Nursing Mom
I've had several friends who were "unable" to nurse so even before Eliza was born, I worried I wouldn't be able to do this thing that should come naturally. Problems my friends had encountered ranged from low milk supply to a baby that simply turned away from an engorged boob. Being that I'm a little weirdly competitive with C's ex-wife, who I know had the ability to nurse, I was especially concerned I wouldn't be able to measure up to C's first experience as a father. It was stupid on my part and as C's ex is wildly successful at whatever she does, C's reminded me many times no one should trouble themselves to compete with her because "everyone is going to lose."
Ex-wife aside, I felt strongly about nursing and hoped I'd be able to do it. It seemed easier than heating up a bottle in the middle of the night, was certainly more economical, and since it was a natural occurrence, I felt healthier for the baby. People who'd suggested nursing as a way to lose the baby weight added more fuel to my nursing desire. I took a breastfeeding class shortly before my due date and hoped all would go well.
When the nurse brought Eliza to me for the first time and showed me how to attach her to my breast, I was very pleased to see my little darling latch on right away. In lactation circles, the "latch" is everything and since my baby seemed to be a champion latcher, it looked like I was going to be okay. As a C-section mom, I had a longer stint in the hospital and I used my time to make sure every nurse showed me her own technique to help make Eliza's nursing experience easier. Despite their impressed assurance that Eliza had a "good latch" I still worried incessently about my milk supply. Since I'd been told in the breastfeeding class and in the books that nursing didn't hurt unless the baby didn't have a good latch, I worried Eliza wasn't getting enough to eat. The books say without a good latch, the baby won't get enough to eat.
However, at Eliza's early pediatrician appointments, the doctor seemed impressed with Eliza's weight gain and eased my fears. Once my initial blisters (and yes you get them and they're painful and ugly) healed and the nursing continued to hurt, I worried about her latch, that I had an infection or thrush. I finally broke down and called a lactation consultant. $200 bucks later she'd seemed to narrow the problem down to Eliza's stingy mouth opening but couldn't offer any concrete method for getting Eliza to open her mouth wider. I remember one nurse at the hospital saying, "If she doesn't open wider don't give it to her" but I wasn't about to starve my child. Around 2 months, the nursing magically stopped hurting and I realized it probably had something to do with my baby's mouth growing.
Much to my relief, Eliza gained more than the required amount of weight in the first two weeks and I felt pleased to save us all the cost of formula. In order to keep some semblence of my life before child, I'd arranged to have a part-time babysitter come about 8 hours a week after the baby was born so I could go to the pool and get rid of the baby weight. All I'd need was to pump enough for two bottles a week and we'd be set.
The nursing's relative ease was matched by the hassle and frustration of pumping. It doesn't really hurt my body, but it's affected me emotionally and pushed me to the point of extreme exhaustion. First I bought a $30 hand pump just in case the nursing didn't work out. It took me a few tries to get the thing to work but imagine my surprise that night I woke up in the middle of the night engorged to watch the pump actually express milk from my body. I was impressed by my body's functionality and kept pumping but could only draw out less than two ounces. Eliza already required at least four ounces a bottle. I pumped again the following day but only extracted about an ounce. Finally, I realized it would take about three pumping sessions to come up with enough for one bottle. Factor in a baby that didn't let me put her down and the 20 minutes it took to sterilize the pump parts after each session and you can get how difficult a task this was.
Determined not the plunk down the $260 for the double electric pump that had become the Successful New York Mom standard, I purchased a small single electric pump. C had suggested it was the kind his ex-wife used and "she'd never had a problem with it." Unfortunately, not only did this pump sound like a small UFO landing in my living room, it seemed to extract even less than the manual pump. Books recommend staring at the baby's photo or pumping while the baby nurses on the other breast (a physical impossibly for me due to the way I held Eliza while nursing), none of which worked. But still I soldiered on, lamenting how the simple act of hiring a babysitter forced me to use what free time I had trying to get the proverbial blood from a stone.
Finally, even though I hadn't planned on going back to work, I decided it was time to suck it up and purchase the $260 pump. C had bought me ballet tickets as a Christmas present and on the day we were scheduled to go and his brother would come buy to babysit, I went to Buy Buy Baby (I've certainly taken their advice) and splurged on the double electric pump. I came home, put Eliza in her crib, and put the pump together.
