I knew from a very young age that I always wanted to be a mom. Being the eldest of all my cousins, I was often left ‘in charge’ and ‘responsible’ for my younger family members. I absolutely loved the role. I actually remember being in kindergarten and always being the first one to take care of anyone with a new boo-boo, proficient in opening those tiny antiseptic packets to clean off skinned knees and an expert at opening bandages without touching and contaminating the little absorbent cushion that was to be placed on the affected area. And then to top it off, I was voted ‘most motherly’ in grade 11 for our school yearbook. Go figure! I couldn’t wait for the day to come where I would be able to rock my baby in my arms, and nurse him, giving him the best a mother could give and bonding over that special time together.
The reality is, I’m 3 months post-partum and I’m writing this while sitting in my solarium with an electric breast pump hacking away at my boobs. Not exactly the wholesome and natural experience I had expected.
Before giving birth, I was reading and learning as much as I could about becoming a mom and taking care of my future baby. I loved reading about all of the important things I should do (or not do), but the one thing I completely skipped or skimmed over? Anything to do with breastfeeding. Sure, I was a little nervous about not being able to breastfeed since I had gone through a breast reduction just 4 years earlier, but my surgeon had assured me that the surgery would not affect my ability to breastfeed at all since he wasn’t cutting any of my milk ducts. So, figuring that I was a healthy 28 year old with big (ok, huge) boobs (despite the reduction), I honestly didn’t worry too much about it. I even accidentally ended up missing the 3rd class given at my local CLSC which ended up being all about breastfeeding. But I wasn’t worried. My physiotherapist in my prenatal swim class told us all how the baby, right after being born, would instinctively push up with their little feet to ‘crawl’ towards the breast, knowing exactly what to do.
Well, reality check. My son did not know what to do. He wasn’t even interested in sucking at all. I‘ve been told that these things can take time and that eventually, he would get it. So I persevered. The 30 hours following my labour however was anything but pleasant. I understand that most hospitals are of the ‘breast is best’ mentality but my experience was anything but happy and joyous. Every hour or so, a new nurse or lactation consultant would come into my room, sometimes without even introducing themselves, and start twisting and pinching at my too-small nipples and shoving them into my son’s mouth. I was crying. He was crying. The whole thing is just one giant teary-eyed blur for me. Instead of spending the first precious hours bonding with my son and enjoying our time together, I was filled instead with huge amounts of anxiety about already failing as a mother. I wish I remembered her name but only one of the nurses who came to see me took the time to talk to me and tell me that I was still doing an amazing job as a mother and that considering the amount of blood I had lost, that that might be the reason my milk was delayed. By the time the last nurse came to see me the evening before I was discharged, I was so completely over it. She told me, ‘I get the sense you don’t want me to touch you’. Well, she gets an A+ for being able to read body language! I told her that I appreciated her time and effort but that no, I didn’t want her to touch me. She thankfully, didn’t push. I spent the rest of my time at the hospital pumping colostrum one drop at a time and collecting it with a 1ml syringe to feed to Frankie. It took me about an hour to fill that 1ml syringe. But I did it. When we got home, the first thing my husband did was go to the pharmacy and buy me a Medela double electric breast pump since we were previously using the one provided by the hospital. I cursed him for spending the $500 but he just shushed me and told me that it was necessary. I feel like he would have done anything in that moment to ease my pain and anxiety.
I didn’t give up on breastfeeding right away. But I definitely didn’t look forward to it. It was by no means, the magical and bonding experience I had originally hoped for. I would spend most of the time breastfeeding with a wailing child, trying to squeeze and bend my nipple in the proper way to get him to latch. And so the pumping saga continued between feeds. 1 hour, 1ml. Over and over until my supply slowly started increasing. But the latch and the breastfeeding didn’t get any better until I had a small reprieve when I got a nipple shield (google it, but essentially a small plastic ‘fake’ nipple that goes over your own to make it easier for the kid to latch’). At his two week old checkup, my paediatrician told me Frankie wasn’t gaining any weight. Despite my best efforts, he just wasn’t getting enough of my milk. She told me it was time to start supplementing with formula. I cried all the way home. Here I was, two weeks in to being a mother and I was still failing. I thought the nipple shield fixed things.
The doctor gave me some similac samples and I poured some into a bottle when I got home. Frankie drank hungrily and finished what I had poured for him. I poured some more and he finished that too. I cried, but this time, happy tears. My baby was eating and that’s all that mattered.
I continued pumping. At first every 3-4 hours but now I’ve reduced it to 3 times a day. I get about 5-7 ounces out of every pumping session. This isn’t nearly enough for Frankie so the rest is formula and I’ve come to terms with that. After a few days of supplementing with formula, it was actually a relief to know that I could leave the house for a few hours without fear of him getting hungry. I started to feel a bit more normal.
Some of you might be thinking, why didn’t I just go see a lactation consultant? To be honest, I was terrified. The hospital lactation clinic tried calling a couple of times and I happened to miss the calls so they left a voicemail. I never called back. And every time a private number would show up on my phone, I would panic thinking it was them and let it go to voicemail again. I just couldn’t bring myself to go there, fearing that it would be the same as my first 30 hours in the hospital. I just couldn’t do it.
All this to say, new moms have enough to worry about after having a baby. Research is starting to prove that a lot of postpartum depression is stemming from the insane pressure to breastfeed. And that’s really not ok. I remember someone calling me after her little girl was born, crying, asking me if her daughter would be less intelligent if she didn’t breastfeed. Isn’t that insane?! Talk about putting on insane amount of pressure on a new mom.
Between myself and my swim mom friends I made in our prenatal swimming class, one of us exclusively breast feeds, one exclusively gives formula and one does both. And you know what? All three of our babies are super healthy and at the end of the day, that’s all that is important. You will be your child’s super mom, with or without breastfeeding.
So if you see a new mom, tell her what an amazing job she’s doing. Stop judging, shaming or assuming because not everyone is the same. The only thing we have in common is that we all want happy and healthy babies, and that is the number one priority.