If you are trying to make a decision regarding whether to breastfeed or not, perhaps head to another site.
This is not for the faint-hearted. Nor is it everyone’s experience; but
goddamit, it was totally mine!
I breastfed both my babies. It was the path I was strongly guided down; not by midwives, or friends, or maternal health nurses…but by me. By my own expectations and pressures. I was my own worst enemy. Finally these boobs that I had tried to hide since puberty were going to have some use. These wobbly sacks (oops…that’s current), I mean…these perky, bubbles that had hampered my sport, and pushed buttons to within an inch of their life, were finally going to do something.
Something apparently quite magical.
Something apparently quite magical.
The practice is to place the baby upon the mother’s skin pretty much immediately after birth and let it discover the nipple; boom. My boy latched on – this area formerly known as ‘pleasure’ locked into ‘pain’. I smiled beatifically at the midwife, whilst curling my toes and willing myself to keep it together. Was this it? Was I doing it?
Cold hands swamped my boobs.
They’d all recently seen my vagina; by now I had no shame.
They’d all recently seen my vagina; by now I had no shame.
“Now, just brush your nipple against his mouth….”
“Make sure his nose is clear…”
“Too much nipple. I can see too much nipple…”
“Now, clamp it down…NOW…” CHOMP!
Toe curls….breathe, Anna, breathe, breathe.
“No, he’s not attaching. Let’s try another position…”
Another position????
Can you not see how long it took me to winch my sore and sutured body upright? I flashed another dazzling “I’m coping” smile and slowly moved….oh god, he’s crying now…move faster…
“Let’s try….lying down… rugby style…wedging cushions here…twin style….Just relax…just relax.”
My midwives were pretty fabulous; most could see my struggle and sympathise and I really never expressed just how deep I was sinking…I had this, I could do this!
Due to a post birth complication and blood loss, I actually had no milk. I was feeding, pumping and then giving bubs this squirt in a bottle. How could this tiny amount sustain this child?
Well, it wasn’t. Formula top-ups now. Strange mathematical calculations were being scrawled on a small whiteboard; yes, yes – I understand….(really? REALLY?) Words tumbled across the room…expressing, sterilising, nipple shields, mastitis, attachment, let down, lactation…swirling, whirling across the room into the mist of my mind. No one had explained I was supposed to have learnt another language in preparation.
Well, it wasn’t. Formula top-ups now. Strange mathematical calculations were being scrawled on a small whiteboard; yes, yes – I understand….(really? REALLY?) Words tumbled across the room…expressing, sterilising, nipple shields, mastitis, attachment, let down, lactation…swirling, whirling across the room into the mist of my mind. No one had explained I was supposed to have learnt another language in preparation.
As for my nipples? Hanging in there…just. It was like when you have a brand new pair of spankin’ heels, develop that blister, and have to keep on dancing.
“It’s OK if they bleed. The blood won’t hurt the baby.”
Are you for real?…Nipple check…were they actually still there? I thank God to this day for the pediatrician who checked my nipples and actually told me to skip a few feeds off one. I was exhausted and grateful and he left the room and I cried.
But….as many mothers before me have said….it does get easier.
Maybe I should have gone to the bottle earlier and saved myself a lot of angst. Maybe not. I own my decisions and hindsight is a wonderful thing. And…I did it again. I breastfed my next baby, too. This time I had some more realistic expectations. I knew what I was and wasn’t comfortable with. It was still an extraordinarily difficult challenge…again; not at all like simply jumping back on the bike.
But now folks?
Now my boobs are back at last.
I sometimes even wear lacy bras.
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