Not just any boobs...MY boobs.
More specifically, I'm going to talk about breastfeeding, so all you pervs can leave the room now, because it's not gonna be pretty. Go on. Leave. You creeps.
Ah, the euphoria of breastfeeding. That intimate connection between you and your little one that maintains the physical bond you had when she was in the womb! 💕 There is nothing more natural, more serene, more beautiful than a breastfeeding mother, no???
😑
Well, not exactly. Not for me, anyway. I mean, it's cool knowing I can feed my kid with my body and I sure as heck appreciate the savings on formula, but breastfeeding has been quite a rocky road for me. (Did someone just say Rocky Road? As in ice cream??? Where?!?! I want!! I MUST HAVE!!!)
Sorry, got carried away for a second. That's what happens after being on a gestational diabetes-restricted diet for a few months. (Oh yes, I had my second baby, Coraline. Her birth story is coming soon, but I happened to finish this blog entry first. Screw chronological order!) Anyway, back to talking about my tatas.
With Mila, I was uncertain about the whole breastfeeding process. My own mother couldn't breastfeed and in my social circle, I don't honestly know a lot of moms who have, so my hopes weren't high. But when they first handed her to me, she latched on like a champ. I didn't expect it, we were just going to do skin-to-skin contact, but with her limited newborn baby vision, she saw the opportunity and went for it. That's my girl, hungry from the get-go. It hurt a bit, but I was so proud that it was happening at all, that I didn't even care. That night, I fed her again in the NICU (she was there for observation) and the pain was still there, but she ate for a marathon session. A good 40 minutes per side. I was a new mom and saw this as (slightly painful) bliss.
Until the next morning and the 🔥FIRE NIPPLES🔥. Yeah, it turns out she wasn't latching correctly (or unlatching properly either) and that resulted in some serious nipple damage. At first, they didn't look nearly as bad as they felt, so when the lactation consultant cane by, she seemed to think I was overreacting. "Breastfeeding shouldn't hurt," I was told hundreds of times...well, if you have nipple damage, it sure as hell will. In fact, simply having a shirt on felt like sheer and utter torture. I'm not even joking, when she latched on, it was worse than labor pains. My toes curled and I would scream. I dreaded her hungry eager little face and those piranha gums. If the US Government needs a new form of torture, attach babies to the nipples of international criminals.
Thank God, we got past that stage...but I did use formula (The dread! The horror!!!) to supplement here and there, which sort of sucked because I felt like I was failing. I'm not good with failure, it sticks with me. I felt especially badly during those middle of the night feelings when there was really nothing else to focus on. Especially those first nights when they told me she wasn't filling her diaper enough and was still hungry. I cried so hard at that. Some of the "Breast is Best" supporters have a way of making you feel obligated to do everything the traditional, natural way but what really got us through that time were a few devices that they advised against. One was a "nipple shield." It looks like a tiny silicone witch hat that covers the whole areola area and it made it slightly more bearable to breastfeed until the nips healed (which involved scabbing and other gross stuff but I'll spare you the details.). It's recommended to be used sparingly but I used it exclusively for like three months straight. Whatever, it worked.
Another thing that helped-and was suggested by the lactation consultant- were "breast shells" which were like hard plastic flying saucer cups that shielded the nips from touching anything. Without the right bra, it made me look like I had the worst implant job ever, but they made it possible for me to actually wear clothes, which was nice if I ever wanted to leave the house. Which I didn't, but still.
Speaking of hard boobs...Holy McMoly and heaven forbid if you let the tatas become engorged. It's like having actual boulders for boobies. I had the pleasure of this happening a few times and sometimes they caused a plugged duct which is basically a boob blockage that hurts like hell, and the only cure is to feed-feed-feed that baby until it clears up. Super awesome for someone with tender nips. This time, with baby #2, I tried to avoid it but somehow it happened again and it turned into mastitis, which is an infection that makes it feel like you have the flu. Not a cold...the flu. Like influenza. Like you can't move your limbs and feel near death. Same cure, too...feed the baby like crazy until it clears up. This picture just keeps getting more beautiful, doesn't it?
