I feel miserable and rejected.  The fact that she won’t nurse is constantly on my mind when I interact with her.  I’m trying so hard not to let my frustration with it change the way I feel about myself as a mother, but failing.

Failing.

Worse than that, this stress, this ball of guilt and anger in my chest, is impacting my milk production.  I sit in the nursery with her with that fucking pump attached to my chest and I WAIT, WAIT to see the bottle fill with my milk, WAIT to make a meal for her because she won’t just take it fresh from the source.

But I’m not making “enough”.  I’ve pumped out only eleven ounces today.  I’ve divided it up — three, four, two, two.  Three for breakfast, with a bowl of cereal.  Four for lunch.  Two in the late afternoon, with some bread and green bell pepper.

Two for bed.

Not enough.

I mixed that last two ounces with formula to total five ounces, after trying desperately for half an hour to pump out more.  I feel like a failure.  What am I supposed to do? Put her to bed hungry?  Watch her cry and whine and sob, refusing my breast?  I’m not going to starve her in the hopes that she’ll decide to come back to me.

I stood there over the crib, watching her drink from the bottle, her eyes fluttering shut.  When she fell asleep I took the bottle. I wanted to throw it across the room and scream.

How can my body be failing HER?

Yeah.  No one told me how hard it is to apply Orajel.  Holy shit.

So anyhow, after I numb her entire face, she ends up falling asleep against me, having not eaten in several hours.  Whatever.  She’ll nurse when she wakes up from her nap, right? She only naps 30-45 minutes at a time these days, I can deal with that.  Turns out, she sleeps until 4pm.  AND DOESN’T WANT TO NURSE.

But oh. my. God. She is  throwing a MASSIVE fit every time I try to feed her. I’m starting to get engorged.  Then I get angry, pass her off to Chris, and we decide to all go for a walk.

The walk is great, she’s lovely and happy the whole way, and when we get home, I try to feed her again.

CATS. SLEEPING. WITH. DOGS.

She freaks out.

I pass her off to Chris and open my copy of “The Mother of all Baby Books”, read the section on Nursing Strikes, don’t like what it says, and call my mom, babbling and most likely nearly incoherent.  She tells me that maybe Maia wants some real food and isn’t really all that interested in nursing.  Of course, my response is “But what’s wrong with my boobs?!”

Anyhow, Chris gives Maia some food and she starts to dig in, happier than a pig in shit.  Which when you think about it, is not the most apt metaphor when referring to someone eating, but the point is… I felt horrible.  I felt rejected.  She greeted my boob with screams, but Real People Food with adulation?

When she lost interest in her food, I tried nursing her again.  Still no luck.  Again, she started throwing a fit.

By 8pm she still hadn’t nursed and still had no interest.  We’d started her bedtime routine at 7, like usual, but she wasn’t falling asleep.  By 8:30pm I’d managed to hand-express 1.5oz of milk into a bottle.

There are no words for how absolutely rejected and worthless I felt as I held her, watching her hold onto the bottle and drink from it, feeding herself.  She didn’t need me.  It could have been anything in that bottle.  It could have been Chris holding her, or she could just have been laying on the bed, and nothing would have been different.

Since she enjoyed that milk so much, I went into the washroom and studiously expressed another 1.5oz, which she gobbled down just as gleefully.

Honestly, though, what really matters here, why I really need to write this post, is this:

I am so angry. At her.

It’s like a switch flipped and my mommy empathy turned off.  When I tried to nurse her and she rejected me, screaming with a pitch and fervor that showed her absolute displeasure, I set her down on the bed and laid down alongside her… I watched her cry.  I could NOT bring myself to hold her against my aching, engorged breasts.  I felt no sympathy for her.  Nothing was wrong with her.  If she wanted to eat, I waited; if she wanted to sleep, she could curl up against me.  There was no reason for this screaming. No reason to reject me.

I think that’s the crux of it: I feel like she rejected me.

And it hurts.

