My Breastfeeding Journey Part I
Ahhhh, my breastfeeding journey… I know it sounds silly, but this is one of the true reasons for starting my blog. I want to share my story because frankly, I'm so freakin' proud of myself for nursing Ainsley this long. Who would have thought that breastfeeding was going to be one of my life's biggest accomplishments? Not me, that's for sure. And that's why I want to make sure I remember all the challenges and joys I've experienced through nursing as a way to encourage myself to do the same for all my kids.
So let's start from the beginning, actually no, let's start before the beginning: My mom breastfed all four of her children, all my aunts breastfed my cousins, all my cousins breastfed their kids, and many new moms around me were breastfeeding as well. So there was never really a question about whether or not I would do the same with my kids. Formula was foreign to me, and in my eyes, breastfeeding was the only option. I don't really know why, I mean, yes, the breastfeeding benefits are plastered everywhere, but formula is FINE and I know countless perfectly healthy, perfectly happy kids who grew up on the stuff. So what made me so hard-headed about it still remains a mystery to me to this day.
When I was pregnant, I had heard horror stories about breastfeeding, about how painful and difficult it can be and how it's just not for everyone. So I didn't go into this journey completely blind. It was actually one of the things that frightened me most during my pregnancy, "What if I couldn't breastfeed?" I was so worried about it and would give myself anxiety just thinking about it not working. Yet, despite my fears during my waking hours, breastfeeding was a calming and peaceful occurrence in many of my prenatal dreams. I can distinctly remember two dreams where I was nursing my baby. In one dream the baby was a girl and in another it was a boy, but the sentiment was the same. I looked down at him or her with their mouth carefully wrapped around my nipple, our eyes locked and all was just perfect. There were no worries, no anxiety, no issues. Just me feeding my baby.
Recalling those dreams still brings tears to my eyes. I think God or one of my angels in heaven was sending me signs telling me to relax and that all would be OK. And in a way, they were right, all would be OK… eventually.
But right from the get-go, I had some things going against me and my nursing mission. Number 1, my c-section - As I mentioned in one of my previous posts, I had a pretty bad experience coming out of the anesthesia, which prevented me from holding Ainsley for a couple hours. I'll never forget looking at her through half-opened eyes, as she lay in the glass bassinet next to me with her own eyes wide open and her mouth moving like a little fish. I wanted so badly to hold her and feed her but I could barely keep my teeth from chattering, let alone do either of those things.
Number 2, my pregnancy-induced carpal tunnel - In general, that was a pretty sucky pregnancy side-effect to get in my last trimester, but I had no idea how much more difficult it was going to make my breastfeeding experience.
And number 3 was my supposedly "flat" nipples - Ha! Looking back now, this is funny. As one of the lactation consultants later said to me, "Babies will make a "teet" from just about anything." So flat nipples my ass! I guess the issue was more of the fact that we introduced the darn nipple shield in less than 24 hours of birth, and once a baby learns to latch with a nipple shield, it's hard to take it away.
So basically, I was a shaking, handless, nippleless mommy determined to breastfeed my baby girl.
And that's just what I did. It took a few tries, but with the help of that darn nipple shield and my husband's hands, Ainsley latched. She latched and I cried. Tears of joy, of course, as I floated about in my postpartum fog.
Even though it's a little blurry, I feel like I remember most of our hospital stay. I remember being adamant about no bottles or formula and I remember being in awe of all the tools available to help feed the baby without those things. I remember my "breast friend", the super-animated, super-enthusiastic lactation consultant. I remember freaking out when Ainsley's weight dropped to below 10% of her birth weight. (Thank you, milk for taking your sweet-ass time to come in). But most of all, I remember my husband.
Ryan was just absolutely incredible. He took care of me and the baby with such ease and calm control that I don't know what I would have done without him. Yes, we all know that fathers of moms recovering from c-sections end up changing all the diapers, but I feel like Ryan went above and beyond when it came to my desire to nurse. Because my hands were so numb, he had to massage my boobs and keep Ainsley stimulated by rubbing her head and tickling her feet. He took genuine interest in meticulously measuring out my milileters of pumped colostrum with the little syringes and when I asked why he seemed to be having so much fun with it, he responded by saying, "It's cool, like science." (Yes, I married a science nerd, apparently.) Best of all, he got to take part in feeding the baby with his finger until my milk came in. By finger-feeding her, he was able to feel a similar intense bond to that of which I experienced while nursing. And he also got to feel our barracuda baby's intense latch that I experienced while nursing. Ouch!