Unfortunately, Eliza wasn't going to make the process easier by napping. As I unwrapped piece after piece from tightly packed plastic bags, Eliza wailed with the athleticism of a long distance runner. I had to sift through a rather large instruction book and skim past the silly instructions like "get a glass of water and sit in a comfortable chair looking at your baby" for the actual advice on how to use the thing. With Eliza still screaming, I pressed the breast shields to me and turned the thing on. It was a good deal quieter than the other electric pump so in that vein it was worth it. But my boobs just sat there, filling the shields. As I'd had some experience with two other pumps, it didn't take long for me to realize there was no suction. I put all the pieces back together, followed the trouble shooting instructions and still nothing happened. Eliza screamed louder and louder and finally I had to give up and accept that my non-refundable $260 investment didn't work. It was after five, C's brother set to arrive about 6:45. I would not be able to produce a bottle for my daughter.
In my bathrobe, I pushed the pump aside and pressed Eliza to me. After she was done nursing and in her crib napping, I called C and told him I couldn't go to the ballet, I could never go out, I had to stay home in my bathrobe and nurse all day. He suggested calling the manufacturer, stop the pity party, etc. but I had hit bottom, the full impact of my new responsibility finally hitting me. Nursing Moms don't get a lot of breaks and I didn't even know what kind of formula to buy, all the choices were too overwhelming. So many books suggest against supplementing early on (Eliza was about 8 weeks now) as it can interfere with your milk supply. In fact, the books really pressure you to do every feeding or pump like crazy if you miss a feeding because skipping a feeding triggers your body to cut back on it's supply. In my dark and hormonal state, I was convinced that a single bottle of formula could end breastfeeding for good. After spending so much money on breast pumps, I hated to cop to the cost of dinner in a jar as well.
So I hung up with C, turned out the light and decided I'd have to spend the rest of Eliza's nursing months isolated, bathrobed and ready to let down. He came home about 20 minutes later and ordered me to get out of bed. Again I refused, saying we couldn't go out and leave the baby with no milk. He said he'd go downstairs and get formula but I protested, feeling that kind of purchase was a massive defeat. Finally, the fact that he came home from work early or just his caring insistence convinced me to get out of bed and get dressed. We had formula we'd been given when we left the hospital and C prepared the bottle while I got ready. His brother arrived and I walked him through the evening.
When we got to the ballet I realized I really had been depressed and this evening out was something I'd needed.
"Thank you," I said to C during intermission. "You did a good thing tonight."
Unfortunately, when we called home to see how Eliza was doing, his brother said she'd refused the formula. Terrified of starving my child, I insisted we go home despite the fact that she was now asleep. When I got home, she didn't wake up right away to feed. So the four of us hung out for a bit, Eliza on my lap for at least an hour.
The next day I called the breast pump manufacturer and they did help me get the thing to work. The double pump made a big difference. Suddenly I could pump 3-4 ounces instead of 1-2. However, as Eliza already required more than four ounces, it still took several pumping sessions a week to come up with two bottles. Any night C babysit while I went out with friends, thus requiring a third bottle, were tortuous. I finally found that the best way to get the most from my pumping was to wake up in the wee morning hours while everyone was still sleeping and pump. I did this frequently and built up a small stash in the freezer.
However at four months, Eliza started cereal increasing the demand for breast milk. At six months, the doctor told me to elevate her cereal feedings from one a day to two. Now I need to produce at least two bottles a week plus enough for two bowls of cereal per day. I've been getting up before she does to pump but last week I decided to give it a rest. It's time to throw in the towel and start giving her formula.
It's sad as Eliza does prefer my milk to the powdered kind, not only in taste but in digestion. Being a nursing Mom is a real committment and though I've come to love and celebrate that committment, being a pumping Mom is hell. Just putting the thing together takes at least five minutes, as does taking it apart. Then there's the added grief of the sterilizing and drying. I love my daughter, and I'm happy to keep up the nursing but I can't pump anymore.
But I do celebrate how well the nursing has gone and without the pressure of pumping, I find I really enjoy nursing. It's our time, my time to be with her and hold her while she lies against me and closes her eyes. Often, she still falls asleep while nursing and though the books suggest against this, in favor of teaching a baby to fall asleep "on her own" it's so nice to hold her in my arms and pretend she's still my tiny little baby, the newborn who wouldn't let me put her down. There's so many ways to love a child and nursing feels like one of the best ways to me. I dread the day I stop nursing as it still is such a reliable way to calm her down. I wonder what other tactics will soothe her when the boob closes up shop. On the plus side, I look forward to wearing clothes without hidden slits around the boobs that aren't stained with baby puke.
