Breastfeeding, Round Two

I now understand why people breastfeed their children well into the toddler years.

Well, actually, I don't. I think that as soon as your kid knows what a boob is, it's time to cut the cord. Maybe even before that. But all that aside, I realize how beautiful breastfeedig really is. 

It's incredible that my milk will let down before Catherine even wakes up. But as soon as it begins to let down, she's awake and ready to nurse. That, to me, is incredible. 

With James, I had an incredibly difficult time in the hospital getting him to latch. Flat nipples, a tired mom, pushy nurses and a lactation consultant who also happened to be my backyard neighbor (weird) made the whole situation really awkward and frustrating. 

I remember the first night I could not get James to latch. And the pushy night nurse just kept forcing him on my boob. She would grab a handful and shove his head on there and then tell me he had a horrible latch So she would take him off, grab my boob again and shove him on there again. She made me try different types of holds to get him to latch properly. Needless to say, it was a horrible 8 hour experience. 

Finally, she tells me to take some of the instant formula and put some on my nipple to get him to really start sucking, and hopefully that would make a good latch. 

I wish I would have never done that. 

As such, that became the catalyst for my journey into exclusively pumping. Long story short, I thought, "Oh, I'll just supplement with formula this time around" while never really solving the problem in the first place. 

So with my pushy night nurse gone the next day, and a much nicer nurse who seemed more helpful, I nursed James. 

Without any knowledge, I had no idea if he was latching correctly or not. His top lip was up, his bottom lip was out, he didn't seem to be "chewing" on my nipple, so that's a good latch, right? 

Wrong. He wasn't on far enough, which resulted in a huge blister. Which resulted in me not even being able to nurse on that side for the duration of my hospital stay. 

So with only one boob in commission, I again supplemented with formula. I mean, the formula was right there, all ready to go in it's nicely packaged pre-made bottles.

My lactation nurse came in once, at the end of my stay, took a look at my nipples, and told me James was latching wrong. She didn't tell me that I have flat nipples and that I need to draw them out before I start nursing. She never asked to see him try to nurse. She simply told me to try and pump, put some in a bottle, and then feed it to James. Just to give my poor nipples a break. She suggested lanolin lotion and to "keep trying" to nurse. 

She never showed me how. 

She did, however, mention that it was officially her last weekend working as a lactation consultant and if I needed anything, to holler over the fence. Yeah, right. 

So, needless to say, when I got home, I immediately got frustrated in trying to nurse James, and simply pumped, like I had the last day in the hospital. 

James took to the bottle right away, and from then on, I never once brought him back to my breast. It was bittersweet and a relief at the same time. I badly wanted to breastfeed him, but at the same time, my nipples hurt so badly I knew that I was saving them by pumping.

So I began exclusively pumping. But not enough. I began to lose my milk supply something fierce and had to start using formula. At James' 2 week appointment, my doctor and pediatrician suggested Fenugreek. Although it helped, I still wasn't pumping enough. At James' 1 month appointment, my doctor gave me a prescription for some random medicine that supposedly helps your milk supply. It did, but by that time, James was used to the formula. So I exclusively pumped to supplement with breast milk and have some put in storage for when he started into daycare.

I can remember looking at our tiny bathroom vanity sink with a giant bowl filled with soapy water at 3:00 a.m. one morning and thinking, "This sucks." It did. Every time I pumped, I had to clean the pump parts, put my milk in a storage bag, mark it with time and date, put it in our fridge downstairs. While I pumped, I would prop James up in the boppy pillow and feed him from a bottle. A bottle that had to be heated up before I gave it to him. And then after I heated it up, I would have to quickly assemble my pump "parts," attach them to my overly full boobs, and begin pumping. I would have to carefully manuever him from his bassinet next to the bed onto the boppy pillow while the pump got going and rouse him to be fed. It was a horrible cycle, and to reiterate, it sucked.

It was time consuming. It took twice as long as breastfeeding would have. And yet, I continued to do it because, damnit, I was his mom and I was supposed to provide for him.

And I did it that way for almost 5 1/2 long months. I remember once coming back from pumping in the bathroom and my boss said, "That's all you got after pumping that long?" Talk about feeilng defeated. But I was determined to provide for my child.

It was a long road and when I finally decided to hang up the tubes (those of you with breast pumps know what I'm talking about), it was a relief. My life no longer revolved around pumping. From then on, it was formula.

Fast forward to the second positive pregnancy test I've ever had.

I was determined to  breast feed with Catherine if it was the last thing I did. So when I checked into the hospital and was first getting my pitocin and IV drip, I told the nurse I wanted to see a lactation consultant as soon as possible and reiterated what a terrible breastfeeding experience I had had with my son. It was very important to me that people listen to me this time.

I brought with me to the hospital my "Womanly Art of Breastfeeding" book so I could reference it as I needed. I was prepared with hours and hours of blog and article reading regarding breastfeeding. I was bound and determined to make it work. There wasn't any other choice in the matter.

The nurses whisked her away after she was born and after an hour of checking vitals, making sure she was breathing (she was a breath holder, which led to the nurses giving her oxygen to make sure her reflexes kicked in), asked if I wanted to try breastfeeding.

YES. 