Ok, so what's the big deal, you might ask. This all sounds pretty normal for the first week of nursing, right? I mean every new mom has it rocky in the beginning. Well, you are right. I probably wouldn't be writing this if my troubles ended in the first week. I probably wouldn't be writing this if my troubles ended in the first month, but my troubles just didn't seem to end.
When I got home from the hospital, my milk came flooding in. Ainsley gained a ton of weight and all was going perfectly well for her. For me, not so much. I ditched the nipple shield within the first week of being home cause it was just too annoying. Shortly after that I learned everything there is know about engorgement and clogged ducts and blebs. And I learned it all the hard way. I started seeing a lactation consultant and attended a breastfeeding support group. With the nice, hot summer we had, I also learned about thrush the hard way. The lactation consultant recommended wearing cotton shirts and going braless to air my puppies out. Well, that was just not practical! My entire shirt would have been soaked in a matter of minutes. I did sorta take her advice though and made ripping off my shirt and bra at the end of the day a regular occurrence. If we were out and about, I would literally be ITCHING to get home just so I could remove all my clothes from the waist up. I was in a chronic state of discomfort.
My favorite cousin who had 3 kids of her own would call to check up on me periodically and told me that 8 weeks of sore nipples was definitely not normal. "Just give her a bottle and give yourself a break," she said. "She's using you as a pacifier." Looking back, she probably was, but how was I supposed to know if she was hungry or just wanted to suck? Plus, I wanted to make sure we had breastfeeding down before introducing a bottle or pacifier.
Again, I don't know what made me so determined. Maybe it was the rewarding reassurance I got at every visit to the pediatrician's office. "She's gaining beautifully," they would tell me. Maybe it was the few special moments Ainsley and I shared where it didn't hurt, but actually felt nice. Maybe it was the way I would instantly relax and melt into the chair when she ate. For someone who was always on the move and cursed with high-levels of anxiety, my nursing sessions were a constant reminder to sit and chill out.
So was my breastfeeding experience all that bad? Absolutely not. If it was, I probably would have given up and just pumped, but I just kept trudging along. And before I knew it, Ainsley was 2 months old.
So let's start from the beginning, actually no, let's start before the beginning: My mom breastfed all four of her children, all my aunts breastfed my cousins, all my cousins breastfed their kids, and many new moms around me were breastfeeding as well. So there was never really a question about whether or not I would do the same with my kids. Formula was foreign to me, and in my eyes, breastfeeding was the only option. I don't really know why, I mean, yes, the breastfeeding benefits are plastered everywhere, but formula is FINE and I know countless perfectly healthy, perfectly happy kids who grew up on the stuff. So what made me so hard-headed about it still remains a mystery to me to this day.
When I was pregnant, I had heard horror stories about breastfeeding, about how painful and difficult it can be and how it's just not for everyone. So I didn't go into this journey completely blind. It was actually one of the things that frightened me most during my pregnancy, "What if I couldn't breastfeed?" I was so worried about it and would give myself anxiety just thinking about it not working. Yet, despite my fears during my waking hours, breastfeeding was a calming and peaceful occurrence in many of my prenatal dreams. I can distinctly remember two dreams where I was nursing my baby. In one dream the baby was a girl and in another it was a boy, but the sentiment was the same. I looked down at him or her with their mouth carefully wrapped around my nipple, our eyes locked and all was just perfect. There were no worries, no anxiety, no issues. Just me feeding my baby.
Recalling those dreams still brings tears to my eyes. I think God or one of my angels in heaven was sending me signs telling me to relax and that all would be OK. And in a way, they were right, all would be OK… eventually.
But right from the get-go, I had some things going against me and my nursing mission. Number 1, my c-section - As I mentioned in one of my previous posts, I had a pretty bad experience coming out of the anesthesia, which prevented me from holding Ainsley for a couple hours. I'll never forget looking at her through half-opened eyes, as she lay in the glass bassinet next to me with her own eyes wide open and her mouth moving like a little fish. I wanted so badly to hold her and feed her but I could barely keep my teeth from chattering, let alone do either of those things.
