An Unexpected Breastfeeding Journey

I am returning my breast pump on Friday, Stephen's six month birthday. 


Those of you who know me know what a monumental step that is.  It is the end of an incredibly long and difficult breast-feeding journey: one that I am very proud of but also one of the most difficult things I have ever taken upon myself (even beating out childbirth). 


Before Stephen was born, I was hopelessly naive about breastfeeding.  I knew that I wanted to give him the best nutrition and start to life, and I fully planned to breastfeed as long as possible.  In my mind, I pictured 
1. baby is born. 
2. baby opens mouth. 
3. baby starts eating.  
How hard can it be?  I don't think I even read a book about it, which is my usual go-to device when I am unsure about anything.  


Fast forward to post-partem, a couple of hours.  I cannot get Stephen to latch.  The lactation consultants in the hospital are very helpful.  However, the L&D is at full capacity and they are stretched to the max.  I go to the hospital breastfeeding class, and there are 20 other women in the room.  It takes over two hours, and I only receive about five minutes of personal instruction.   My husband and I head home with many questions and few answers.  


A couple days go by, and Stephen just is not eating.  I go for his pediatrician visit and meet with the lactation consultant.   We find out that Stephen has lost a little too much weight, and so while the lactation consultant works diligently with me on getting him to latch, she also sets me up with a pump and bottles, just so he can begin receiving the nutrition he needs.  


And that is that.  Once Stephen got a taste of how easy the bottle was, he was hooked.  Feeding Stephen turned into a nightmarish cycle of trying to breastfeed, having my son flip out and start screaming, settling him down, giving him a bottle, and pumping more milk.   It was wreaking havoc on my emotions to have my son reject the breast, and I was still in recovery mode after a pretty difficult labor.   After a month of this, things were not improving, and I made the decision to exclusively pump breastmilk and feed him through the bottle.  


Once the decision was made, I hoped things would get easier.  It was definitely a relief to be spared the "try to breastfeed a very angry baby" step.  However, I had to grapple with a lot of disappointment and doubts.  Did I give up too fast?  Will I be able to bond with my son?  Will I be able to make this work?   


I came incredibly close to quitting a number of times, and went through two bouts with mastitis.  I also felt that all I was doing was pumping--cleaning up after pumping, getting ready to pump again, getting up during the night to not only feed Stephen but also pump.  However, there was this stubborn part of me that I had never tapped into before that kept whispering in my ear "Don't forget.... you are feeding your child.  You are breastfeeding.  You are making this sacrifice for him."   (I also think that God was doing some of that whispering too.) 


Amazingly, things got easier.  I was able to drop the number of pumps in a day, I built up a huge freezer supply, I got REALLY good at any/all shortcuts to the pumping process--and I fed my son.  I am really proud of this fact.  I also can imagine someone reading this and thinking that I am crazy for dealing with all of this.  I don't blame you.  But something about that "mother love" that just gives without counting the cost made me determined to give Stephen what he needed.   


This whole ordeal also made me a lot more empathetic with women who don't breastfeed.  Before I had Stephen, I admit that I wondered why women don't breastfeed more.  Now I know.  I also think the hype over formula is a bit much.  As my husband and I like to joke, "It's not the devil's food."  Stephen has been transitioning onto formula and he is fine.  He would have been fine had he been on formula from day one.  But I also believe that he is more than fine--he is thriving, and I hope that is because of the sacrifice I made for him. 


Next baby?  Oh man, I really hope breastfeeding works out.  I feel a whole lot wiser about the process, and I have high hopes for success.  I also will cross that bridge when it comes.  But for now, I am celebrating six months of a long breastfeeding journey for Stephen.  It made me feel stubborn and tough--in a good way.  Perhaps I needed that.  I feel strongly that God used this hardship in my life for a purpose. If nothing else, it gave me the first opportunity in my life to sacrifice for Stephen.  He will never understand what I did or how hard it was--but I did it because I loved him.   Welcome to motherhood.