In the end, nursing is very draining yet tremendously rewarding and wonderful. I am so grateful my daughter latched on "like a pirahna" and we've been able to share this experience together.
Ex-wife aside, I felt strongly about nursing and hoped I'd be able to do it. It seemed easier than heating up a bottle in the middle of the night, was certainly more economical, and since it was a natural occurrence, I felt healthier for the baby. People who'd suggested nursing as a way to lose the baby weight added more fuel to my nursing desire. I took a breastfeeding class shortly before my due date and hoped all would go well.
When the nurse brought Eliza to me for the first time and showed me how to attach her to my breast, I was very pleased to see my little darling latch on right away. In lactation circles, the "latch" is everything and since my baby seemed to be a champion latcher, it looked like I was going to be okay. As a C-section mom, I had a longer stint in the hospital and I used my time to make sure every nurse showed me her own technique to help make Eliza's nursing experience easier. Despite their impressed assurance that Eliza had a "good latch" I still worried incessently about my milk supply. Since I'd been told in the breastfeeding class and in the books that nursing didn't hurt unless the baby didn't have a good latch, I worried Eliza wasn't getting enough to eat. The books say without a good latch, the baby won't get enough to eat.
However, at Eliza's early pediatrician appointments, the doctor seemed impressed with Eliza's weight gain and eased my fears. Once my initial blisters (and yes you get them and they're painful and ugly) healed and the nursing continued to hurt, I worried about her latch, that I had an infection or thrush. I finally broke down and called a lactation consultant. $200 bucks later she'd seemed to narrow the problem down to Eliza's stingy mouth opening but couldn't offer any concrete method for getting Eliza to open her mouth wider. I remember one nurse at the hospital saying, "If she doesn't open wider don't give it to her" but I wasn't about to starve my child. Around 2 months, the nursing magically stopped hurting and I realized it probably had something to do with my baby's mouth growing.
Much to my relief, Eliza gained more than the required amount of weight in the first two weeks and I felt pleased to save us all the cost of formula. In order to keep some semblence of my life before child, I'd arranged to have a part-time babysitter come about 8 hours a week after the baby was born so I could go to the pool and get rid of the baby weight. All I'd need was to pump enough for two bottles a week and we'd be set.
The nursing's relative ease was matched by the hassle and frustration of pumping. It doesn't really hurt my body, but it's affected me emotionally and pushed me to the point of extreme exhaustion. First I bought a $30 hand pump just in case the nursing didn't work out. It took me a few tries to get the thing to work but imagine my surprise that night I woke up in the middle of the night engorged to watch the pump actually express milk from my body. I was impressed by my body's functionality and kept pumping but could only draw out less than two ounces. Eliza already required at least four ounces a bottle. I pumped again the following day but only extracted about an ounce. Finally, I realized it would take about three pumping sessions to come up with enough for one bottle. Factor in a baby that didn't let me put her down and the 20 minutes it took to sterilize the pump parts after each session and you can get how difficult a task this was.
Determined not the plunk down the $260 for the double electric pump that had become the Successful New York Mom standard, I purchased a small single electric pump. C had suggested it was the kind his ex-wife used and "she'd never had a problem with it." Unfortunately, not only did this pump sound like a small UFO landing in my living room, it seemed to extract even less than the manual pump. Books recommend staring at the baby's photo or pumping while the baby nurses on the other breast (a physical impossibly for me due to the way I held Eliza while nursing), none of which worked. But still I soldiered on, lamenting how the simple act of hiring a babysitter forced me to use what free time I had trying to get the proverbial blood from a stone.
Finally, even though I hadn't planned on going back to work, I decided it was time to suck it up and purchase the $260 pump. C had bought me ballet tickets as a Christmas present and on the day we were scheduled to go and his brother would come buy to babysit, I went to Buy Buy Baby (I've certainly taken their advice) and splurged on the double electric pump. I came home, put Eliza in her crib, and put the pump together.
