My honest, unfiltered feelings about the beauty of breastfeeding...

So, the only thing on my mind right now is breastfeeding. It could be because I pump 6 times a day, around the clock. It could be because Wilson has never successfully latched, or it could be because every day seems to bring with it more challenges than successes with breastfeeding. So even though I refuse to give up, I must purge my thoughts on this topic now. Forewarning: this post has a little TMI in it. If you are uncomfortable with talk of boobies, skip this post. You have been warned.

I should have known that there may be some issues with breastfeeding, but being the ultimate optimist I am, I thought that we would easily overcome these issues and I pictured myself happily breastfeeding my little cooperative infant. During pregnancy, my boobs seemed to take on a life of their own, or at least their own zipcode. I went from a double D pre-pregnancy to an L. Yes, that is a bra size. So that is a 9 size increase. Nine cup sizes. Ridiculous. But I hoped that this meant that I would have lots of milk and the baby would be thrilled. The midwives also informed me that since my breasts were getting so large, I had something called "flat nipples", which I didn't have pre-pregnancy. They told me it was no big deal; "babies will latch on your shoulder," they said. LIES.

Right after we delivered, Wilson latched right away. He didn't stay there long, but I was very happy; it seemed like we were going to have minimal problems. The next day in the hospital, Wilson really wasn't hungry. He didn't root at all (the little sucking faces babies make in order to communicate they would like to eat) and was passing lots of diapers, so we didn't really worry about it. Then the nurses and our pediatrician freaked us out when they said "he should be latching already," "you have to do this before you go home", "your milk supply will be compromised", etc. So being worried about that, against my better judgment, I let the nurses "help" me try to get Wilson to latch. The help consisted of a random nurse grabbing my boob, putting Wilson into some torturous position and thrusting it in his face. He would cry almost immediately. After a few of those experiences, I let the nurses know I wouldn't need any more help, but I couldn't do it on my own either. When I looked at my poor little infant son with this ginormous boob coming at him, I didn't really blame him for crying. I could barely hold him and me at the same time. It must have been humorous, although very sad, to watch. 

I decided to try to pump some colostrum and was actually successful at getting quite a bit to feed him in a dropper, so that made me feel better momentarily. The pediatrician also informed us that he had a small tongue tie, which might make it more difficult for him to latch. "Great," I thought. "My infant has a low threshold for frustration, a small mouth and a tongue tie. I have large breasts with flat nipples. How the heck is this supposed to be natural for us?" Feeling a bit defective, when Wilson was finally hungry on the morning of our discharge, I didn't hesitate to give him formula. He took it easily and seemed very content. 

Mike and I went home and got Earth's Best organic formula and I got to pumping...absolutely nothing. I would pump for 20 minutes and would get 3 drops. It was heartbreaking. I put warm compresses on before pumping, I took a shower, I held the baby and I looked at the baby while pumping. Nothing helped. I reassured myself that my milk wasn't in yet and it would be ok. Even though I had the hands free system, I didn't have the bustier that works with it, so I had to use my hands to hold the pump on - massaging the milk ducts as I went. As a side note, I've never touched my boobs this much, nor thought so little of it. On day 5, my milk still hadn't come in, but the drops I did get looked like they were transitional milk, so I felt hopeful. We went to Dr. Smillie, who is this world-renown breastfeeding expert. She made me feel so much better; I cried, but in happiness. She explained that breastfeeding is natural, but in our culture, we are so bad at it, that we end up doing it wrong because we hear lots of bad advice on how to do it - hence my hospital experience. She showed us a video where the mother just leans back and physically and emotionally supports the infant. The baby wriggles and moved down the mother and then latched right on themselves. I cried thinking about that possibility. So, I leaned back, Wilson laid on me and did an amazing job of moving down to my breast. Then he looked at my boob... and burst out crying. Dr. Smillie set him back up on my chest and he went down again (we have that part down), stared at my boob and cried hysterically again. Dr. Smillie made me feel much better; she explained to me that boobs come in all different sizes and shapes; mine were completely within the range of normal, as were those pesky flat nipples. However, Wilson now had what was called "breast distress'. The nurses at the hospital had literally made my baby phobic of my boobs. So our homework was for me to keep my milk supply up, keep feeding him from the bottle and reconnect to Wilson without the threat of danger-boobs. I just had to hold him on my chest, skin-to-skin when he was full and connect with him. 

