Reason #58943 that women are magical, confusing, frustrating beings. Also I really, really wanted to title this “Tough Tits” – sorry, Mom.
Breastfeeding is super hard, y’all. Even when it’s easy and everything goes to plan. This is one of those things that doesn’t get discussed nearly enough in the pregnancy-related-sphere, in my opinion. Other topics in this category include infertility, pregnancy loss, and postpartum changes – all of which are super important, but which are not today’s focus.* Up until I started doing pre-pregnancy research and, really, probably until we’d been trying for about a year and I was starting to get obsessive intense more serious about my research, I had just taken it for granted that breastfeeding was A Thing That You Do. As it turns out, very much not the case. There are a million reasons why breastfeeding may not be an option (or just might not work out), and they are all valid and understandable and okay. That doesn’t make it easier, even though it should.
As someone with a high baseline anxiety level, pregnancy was a master course in doing my best to let go of things that I couldn’t control and focus on what I could. I worked really hard to focus on the things that I knew were going right, rather than spending my time being terrified of what could show up on the next ultrasound or blood test. In the end, I was very lucky and everything went smoothly, but you’d better believe my poor brain is already thinking about all the things that could go wrong next time around. For me, breastfeeding was pretty high on the list of things that I was hoping would work out with my pregnancy. My list wasn’t long – I was hoping not to be induced (I was, but I was on board at that point), I thought perhaps I’d give non-medicated childbirth a go (I changed my mind pretty quickly when I started throwing up from contractions), and I wanted to breastfeed my baby. Pretty glad that I got one of the three, but honestly, I would have taken none and a healthy kid, really. Anything beyond that is just a bonus.
One of the things that both Rick and I were pretty shocked about in the hospital was the general lack of instruction given to us by the nurses after I gave birth. I mean, I appreciate that they were not micromanaging our parenting, and overall we had a really positive birth experience (made myself throw up in my mouth a little with that phrase, but we’ll go with it), but there were a lot of moments where we were very glad for all the research we had done ahead of time so that we had a general framework and could ask questions like “We’re supposed to make sure she eats every 2-3 hours, right?” This happened with breastfeeding, too. A couple of moments after E was born, I said “I think she’s hungry…” and the response was basically, “Good, okay, you can feed her.” UM, OKAY. I’ll get right on doing that thing that I’ve never done before.
Luckily (again, a theme here), baby girl was very hungry and determined to eat. We did okay, but over the next day or so, despite religiously salving up my chest, I started to audibly gasp in pain every time she latched on. The lactation consultant (who was very sweet but called me “mama” every ten seconds and thankfully couldn’t see my grimace under my mask) told me that this was pretty normal and likely due to E having a shallow latch. She told me we’d get the hang of it, offered some tips for other positions, and advised to just to keep pressing on in the meantime. I had a “good side” and a “bad side” and I had to mentally psyche myself up every time it was time to feed from the “bad side” because there would be a moment of very real, very intense pain that was off-putting, to say the least. Eventually, it did get better, but man… not a good time. Poor Rick did well to offer sympathetic looks and pats throughout.
Over time, we (the baby and I) got the hang of our routine. She was hungry all the time, so I fed her all the time. I chose my clothes based on what would be easiest access for her, and what I didn’t care about ruining when I inevitably leaked all over. I started wondering if I should just go topless because what was the point. My key activities in any given day were diaper changes, nursing, and saying “I have to pee” every time I stood up. As much as I relished the bond that breastfeeding was building, I started to get exhausted. Every time I woke up at night, I had soaked through my environmentally-conscious reusable nipple pads, so I was always sort of sticky and uncomfortable. I felt like every time I did anything, it was time to feed the baby again. I referred (and still do) to baby E as my little limpet, firmly secured to my boob. I fully recognize that these are problems that lots of women would love to have, and honestly, I am thankful in many ways (and was even at the time – I’d wake up soaked and grumpy, but thankful that I was producing). It’s still hard, though. Things that you’re grateful for, lucky to have, etc. can still be challenging and frustrating. It’s okay to be excited and scared or thankful and frustrated at the same time. You feel all the feelings you want too, boo.
While I’m still doing my best to figure out what works best for us in an ever-changing situation (current I-promise-I’m-not-trying-to-brag “problem”: baby is sleeping 10-11 hours at night resulting in me waking up with a very sore, very swollen chest every morning), a few things did help. On the ever-wise advice of AlphaMom (whose pregnancy calendar my big sister shared with me right at the beginning, for which I will always be grateful) I switched out the reusable nursing pads for the disposable ones and their more diaper-like absorption. Worked a treat. We also introduced a pacifier at about three weeks and a bottle shortly thereafter. This gave the baby an option of something else to suck on when she was not reeeeally hungry any more (and gave my poor boobs a break), as well as provided a way for my husband to feed her if I really just needed a nap that lasted longer than half an hour. I will forever be grateful to our past selves for doing this, because it made my unexpected health issues infinitely easier to deal with – we handed over a bag of frozen milk and a bottle to Gramma and I didn’t have to worry about that part of the situation. I did have a horrible (though mildly hilarious) having-to-pump-in-the-ER experience, but I got through it.
All of this is to say: there are so many things in life, but I think particularly in motherhood (and the path to it), that we take for granted as straightforward and simple. Breastfeeding is not easy, even when it has every reason to be. I still pick an outfit every day based on my ability to nurse in it, and I still don’t sleep in some of my comfiest tops because I don’t want to stain them – just in case. I sobbed the other day because the baby was crying and didn’t want to eat, choosing instead to just hit my chest and scream. She was overtired – too tired to want to eat, but hungry enough not to want to go to sleep. I felt like a failure – even though the logical part of me knew what was happening and knew how to fix it, the emotional hang-up of the baby rejecting food – rejecting me – was painful.
So please, be kind to moms. That includes yourself. Whatever you’re going through that is “supposed” to be easy, but isn’t – it’s okay to be frustrated and exhausted and sad. It’s okay to try something different if you need to. You’d better believe that baby girl would have been eating formula while I was in the hospital if I didn’t happen to have a stash of frozen milk at the ready.
Finally, everyone: leave women who are breastfeeding in public the EFF alone. That shit is hard to orchestrate and we’re just trying to make sure our kid gets fed. Would you rather she scream in the restaurant/waiting room/etc.? Yeah, didn’t think so.
The end!
* I highly recommend Mama Doctor Jones on YouTube (and Instagram, and Twitter), if you’re interested in diving in to some of these topics. She’s amazing.
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