At this point, I should note the intense relationship that breastfeeding causes between mother and child. It isn't one sided, simply because mom is feeding baby...I need her just as much as she needs me in order to keep my breasts healthy. It's also weird to think that after nine plus months, this child is STILL attached to me somehow...just on the outside. I guess that part is kind of cool.
But back to the uncool part. You need AT LEAST four arms to breastfeed. I'm not actually sure why evolution hasn't caught up with this yet...females should have four arms. One for holding the baby's head, one for holding the boob, one for getting and adjusting pillows or fixing a bad latch and one for using an electronic device when you are bored because frankly, breastfeeding is time consuming and there's only so many minutes I can stare at my child in awe. I'm sorry, but this is real talk my friends, and after 45 minutes on breast #1, one tends to get a bit restless.
Speaking of restlessness and boredom...lets talk about breast pumping. Oh. My. Word. It's the most annoying fracking thing ever. First of all, there's like 70 different parts that you have to put together every single time, and you have to clean and sterilize them and OMG. When a coworker suggested I just keep the parts in the fridge in between pumping sessions, I wanted to hug her. I'm not sure how sanitary it is, but my kids are both fine (so far) plus, she's a science teacher so I'll take her word for it (anything to justify not cleaning the parts every time). I bought one of those bras with holes in the nips so I can free up my arms so I don't have to hold it all in place but once everything is set up, it's just BORING. You are literally strapped to one place and you fear that any movement will cause the previous milk to spill. If you are in a public place, you fear people walking in and despite all your best efforts, people WILL disrupt you while you have this device strapped to your chest making you look like some sort of FemBot reject. And I swear, after a while, the pump itself sounds like it says stuff. The suction sound starts to mimic words (Pardon! and Ratchet! being examples, but almost any two-syllable word will do) and I begin to think I'm losing my mind. Which I guess I sort of am.
Finally...your boobs become public property. In the hospital, everybody is checking them, checking your technique, etc. At home, the kid eats pretty much constantly (if they are awake), so at least one boob is exposed at all times for the first few weeks. Even once a routine is established, sometimes the kid has to eat when you are in public. I'm not a big public-feeder but trying to find a private spot isn't always easy. I have one of those drape/cover thingies, but peekaboos happen. At people's houses, I never know how people will react. Sometimes they ignore it, sometimes they stare, I've even had a few people caress my boob absentmindedly while I was feeding because they were just admiring the baby and the process (no, that doesn't make it less weird). Yeah. My boobs are no longer private property.
So after going through all this pain and trouble, you can imagine my absolute indignation when Camila became sick. Her first cold came at about the three month mark and WTF?!? After all I went through, breast milk should be like a miracle cure for all baby ailments from acne to gas to the sniffles. I. Was. Pissed. And yeah yeah, I know, "It could have been worse had she not been breastfed" whatever...I still felt betrayed. And just TRY to breastfeed a baby whose nose is completely stuffed up. It's heartbreaking.
Despite all this, here I am, with baby #2 and I'm at it again. Why torture myself if it was so bad? Three reasons. 1. I love my daughters and am willing to go through the struggle if it's in their best interest. 2. I'm a perfectionist who always wants to prove I can do stuff. And 3. I'm cheap, and formula is freaking expensive. My boobs are free. Although, the pumping equipment, breast shields and shells and milk storage bags cost a pretty penny, but still less than formula.
I usually try to end my posts on a positive note, but ugh...it's difficult this time. Especially since I'm writing this at 3 AM while pumping AFTER breastfeeding Cora starting at 1:30 am. I breastfed Camila for eight months before she started biting and thinking it was funny, plus I wasn't able to pump regularly at work so my supply was dwindling and I gave up. I've been exclusively breastfeeding Cora so far, and hope to continue for a full year but I make no guarantees whatsoever. I'm glad I was able to do this for my daughters but I totally understand those moms who couldn't or wouldn't breastfeed. I'm not one of those "Breast is Best" preachers...I'm more like "Survival is Best, so You Do You, Mama." It's less catchy and doesn't rhyme, but it gets the point across.
To all you moms out there, breastfeeders and bottle mamas and supplementers and everything in between, I salute you. Momming is the toughest job I've ever had, and...um...oh dear...
I was going to end this with some sort of epic inspirational paragraph, but I just heard a certain tiny someone blow out her diaper, so I've gotta run. You know how it is. Wish me luck.
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