That night, I tried to hand express, like she had shown me in the office. I watched a video. I read instructions. I tried. I tried again. And again. I could not do it. I could graduate with a doctorate from Yale, but I could not, for the life of me, figure out how to milk myself. Our doula was there that night and offered to help try to hand-express the milk. Out of pure desperation, I accepted. Mike had this strange expression on his face as he watched this scene; he told me later, that he wasn't sure whether to be excited or horrified. Either way, it didn't work. So I switched back to the pump. Only problem was that the flanges were too small, so it pinched me as it pumped. I sat there, trying to pump through the pain and then hand express, all to no avail. Finally, I just burst out crying. Mike looked at me frantically, but luckily Jess, my best friend, was there to provide some much-needed words of encouragement. She told me that every woman she knows who has breastfed has had problems at one point AND cried over it. She told me that she didn't feel comfortable with breastfeeding until 6 weeks and I had lots of time. Plus my milk would come in soon and I shouldn't worry. I sopped up my tears and went to sleep. Only to wake up in the morning with my wish coming true: my milk had come in. And the phrase be careful what you wish for resonated in my head as the pain set in, coupled with a feeling of hardness I did not anticipate. The pump wasn't working since it was too small, I couldn't figure out how to hand-express and it felt like my boobs were going to explode. Hence, I cried again. Mike called around to get the right size flanges for me and raced off to pick them up. I ordered a hands-free bustier and prayed that Wilson stayed asleep so I didn't have to move. When Mike got back, I took a shower and pumped. And lo and behold, Milk! Lots of it. One issue seemed to be resolved. I rejoiced and was even happier when my hands free system was actually hands free with the arrival of the bustier. I continued the skin to skin with Wilson and felt happy that we had progressed. 

I pumped a lot, but couldn't keep up with Wilson's eating schedule. I asked a few friends because I felt like I was making a lot of milk, but couldn't figure out why I wasn't keeping up. I was pumping about 25 ounces a day and he was still taking 10 ounces of formula on top of that. I found out that that was not quite normal and the fact that I pumped that much a day was really great. In the interim, Mike had done research on formula and found out that most of the formula in the U.S. is not that great. Big surprise. In fact, the "organic" formula we were using has arsenic and other bad chemicals in it as a byproduct of the way it creates DHA from mold. I was more than a bit horrified; luckily my husband is a crazy researcher like me and found a formula used in Europe (Halle) that is truly organic and meets all European standards, meaning it won't poison your baby. You'd think we may want that in the states, but whatever. So he had it imported from France and we found that not only did Wilson love it, it gave him less gas as well. Also, I learned apparently I had an over-achiever boob and a lazy boob. I would get 4 ounces out of one side and only 1 ounce out of the other. Apparently this is common, but annoying.