Unfortunately, Eliza wasn't going to make the process easier by napping. As I unwrapped piece after piece from tightly packed plastic bags, Eliza wailed with the athleticism of a long distance runner. I had to sift through a rather large instruction book and skim past the silly instructions like "get a glass of water and sit in a comfortable chair looking at your baby" for the actual advice on how to use the thing. With Eliza still screaming, I pressed the breast shields to me and turned the thing on. It was a good deal quieter than the other electric pump so in that vein it was worth it. But my boobs just sat there, filling the shields. As I'd had some experience with two other pumps, it didn't take long for me to realize there was no suction. I put all the pieces back together, followed the trouble shooting instructions and still nothing happened. Eliza screamed louder and louder and finally I had to give up and accept that my non-refundable $260 investment didn't work. It was after five, C's brother set to arrive about 6:45. I would not be able to produce a bottle for my daughter.
In my bathrobe, I pushed the pump aside and pressed Eliza to me. After she was done nursing and in her crib napping, I called C and told him I couldn't go to the ballet, I could never go out, I had to stay home in my bathrobe and nurse all day. He suggested calling the manufacturer, stop the pity party, etc. but I had hit bottom, the full impact of my new responsibility finally hitting me. Nursing Moms don't get a lot of breaks and I didn't even know what kind of formula to buy, all the choices were too overwhelming. So many books suggest against supplementing early on (Eliza was about 8 weeks now) as it can interfere with your milk supply. In fact, the books really pressure you to do every feeding or pump like crazy if you miss a feeding because skipping a feeding triggers your body to cut back on it's supply. In my dark and hormonal state, I was convinced that a single bottle of formula could end breastfeeding for good. After spending so much money on breast pumps, I hated to cop to the cost of dinner in a jar as well.
So I hung up with C, turned out the light and decided I'd have to spend the rest of Eliza's nursing months isolated, bathrobed and ready to let down. He came home about 20 minutes later and ordered me to get out of bed. Again I refused, saying we couldn't go out and leave the baby with no milk. He said he'd go downstairs and get formula but I protested, feeling that kind of purchase was a massive defeat. Finally, the fact that he came home from work early or just his caring insistence convinced me to get out of bed and get dressed. We had formula we'd been given when we left the hospital and C prepared the bottle while I got ready. His brother arrived and I walked him through the evening.
When we got to the ballet I realized I really had been depressed and this evening out was something I'd needed.
"Thank you," I said to C during intermission. "You did a good thing tonight."
Unfortunately, when we called home to see how Eliza was doing, his brother said she'd refused the formula. Terrified of starving my child, I insisted we go home despite the fact that she was now asleep. When I got home, she didn't wake up right away to feed. So the four of us hung out for a bit, Eliza on my lap for at least an hour.
The next day I called the breast pump manufacturer and they did help me get the thing to work. The double pump made a big difference. Suddenly I could pump 3-4 ounces instead of 1-2. However, as Eliza already required more than four ounces, it still took several pumping sessions a week to come up with two bottles. Any night C babysit while I went out with friends, thus requiring a third bottle, were tortuous. I finally found that the best way to get the most from my pumping was to wake up in the wee morning hours while everyone was still sleeping and pump. I did this frequently and built up a small stash in the freezer.
However at four months, Eliza started cereal increasing the demand for breast milk. At six months, the doctor told me to elevate her cereal feedings from one a day to two. Now I need to produce at least two bottles a week plus enough for two bowls of cereal per day. I've been getting up before she does to pump but last week I decided to give it a rest. It's time to throw in the towel and start giving her formula.
It's sad as Eliza does prefer my milk to the powdered kind, not only in taste but in digestion. Being a nursing Mom is a real committment and though I've come to love and celebrate that committment, being a pumping Mom is hell. Just putting the thing together takes at least five minutes, as does taking it apart. Then there's the added grief of the sterilizing and drying. I love my daughter, and I'm happy to keep up the nursing but I can't pump anymore.
But I do celebrate how well the nursing has gone and without the pressure of pumping, I find I really enjoy nursing. It's our time, my time to be with her and hold her while she lies against me and closes her eyes. Often, she still falls asleep while nursing and though the books suggest against this, in favor of teaching a baby to fall asleep "on her own" it's so nice to hold her in my arms and pretend she's still my tiny little baby, the newborn who wouldn't let me put her down. There's so many ways to love a child and nursing feels like one of the best ways to me. I dread the day I stop nursing as it still is such a reliable way to calm her down. I wonder what other tactics will soothe her when the boob closes up shop. On the plus side, I look forward to wearing clothes without hidden slits around the boobs that aren't stained with baby puke.
In the end, nursing is very draining yet tremendously rewarding and wonderful. I am so grateful my daughter latched on "like a pirahna" and we've been able to share this experience together.
posted by Litgirl Mama at 6:23 AM
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