Number 2, my pregnancy-induced carpal tunnel - In general, that was a pretty sucky pregnancy side-effect to get in my last trimester, but I had no idea how much more difficult it was going to make my breastfeeding experience.
And number 3 was my supposedly "flat" nipples - Ha! Looking back now, this is funny. As one of the lactation consultants later said to me, "Babies will make a "teet" from just about anything." So flat nipples my ass! I guess the issue was more of the fact that we introduced the darn nipple shield in less than 24 hours of birth, and once a baby learns to latch with a nipple shield, it's hard to take it away.
So basically, I was a shaking, handless, nippleless mommy determined to breastfeed my baby girl.
And that's just what I did. It took a few tries, but with the help of that darn nipple shield and my husband's hands, Ainsley latched. She latched and I cried. Tears of joy, of course, as I floated about in my postpartum fog.
Even though it's a little blurry, I feel like I remember most of our hospital stay. I remember being adamant about no bottles or formula and I remember being in awe of all the tools available to help feed the baby without those things. I remember my "breast friend", the super-animated, super-enthusiastic lactation consultant. I remember freaking out when Ainsley's weight dropped to below 10% of her birth weight. (Thank you, milk for taking your sweet-ass time to come in). But most of all, I remember my husband.
Ryan was just absolutely incredible. He took care of me and the baby with such ease and calm control that I don't know what I would have done without him. Yes, we all know that fathers of moms recovering from c-sections end up changing all the diapers, but I feel like Ryan went above and beyond when it came to my desire to nurse. Because my hands were so numb, he had to massage my boobs and keep Ainsley stimulated by rubbing her head and tickling her feet. He took genuine interest in meticulously measuring out my milileters of pumped colostrum with the little syringes and when I asked why he seemed to be having so much fun with it, he responded by saying, "It's cool, like science." (Yes, I married a science nerd, apparently.) Best of all, he got to take part in feeding the baby with his finger until my milk came in. By finger-feeding her, he was able to feel a similar intense bond to that of which I experienced while nursing. And he also got to feel our barracuda baby's intense latch that I experienced while nursing. Ouch!
Ok, so what's the big deal, you might ask. This all sounds pretty normal for the first week of nursing, right? I mean every new mom has it rocky in the beginning. Well, you are right. I probably wouldn't be writing this if my troubles ended in the first week. I probably wouldn't be writing this if my troubles ended in the first month, but my troubles just didn't seem to end.
When I got home from the hospital, my milk came flooding in. Ainsley gained a ton of weight and all was going perfectly well for her. For me, not so much. I ditched the nipple shield within the first week of being home cause it was just too annoying. Shortly after that I learned everything there is know about engorgement and clogged ducts and blebs. And I learned it all the hard way. I started seeing a lactation consultant and attended a breastfeeding support group. With the nice, hot summer we had, I also learned about thrush the hard way. The lactation consultant recommended wearing cotton shirts and going braless to air my puppies out. Well, that was just not practical! My entire shirt would have been soaked in a matter of minutes. I did sorta take her advice though and made ripping off my shirt and bra at the end of the day a regular occurrence. If we were out and about, I would literally be ITCHING to get home just so I could remove all my clothes from the waist up. I was in a chronic state of discomfort.
My favorite cousin who had 3 kids of her own would call to check up on me periodically and told me that 8 weeks of sore nipples was definitely not normal. "Just give her a bottle and give yourself a break," she said. "She's using you as a pacifier." Looking back, she probably was, but how was I supposed to know if she was hungry or just wanted to suck? Plus, I wanted to make sure we had breastfeeding down before introducing a bottle or pacifier.
Again, I don't know what made me so determined. Maybe it was the rewarding reassurance I got at every visit to the pediatrician's office. "She's gaining beautifully," they would tell me. Maybe it was the few special moments Ainsley and I shared where it didn't hurt, but actually felt nice. Maybe it was the way I would instantly relax and melt into the chair when she ate. For someone who was always on the move and cursed with high-levels of anxiety, my nursing sessions were a constant reminder to sit and chill out.
So was my breastfeeding experience all that bad? Absolutely not. If it was, I probably would have given up and just pumped, but I just kept trudging along. And before I knew it, Ainsley was 2 months old.
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