On Making a Decision and Being Okay With It (part I of III)

(This post got kind of lengthy, so I'm givin' it to you in parts...)

My sister wanted me to write a blog post on nursing and I wasn’t sure that I wanted to. Its kind of a hot topic and people take it so personally, but recent events have led me to want to write about what I’ve heard, what I’ve learned.

The story starts with my first-born. I thought I wanted to breastfeed. Neither anyone on my side of the family nor anyone on Riley’s side of the family really breastfed. A few of my cousins tried it or nursed for a little while. I think one of my cousins breastfed one or two of her kids for more than a few months, but we do not come from a line of breast feeders. (By the way, none of us have permanent detachment disorders or anything, and some of us are even smart, but more on that later). When dear daughter was born, I tried nursing her right away. The pain was excruciating. Nothing could have prepared me for what that felt like, but I had heard that it hurt at first and I tried to toughen up. I listened to advice from the nurses and lactation consultants in the hospital, gritted my teeth and hoped that things would get better. It didn’t. I was sent home with this new little baby who wanted to eat every time she woke up. And, every time, I tried to nurse her. After the first few sucks, things felt better, but I still had to curl my toes for the first little bit each time. I was too nervous, private and, well, bull-headed, really, to ask for help, I just knew I didn’t like it. I sat in the afternoon and cried each time I fed her. This was not for me. I kept it up for 2 weeks, which was the goal I set for myself in the beginning and then decided it was not my cup of tea. I pumped a bottle for her and she took to it like a champ. So I continued to pump a little bit and mixed it with formula and slowly weaned her from breast milk. No repercussions. I was happy, she was happy, all was well.

Enter Mr. Baby J. Again, I decided to give it a try. I didn’t have a good first experience, but was older, wiser (ha) and maybe more determined the second time. Baby J and I had a distinctly different experience. We were totally compatible right from the start. I don’t tell a lot of people this, but, with him, it never hurt at all. Okay, so I was hopped up on pain killers from my c-section at first, but really, no pain, no tenderness. Just a simple connection. So, I nursed him. He had pumped bottles occasionally, but since I was on maternity leave (+ summer vacation) for almost 6 months, there wasn’t much of a need for bottles. I went back to work in December and, determined to make it to his 6 month “birthday,” pumped in the car on the way to work, and sat in solitary confinement to pump at lunch. Things went well. My production stayed just slightly ahead of his consumption, so I knew he wouldn’t starve. Just in case, I wanted him to be able to have some formula, in case I somehow ran out of breast milk in the freezer. So, he started having 1 bottle of formula per day over Christmas break. Then, I went back to work again in January, continuing my pumping regime. Only this time, I started getting less milk. Then I worried that I had less milk, which probably didn’t help me. I spent my 25 minute lunch pumping and sometimes only got 1.5 ounces… that plus the 3 ounces I got on the way to work would not for a happy boy make! So, I re-examined. Was 4.5 ounces, not even one whole bottle, per day of breast milk worth not carpooling and spending my lunch period alone in a 4x6 cement wall room? Not to me. So I stopped. I nursed him in the evening and in the morning and at night if he needed it. Then, one fateful day in the beginning of February, when life seemed to get suddenly busy, I realized that I had not nursed the child in 3 days. He didn’t seem to miss it and either did I. And, he was weaned. I really couldn’t have asked for a more wonderful breastfeeding experience. No one cried. I was happy, he was happy, all was well.

Stay tuned for more thoughts coming up!