I don’t want her to suffer, but I don’t understand why she’s suffering.  Yet… she’s only “suffering” when I try to feed her.  Other than that, once I set her down and she realized I was no longer trying to shove my boob in her mouth, she returned to being happy.  I don’t know if I kept trying to feed her because I hurt (physically and emotionally), because I thought she needed it (clearly she didn’t), or because that’s just what I do, I feed her, that’s a big part of my job.  I guess she wasn’t hungry.  Tonight, it seems like I needed the connection more than she did.

Chris stepped up to the plate BIG TIME.  He told me he’d watch Maia while I went and tried to hand express.  He tried to comfort me as I sat there aching, fighting tears, feeling my heart crumbling in my chest.  He reminded me “it’s not about you, it’s not personal” as I stared at Maia holding the bottle in her mouth.  He held her close and sang to her when she got sleepy but wouldn’t sleep for me.  She fell asleep in his arms.  When she woke up a few minutes later, he told me to stay put, and went to her, rocking her to sleep again.

That’s the one good thing that came from tonight: she wanted him, and he wanted her.

But I feel lost.

I admit, this is kind of a cop-out post of me.  I’ve had a horrible day, I’ve had less than four hours of sleep in the last 36 hours, and I just needed something to smile about. This is Maia. She’s about a week shy of six months old. BEHOLD, the power of my breastmilk:

Maia stands. from Tatiana on Vimeo.

When Maia first arrived, I wore a hair elastic on my wrist to indicate which side she had last nursed from.  During each nursing session, whenever she delatched for one reason or another, I studiously swapped her to the other breast.

After a week, I stopped paying as much attention to which side she had last nursed from.  I’d forget to switch my elastic to the other wrist, or take it off for a shower and never put it back on.  To figure out which breast to feed her from, I’d just choose whichever one felt heavier.  I was too damned exhausted, physically and mentally, to worry excessively about which boob to put her on.  Also, at about the one month mark or so, we swapped to doing “cluster feedings”, which is when I nurse her on one side only for a certain amount of time — ie, any time within a two hour timeframe that she wants to eat, I put her on the same boob, and then for the next two hours, I put her on the other — because it helped quite a bit with her gassiness.

Well, now, twenty four? twenty five? weeks later… I have one BIG boob and one smaller one.  Fortunately, she doesn’t seem to show a preference for one or the other all the time, although there are some feedings where she will simply refuse to nurse from one side — but I think that’s just her being picky.

I’m totally thrilled with the size of the big one… now if only the other one would catch up.

In some ways, I feel militant about breastfeeding — or perhaps more accurately, I feel militant about my right to breastfeed, any where and any time.  In Ontario, nursing in public is protected as a human rights issue.

I nurse Maia anywhere that she wants to eat.  This means we’ve tried it in a sushi restaurant (which didn’t go over too well with her… I ended up having to take her out to the car, where it was quieter), at a festival (which was just lovely, out in the fresh air, music playing), in a stadium (she fell asleep here, despite the fact that we were watching my sister graduate from university and people were cheering and clapping all around us), and on the patio at a restaurant.

On the patio, there was a little boy, maybe two years old, beside us.  When Maia snuggled against me and began to nurse, I saw the little boy watching us.  I smiled at him and the two women he was with, then continued eating my nachos (pro tip: not a good food to eat with one hand and a baby).  Later on, as they were leaving, one of the women came up to me and said, “He’s never seen a baby nurse before.  I told him the baby was eating, and he was really interested in it.”  Her broad smile left no question that she found it amusing and endearing, so I just laughed and said something about being happy that he was curious.

I know there are people who have issues with nursing in public, whether they’re a participant or a spectator.  To the latter, I say “Look away!” but to the former, I want you to know that I — that all breastfeeding mothers and lactivists — support you doing whatever makes you comfortable.  If that means you’re wearing a nursing cover, or facing away from people, or even going into another room, I’m fine with it; you need to be comfortable.

I have yet to see a public place where there’s a space dedicated to a nursing mother’s comfort — that is, an area with couches or chairs, soft lighting, maybe a quiet atmosphere.  I’m picturing a corner shaded with gauzy curtains, fluffy couches, throw blankets and burp clothes folded atop a table, a changing area available… you know, someplace that, when you’re there, your husband is totally jealous that he’s sitting on a hard restaurant chair or an uncomfortable mall bench or whatnot.  I do NOT want a nursing mother to be “confined” to that space, but I would like spaces to be available if a woman desired a bit more privacy or comfort while nursing (I would have loved something like this in that sushi restaurant, since my only options for a relaxed place for Maia to eat were in the washroom or outside).

