Got Milk? Me Neither.

I've gotten some seriously supportive feedback from this blog, and my 5 little posts have gotten more than 275 views. That's surprising, since I figured only the grandparents, aunts, and a few good friends would tune in. Welcome all, and since you've shown some interest, I'm going to let it all out.

Nursing's not for everybody. I used to think it was. I knew all the statistics about breast milk being best for baby's physical development, having ingredients that supported baby's healthy brain development, the positive aspects of attatchment and bonding, the fact that mom burns an extra 500 calories a day, and it's free! Who wouldn't choose it, right?

I had a breast reduction in 2004 and was told that there was a 95% chance that I'd be able to breast feed. Turns out I'm more of the 5th percent. I wasn't producing enough milk, and right off the bat we realized that he needed to be supplemented with formula. Actually, everyone else in my life realized it and I went crazy. We were having to wake him up every hour and a half to nurse, to both stimulate production and ensure he was getting enough. So we started that, putting ice on his feet to wake him up and make him eat. Then I would pump after every feeding. This process would last about an hour, and then we'd have 30 minutes before we needed to wake him up and start again. The Boy hated every minute of it and screamed a lot. I cried. We were exhausted. Here's the only picture we have of him nursing.

Because it usually looked like this.

One night we gave him a bottle of breast milk and he downed it in about a second. The Husband decided that maybe we needed to give him some formula. He was so hungry, and I wasn't making enough for him, so this was the obvious choice. Except for I already mentioned I was crazy. My hormones were bouncing like a pinball, I was fighting the Baby Blues, and I was exhausted from round the clock feedings. Plus I was feeling all this pressure to breastfeed and provide for my child.
Husband: I think we should give him some formula.
Me: How dare you say such a thing! I can't belieeeeeeeve (sobbing) you would want that.
Husband: He's hungry and he finished that whole bottle in about a minute.
Me: Incoherent sobbing.
Husband: It will just be a little bit to make sure he's getting enough to eat.
Me: You don't know what it's liiiiiiiiiike to not be able to provide for your child. Once he has that he'll neverrrrrr want to b-b-breastfeeed againnnnnnnnnnnn.
Husband: Do you think this might be hormonal?
Me: (I can't repeat the terrible things that I said. They were mean. I was hateful. I felt 100% justified. Husbands, for your own safety never suggest to a postpartum mother that anything is hormonal. We don't care for that.) The Husband went to give him some formula, which he downed. This should have been a sign to give up nursing but I ignored it.

Einstein said the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. That was me. I kept thinking "maybe we'll get the hang of this soon." Pat, Heroine of All Things Baby, hugged me when I showed up on the stoop of the crunchy granola baby place, sobbing and handed her the baby. "He hasn't peed or pooped in 12 hours" I said, slobbering. "Did you supplement with some formula?" she asked. I couldn't look her in the eye, didn't want to admit that we had done the unspeakable. (Yes, in hind sight, I recognize that providing food for my child was a good choice. I told you I was crazy) "I think that was the exact right decision" she said. Pat, Heroine of all things Baby, my mom and The Husband all decided I needed some sleep. They staged a coup and took the night shifts while I got a full 6 hours of sleep.

Everything you see or read about nursing talks about how beautiful and natural and peaceful it is. That was never the case for us. The Boy didn't care for working so hard to get so little. It was painful for me. I had deep tissue pain where the milk ducts were damaged during my surgery. I also had reynauds, a circulation disorder that made my nipples very sore and tender. They actually turned white after nursing and I had to take a round of prescription meds and put a heating pad on them. I know what you're thinking, this all sounds so sexy. Oh just you wait.

There was also The Canteen, also known as SNS, Supplemental Nursing System. It consists of a canteen with two tiny, flexible tubes. The tubes tape to your nipple and act as straws so the baby can get formula from the canteen while he is nursing, rewarding him and encouraging him to continue. Seems easy enough, except you have to hold baby, hold your boob to baby, and hold the canteen above baby's head so gravity can pull the milk down. And if you have a particularly wiggly baby you have to hold his hands down so he doesn't rip the tape off your nipple. Again. Also, you need someone to keep baby awake with a frozen washcloth or loud noises. I can't figure out why The Boy didn't like this.

Any sane person would've said "hey maybe this isn't for us." But I thought I just needed to drink Mother's Milk tea and take Fenugreek supplements to stimulate production. And eat oatmeal and drink beer. And continue pumping after each feeding, and continue offering formula supplements. I even looked into getting a non-FDA approved prescription only available in Canada and New Zealand. My sweet sister-in-law Danielle sent me an email gently telling me I was crazy and she was worried. It was just what I needed. After 4 weeks of all this, it started to occur to me that all this struggling with him might not be worth the benefits of a little breast milk. I was concerned about the stress it was causing him and the elevation to his cortisol levels. I asked The Husband what he thought if I stopped trying to nurse but kept pumping. "Whatever you want, dear" he said, because he caught on quickly after I cussed him out over the hormonal comment. I told him I wanted his true opinion and he said "I think you should've stopped 5 weeks ago". The Boy was 4 weeks old.

With much support from The Husband and my mom, I stopped putting him through the stress of nursing. I kept pumping, afraid to give it up completely. I would pump 6 times a day for him to get one 4 oz bottle each night. I would put him in his bouncy seat and give him a bottle while I pumped for 20 minutes. Whiskey, whiskey, whiskey, the machine would say. Or maybe that's just what I was needing at the time.

When The Boy was 3 months old we quit breastmilk all together. My midwife said "He needs a mama that can enjoy him more than he needs a little breastmilk. I give you permission to quit." Was it the fact that I was crying in her office? Even Pat, Heroine of All Things Baby supported the decision to stop. I thought I would feel guilty, but I was so relieved to be rid of the pump, of the time wasted not holding and playing with my baby, of the stress associated with it. I told him he'd have to study a little harder than his breastfed peers, but he didn't complain. The last day he had a breastmilk bottle was a little bittersweet. I grieved that I couldn't give him what was best, yet the Hallelujah Chorus played in my brain. I wish it would've worked out better, but in the end it wasn't meant to be. And The Boy seems to be happy with the way things turned out too.