nurse their little ladies and gents well past the one year mark. And while I'm not sure how their boobies can handle that, I commend them. I am not one of them. Most of us aren't, something I've learned in the last few weeks as so many of you have reached out to me and shared. As a new mom, you are given the impression that everyone is nursing to at least six or eight months. Bullshit. Most of us are lucky to last to six or eight weeks, with the average, I've learned, being about a month. And yet we all are made to feel like a total failure for wanting to give it up.

I was ready to quit sometime around day three. Because Z was transferred to a NICU in a different hospital so shortly after her birth, we missed so much of that wonderful skin-to-skin bonding time that helps a mother's milk come in. I was able to successfully nurse Z two or three times on her birthday, giving her that nutritious colostrum. But then they took her and my mammary struggles began. We lost our mojo. She had latched so easily in the hospital but was now over it since the bottles given by the NICU nurses were so much easier to manipulate.

After bringing Z home, I tried and tried to nurse her. I'd end up ugly crying out of frustration and overwhelmed by feelings of failure. She wouldn't latch and my milk wouldn't come in. I did skin-to-skin, nursed in our calm and quiet bedroom or her nursery, drank gallons of water, listened to soothing music, watched TV…whatever I could do, I did. I turned to Dr. Google (huge mistake) only to find that the majority of resources out there flat out said that it was my fault that things just weren't working. Cuz what a hormonal, sleep-deprived mother of a newborn really needs is a punch in the gut (or boob) like that.

We finally met with the lactation consultant at the hospital. She showed me how to get the right latch and there may have been a nipple shield involved. That did the trick. She also let me know that I was doing everything right and that these things sometimes take time. So we kept trying, but it was still painful, even with the right latch. The Hubs kept trying to talk me into giving up. It was overwhelming for him to see me so upset all of the time. But giving up is something I just don't do. I became crazed determined to nurse my child. A year ago, I would have laughed in your face if you'd told me this was who I would become. 

After a few weeks or so, things started to take a turn, actually a complete 180. My milk came in…by the gallon. Z would choke and splutter, and had the worst digestive issues and gas. She was constantly screaming fussing and crying because she was so uncomfortable, and I was constantly crying because it was my fault. I found out that I had an overactive letdown, too much milk too fast. So I tried all the tricks to make it better, but nothing helped. With complete support and encouragement from the Hubs, and after weeks of struggling, I finally caved and made the decision to pump exclusively. It was a surprisingly easy decision. I had never really felt that zen mother-baby bonding connection that so many talk about while nursing. Probably because I was in constant pain and was just counting the minutes until she was done. Her evening cluster-feeds were the absolute worst. The whole point of this mess was to pass on whatever I could to Z to give her the best chance at a quick and healthy recovery from surgery. 

OK. So here's what no one tells you…using a breast pump is like hooking up a Dyson to your nipples. Sure, it's fine if you do it once or twice a day. But I had to do it every time she ate. I quickly began to hate it. I could hear the Medela pump saying "You gotta pump. You gotta pump." over and over again, mocking me -- the little bitch. And while I secretly enjoyed watching House Hunters at 3am, pumping began to take over my life. I had to feed Z and immediately find a way to get her to sleep (or stay happy in the swing) so I could pump, and then I had to wash all the pump parts, only to do it all over again a couple of hours later. It never worked and I felt like I was missing out on so much time with my babe. The Hubs and I came up with a great overnight routine, but during the day I was on my own. Our nights looked like this:

Z wakes up.

I whisk her to her room for a diaper change while the Hubs preps the bottle.

I turn on quiet music and put on her bib while the Hubs waits for the bottle to warm.

The Hubs feeds her in our room while I pump in the living room and watch House Hunters (or reruns of Arrested Development). 

The Hubs put Z back to bed while I wash the bottle and a zillion pump parts.

We all go back to bed.

Rinse and repeat two hours later.

It moved like clockwork. The Hubs got some quiet bonding time with the babe, and I was catching up on my HGTV. Most nights, we were up and done in thirty minutes or less.

I ended up pumping less often, but because I was producing so much, we always had plenty of milk for bottles and for the freezer. But Z's gas, fussing, and digestive pains didn't stop, even with gripe water and gas drops. So, I began the dreaded elimination diet. I started with dairy. My beloved friend. This was almost painful to give up and would take two or three weeks before we could even tell if it made a difference, which it did, but only slightly. Next to go were broccoli, bell peppers, onions, lettuce, spicy foods. I cut back on OJ, tomatoes, and most beans and vegetables (super tricky as a vegetarian), but drew the line at strawberries. The Hubs and I struggled to come up with ideas for dinner and I started eating PB & J like it was my job. I was running out of healthy things to eat! 

When I had pumped and frozen enough milk to begin the weaning process, I blissfully quit pumping. By this point, I was ready to throw the damned thing in the pool! My last vacuum suck was the morning of my birthday a few weeks ago. About a week before, I had started increasing the time between pumpings until I was down to twice a day. At that point, I was still pumping about 16 oz of milk, which is a lot, and I knew that could go on forever if I didn't put an end to it.  The Hubs picked up a head of cabbage and I happily started stuffing my sports bra. Cold cabbage may be the greatest thing on Earth, even if it was the only thing I could smell all day long. Within a week, my poisonous milk (as we jokingly called it) had dried out. Hallelujah! 

When I was finally done with pumping, I made a bee line for the FroYo!

We slowly started adding formula to Z's bottles, one half ounce at a time for a few days each. Because she has such a sensitive system, we thought easing her into it would be best. As of a few nights ago, she is done with mommy's poison. I'm hoping we'll get lucky and won't have to try a bunch of different formulas. This one, special for gas and fussiness due to lactose sensitivities, seems to be working, though it's really too soon to tell. I will say that the first night that she had just a half ounce mixed into her bottle, she slept for 8 hours straight. Now she averages between 9 and 11 hours a night, though not every night. I can also say that on the first full day of formula only, she and I survived a trip to the mall (complete with time in the dressing room) and Wal-Mart (which is a nightmare on a good day even without Z in tow) with complete success. She didn't sleep a wink the entire trip and was all smiles to anyone who would glance in her direction. It could just be that she is maturing, but I really wish that I had given up on breastfeeding so much sooner.

If I'm being totally honest, I still feel a little guilt for failing at the whole breast feeding business. I shouldn't. I'm sure most women have struggles with some part of the process. My biggest issue, though, is that almost every resource out there pushes nursing like it's the one and only option. Even our pediatrician's office gave us the "We strongly recommend the mothers of our patients breastfeed for as long as possible" B.S. when I called to ask about switching to formula. Yes, women have been doing it since always, but 200 years ago, if a mother had issues, their sweet babes didn't survive. We are so lucky to be raising children in modern times...there are so many options!  And, as mommies, we should support each other, no matter which path we choose...without preaching or judgement!

I love this sweet lady more than I ever thought I could. And when it really comes down to it, that's the most important thing.