What are your thoughts about nursing in public?  Have you seen any sort of “nursing mother” areas in public places?

I’ve written in detail about my birth experience, but I haven’t really mentioned anything about establishing breastfeeding.  I felt like my nursing relationship with Maia was just as easy as everything I read during my pregnancy led me to believe it would be, and that it didn’t really warrant writing about; yet now, I realize that establishing breastfeeding is not necessarily easy, and that a lot of women struggle with it.

After I held Maia for the first time, my midwives said that they needed to evaluate my tearing.  So I passed her to Chris and, feeling like a superwoman, walked into the bedroom to be checked out.  It turned out that I needed to go to the hospital at some point, but of course I immediately said, “I need to breastfeed my baby first.”  My midwives smiled and agreed.

So they helped me hobble out into the living room again, where I settled into a corner of the couch and held my daughter.  The midwives beckoned Chris over as I clumsily pressed Maia to my breast, trying to put her round little mouth around my nipple.  She grunted and whined, making a motion that I later recognized as rooting.  I felt a momentary panic — why isn’t she latching on? doesn’t she love me? can’t I feed her? am I broken? – before the midwife showed me how to do it: put Maia’s nose level with my nipple, hold her close, and stroke down her nose and over her lips with it until she tilts her head back, opens her mouth, and latches on.  But she didn’t, not right away, and she rooted against my breast furiously, her little cries growing more and more angry.

“You might need to help her with this, Daddy,” said the midwife, as she and Chris bent their heads together over me.  With the tip of a finger, she stroked Maia’s cheek gently, then as Maia turned her head in that direction, the midwife pushed her against my breast. Maia latched on.

I can’t describe to you how I felt, nursing my baby for the first time.  Confused, proud, amazed, scared… the cocktail of newly post-partum hormones surfing through my body, the thunderous rhythm of my heartbeat echoing in my ears, and the completely unfamiliar feeling of this amazing, new little creature feeding from me all combined to leave me overwhelmed and humbled.  I remember my hair kept falling in my face, and Chris kept pushing it back, watching.  He asked, “How can Maia breathe?” because she was so squished against my breast, and the midwife explained that Maia breathed through her nose, then went over the signs to show that we had a good latch.

I have smallish areola, so they don’t show if Maia is latched on properly.  As a newborn, her chubby, squished cheeks pressed against my skin.  We could see her jaw moving, working as she drank, and hear her swallow.

For twenty or thirty minutes, the midwife sat beside me and watched Maia nurse, talking with me about how I felt and making sure that I recognized a proper latch.  When Maia delatched, as she did frequently, I learned how to help her latch on again.  When she stopped suckling and looked sleepy, I learned that by stroking under her jaw I can stimulate her to continue.  I credit that time with being the main reason our nursing relationship has been so easy and remains strong.

Every time the midwives visited over the next week — they came on day one, two, four, and seven after her birth — we talked about nursing.  They made sure we were doing alright, and helped Maia and I take to the side-latch to get more sleep.

Of course, for the first week or so, my nipples hurt.  Badly.  I’d rub lanolin wax on them and that helped, but it seemed like as soon as I applied it Maia wanted to eat again, so I’d clench my jaw and put her to my breast.  I found that I might be in pain for half a minute but after that my body simply acclimated itself to her, accepting that this was its work.  At times, I’d intentionally put her on the breast that hurt the most, to remind myself that any amount of pain is bearable for her.  Fortunately, I never bled (it would have really disturbed me) nor peeled, just ached and ached.

Although we’ve begun experimenting with solid foods around here, they’re really just for amusement (and all three of us have fun!)  Breastfeeding remains the primary way Maia receives nutrition, and I’m aiming for it to be that way for at least a year.  I’m planning to let her wean when she’s ready.  Even if she’s eating solids by day and only nurses to sleep at night, I’d be fine with that — whatever she wants!