So I brought her to my breast and the nurse helped me get her to latch. It wasn't painful, it was a positive experience and I was elated that it was working out. I couldn't believe it was this easy! The nurse even commented that she seemed to figure it out right away, but then again, most girls do.

From there, it got more difficult, but she continued to nurse. I nursed twice the day she was born, and into that evening, my nipples began to get raw and hurt, but I continued to nurse.

Then the second night in the hospital came. I was having trouble getting her to latch, which, after the hours of reading blogs and articles, knew that would be a distinct possibility. So I continued to be patient and tried to get her to latch. An older, night nurse was on duty and came into my room. It was like deja vu. After commenting I had been trying to get her to latch for the past half hour, the night nurse took my boob, squeezed it and shoved Catherine's head onto it.

I thought I was going to lose my shit. But I tried really hard to stay calm. Catherine was clearly getting agitated as she hadn't latched yet and was very hungry, the night nurse was being pushy (what's with old ladies on the night shift being so damn pushy?) and I was about ready to, once again, lose my shit.

And like deja vu, the night nurse said, "Maybe if we put a bit of formula on the breast, she will take to it more." I tried to keep an open mind, and decided that maybe she was right. It did make sense and even though it didn't quite work with James, maybe it would with Catherine. So we tried, unsuccessfully, and in being unsuccessful, the night nurse said, "Maybe we should try a nipple shield."

I lost my shit in the nicest way possible.

"No. I do not want to try a nipple shield. I had a very negative experience with a nipple shield with my son, and I do not want to go that route. What I would like to do is simply keep trying."

The night nurse backed off, and after going through my mental checklist as to why Catherine might not seem interested, but was very clearly upset (hot? cold? hungry? under stimulated? over stimulated? dirty diaper?) I changed her diaper (dirty it was!) and immediately got her calmed down enough to nurse.

I was thrilled that breastfeeding was going so well. Even so, I ordered a new breast pump (covered 100% by insurance!) to prepare to pump when I go back to work in August.

I was thriled that it was much more easy to breastfeed. No more pump supplies and cleaning them and hooking myself up every 2-3 hours.

I was thrilled that I was going to be able to provide for my child.

So we came home. The first night home was a bit of a challenge, but I was not prepared for what the next 24 hours would bring.

My milk came in slowly on Thursday night/Friday morning. I started noticing that it was no longer the glue-like colostrum, but it was more runny. Although I had prepared myself for so many things in regard to breastfeeding, I was not prepared for the engorgement.

I briefly remember the engorgment from my post-partum with James, but I did not remember it being that bad. So I did the one thing I swore to myself I was no going to do. I pumped and gave what I had to Catherine in a bottle. She did horribly with it, which made me feel even more like a failure. I was a wreck.

By the time I was ready to take Catherine to her 2-day doctor's appointment, my breasts hurt so bad I was on the verge of tears. And combine that verge of tears with my hormone levels, I was bawling on my way into the doctor's office.

It was, in fact, so bad at the doctor's office, that I'm pretty sure the middle-aged man next to me was terrified and moved a seat over.

The nurses at the clinic are so sweet, and one in particular simply whisked me back into the exam room without weighing or measuring Catherine. She sat and rubbed my back as I cried and cried and cried. My boobs hurt so bad, my nipples were so chapped, it was so overwhelming to try and do so many things with two children.

The doctor came in and just talked with me. We talked about how hard it was. We talked about how people can tell you about how hard it is, but until you experience it, you really have no idea.

She looked at my nipples, and suggested a nipple shield (that dreaded word again!). I expressed how negative an experience that was with James, and she said if Catherine has no problems latching now, the nipple shield will only help the experience, rather than hinder it.

So I immediately went to the store, still teary-eyed, and bought a nipple shield.

It has been my saving grace.

Another thing my doctor suggested was that I do whatever I needed possible to make myself comfortable in providing for Catherine.  So if that means that to save my aching nipples, I pump, then pump. So be it. I'm still, over everything else, exclusively breastfeeding. But it's ok to take a break, give myself some time to recover and make sure that I'm not only providing for Catherine, but I'm also taking care of me.

Somewhere in all of those articles and blogs I had read, it never said anything about taking care of yourself.

So yes, when Catherine immediately latches, it feels like someone is slamming my nipples in a drawer. It feels like someone has taken them and is about to twist them off. It feels like they will never be the same again.

Yes, the uterine cramps that accompanied breastfeeding the first time are 10x worse the second time around and I continue to have them, even 5 days in (though not as bad as the beginning).

And yes, I am using a nipple shield, which doesn't allow her to "latch" correctly.

But I don't care. I'm happy, Catherine is happy, and we're blissfully sailing into the breastfeeding world. I cannot tell you how happy I am that it's working. That we're doing it.

Sure, there are things that crop up that worry me - like how long should she nurse for? And when she "empties" one breast and I move her to the other breast, she never seems interested and I then only end up feeding off one breast (which is ok, says one article, as long as your body adjusts and provides enough milk, which I believe it is). And what's this thrush stuff? How do you get it? Should I be worried?

But in all this, my pump sits silent at the bottom of my nightstand. There if I need it.

I'm thankful that I don't.