Our next visit with Dr. Smillie was a bit different. Wilson was in a cluster feeding day, so he was easily frustrated and we couldn't even attempt to latch without him getting frustrated right away. They told me that the uneven breast milk issue wasn't a problem unless I cared about having different sizes when my milk came in. I let them know that attractiveness was really not a priority at this point. When I'm pumping or when I'm covered in spit-up, I'm really not thinking about how good I look in my bra. They tracked his weight and found that he had jumped substantially; from 8 pounds at birth to 11 pounds 10 ounces at week 4. They thought that maybe my milk was not creating enough cream. I told them I was pretty sure it was because I could see it separate in the bottle, but it made sense with how fast he was growing. With too much skim, it just makes the baby perpetually hungry and they never get the fulfilling fat content of the cream. They taught me how to do the "breast milk shake", which involves more massaging of your boobs and sent me home with instructions to get a new bottle because Wilson's latch was also way too small - even on the bottle. I had bought Tommee Tippee Closer to Nature bottles because they were supposed to be good for breastfeeding mothers. Apparently, they are also big liars. They recommended Playtex nursers with slow flow nipples because those are actually the closest thing to how a real nipple looks when it is compressed in a baby's mouth, whereas Tommee Tippee bottles just look like a boob. She also clued me in that you can lubricate the flanges using lanolin or olive oil, which I hadn't been doing before - explaining some of the pain I felt with the friction of pumping. So, after all that new information, I drove home...and cried again. I just wanted one thing to be easy with this. For the whole "natural" part to show it's beautiful head. Instead, I got skim milk and bad bottles on top of our already large laundry list of breastfeeding issues. 

On the advice of Jess, I refrigerated my milk to see how much skim was really in my milk, since it separates when refrigerated. Surprisingly, my milk is vastly cream, so that was NOT the problem in the least. I felt better about that, but then realized that this meant that my baby was just a giant milk piggy. I'm not sure if that is better or not... The doctors also wanted me to pump less - only 10  minutes. But I didn't let down significantly until after 15 minutes - needing to pump to 30 minutes or more sometimes to empty. I asked them what the issue was if I did pump for a really long time and they said the only problem is sore nipples. Apparently, that is the one thing I have going for me: my nipples are real troopers. But, pumping is a huge time suck, no pun intended. Thirty minutes 6 or 7 times a day means HOURS of pumping around the clock. Minus that time from the amount of sleep I get because I have to wait for Wilson to fall asleep to pump unless Mike is home. 

However, I finally figured out a good pumping schedule (every 4 hours) and am almost making enough milk for Wilson's 35 ounces a day. I also tried the whole hand expression thing after pumping once and I figured it out! I was so excited, I had to show Mike. I realized how much my life has changed when I thought that a little over a month ago, I was showing him my publications with equal excitement. We finally bought the new bottles today. I prepared them all, sanitized them, got them ready and then poured some breast milk in them after pumping. I happily gave it to Wilson and watched him make the biggest stank face I've ever seen as he tried to figure out how to suck from this differently. He finally opened his mouth a little wider, then drank 2 ounces. I burped him and then he went back, only to let out those very familiar 'this is torture' cries I remembered when we first tried breast feeding. I let him drink the last few ounces from his old bottle, which we had handy. The next feeding was a repeat and I felt dejected once again. It felt like 1 step forward, 2 steps back.

The bottom line with breastfeeding is that it sucks, even when your infant doesn't. Pumping is abnormal and sometimes painful. When my milk comes in, it feels like a bee has made a nest in my breast and is flying through it. If I get a good pump in, I get 7 ounces out. But then, sometimes I get 2 ounces after pumping the same amount of time. Pumping takes forever when you count the time spent getting ready, putting on the torture device and then cleaning up after pumping. After that much effort, it feels like this liquid is more precious than gold. If I spill any of the breast milk or when he spits it up, it feels like someone is ripping out my soul.

And yet, I'm still doing it. I still hope that he will latch. I pray for that day. I know I'm giving him the best start he can have by giving him breast milk. I look at how much he's growing and know that his fast physical and cognitive development are really great things. I look at how lucky I am to have him, to be married to Mike (who could win a world's best husband award at this point) and I am content. I know other mothers have far worse problems than I am having and so I keep reminding myself to stay strong and to keep moving forward one step at a time.

As I was writing this, Wilson woke up and I fed him with the new bottle. Almost cried because I hadn't secured the nipple on it right, so when I tipped it up I dumped an ounce on him and me (soul-ripping), BUT then he drank from the bottle once it was fixed. All of his 3 ounces, got milk drunk better than usual and fell right back to sleep to be put to bed. One step forward. Now to go change my clothes...