Please share your story about establishing breastfeeding.

6 things I dislike about breastfeeding

1) I can’t wear whatever I want. I have to wear clothing that’s easy to whip my breast out of.  This isn’t usually a problem, but I do have items where it would be either VERY inconvenient or downright impossible to nurse while wearing.
2) My husband can’t do it instead.  Wait, isn’t this one of the things I loved yesterday, that breastfeeding is our special time?  Well, there’s still something intensely frustrating about my inability to pump milk (I don’t know if it’s a supply issue, a pump issue, or whether I’m just so uptight about it now that I can’t relax enough for my milk to let down).  I want to know that when I find work, my daughter is being fed breastmilk.  I worry that she’ll be fed formula.  I know it won’t kill her, but I want her to be nurtured by MY body.
3) Sometimes I just want my breasts to be mine again.  This rarely crosses my mind, but when I feel this way, it’s in the middle of the night and I am just exhausted. Sometimes she won’t side-latch, so I have to sit up and wait for her to finish, which means less sleep for me.  Obviously I can deal with that, but I also sometimes think, “My breasts are nothing but an extension of her mouth,” and it frustrates me.
4) The way my breasts feel after an extended nursing session. “Floppy” doesn’t even begin to describe it.  I weep for the perky breasts that I didn’t appreciate. WEEP.
5) When I am engorged and she won’t drink, it’s a horrible feeling.  I have these rock-hard LUMPS on my chest that are hot and achy.  This is when I can grab the pump, but usually I’m so busy being miserable and trying repeatedly to convince Maia to nurse that I forget.
6) Stretch marks. I don’t think I need to say anything else.

I couldn’t come up with any more things I dislike.  What about you?

10 things I love about breastfeeding

1) I feel empowered knowing that my body provides all the nutrition that our baby needs.
2) It is our special time together.
3) The way she turns her head, mouth wide open, and practically attacks my breast when she’s particularly hungry.  It reminds me of how very much she needs me.
4) Being so aware of her: the focus in her eyes as she drinks, the puffs of breath from her nostrils against my skin.  I can study the curve of her ear and the fall of her hair.  I feel the weight of her in my arms.
5) Watching her try not to smile when I make silly faces at her.  There are times she loosens her latch to give me a little giggle, and times when she lets go and just laughs at me.
6) The primal connection to millions of years of mammalian history strikes me as I feed her.  There are times I look at her and think, “I am a mommy animal, and you are my baby animal,” and I am filled with pride.
7) It often settles her into sleep and I watch her eyes roll back into her head as they flutter shut, her long lashes coming to rest on her plump little cheeks.
8 ) It often settles me into sleep, particularly in the mornings.  I pull her into bed, lay on my side, latch her on, and we fall asleep together as she suckles.
9) It is convenient, cheap, and natural.  As long as I’m around, she can be fed.
10) Milk breath. When she has finished eating and is still awake, her breath smells milky and sweet for awhile.

What do you love about breastfeeding?

Do you know what this means?

This means I can go bra-less at night!  I can sleep naked.

I am so incredibly happy about this.  I mean, seriously.  There’s nothing quite like watching your husband try to ignore the fact that there is a big wet spot under your breast on the fitted sheets.  I don’t have to experience the horror of waking up because my boobie is cold because my bra is wet, or experience finding a wet spot on the sheets because I forgot to re-clasp my bra after feeding Maia.

I could dance.

familymotherhoodbreastfeedingnursingparenting

Moments like that are so precious.

I made the decision to start pumping… sometime soon.  Not that I want to switch to bottle-feeding exclusively, but Chris would like to be able to feed her (as would I), and I’d like to feel as though we can leave her with family for a few hours without worrying about a feeding crisis.  Also, since we’re going to be travelling to Connecticut in the summer, being able to bottle feed may let us avoid some crying fits between rest stations.

I love the idea of my girl lying in my family’s arms, feeding from the bottle, giving them that same bright-eyed, adoring look that I am so blessed to receive daily.

And then they might just be privileged enough to receive the ear-piercing scream she gives off just when you think she’s actually going to sleep this time.  HAH!