So it's breastfeeding awareness week...and my entire instagram feed is filled with stories from other mommas about their breastfeeding triumphs and losses. Can I just start by saying I personally thought breastfeeding was a black or white type of activity? Your body either could or couldn't do it for whatever reason, or you made a choice to either do it or not depending on your preference. It wasn't until I became a mother myself that I realized how wrong I had been, and on top of that, just how hard it was to breastfeed in the first place.
When I was pregnant with Beckett, I always planned to breastfeed him because of the obvious health benefits for both of us plus the added bonus of not having to spend a small fortune on formula. I remember approaching the end of pregnancy and silently crossing my fingers that my body would allow me to do the breastfeeding thing because, as the oldest of four children in my family, I knew my own mom had struggled with milk supply. I asked my doctor lots of questions, took care of myself, and just hoped that once the day came that surreal, airbrushed, pinterest worthy, breastfeeding experience would occur for us.
In the late afternoon of August 12, 2016, Beckett was born and rushed off to the NICU unit because, although his delivery was pretty much perfect, he swallowed some fluid on the way out and was not breathing correctly. I had only moments to try skin to skin with him before they went to help clear his airways. After resting, I tried pumping for the first time. Get ready for something nobody talks about...it fucking hurts to pump or breastfeed that first couple of times. It literally tells your body somehow to activate contractions again. Maybe not as intense of contractions, but after you have pushed a small human out of you, your are probably looking forward to that surreal breastfeeding experience you keep hearing people talk about, right?! Fact: it is uncomfortable, and I pass no judgement on other mommas who decide right then and there that breastfeeding isn't going to be a part of their routine.
Because of Beckett needing to get admitted to NICU, the nurses would call me in order to let me know when Beckett was ready to eat. From there I would go to the unit, and attempt to feed him. In between feedings, I would pump and pray to the heavens that SOMETHING would come out. I was barely getting anything out of pumping sessions, and it made this brand new momma teeter on the edge of a full blown anxiety attack to think that maybe my sweet little boy wasn't getting all that he needed. It didn't help that before and after every single feeding they had to weigh him in order to make sure he was getting anything and gaining weight in general. Imagine the panic when I realized I would eventually have to leave the hospital and breastfeed without a scale to check every single time. Once I was discharged from the hospital, Beckett was kept on the NICU unit for another week past my own discharge date. The hospital was kind enough to allow me to stay in a guest lounge they had on that unit, which was currently vacant. I slept on a pull out couch and turned the volume up on my phone loud enough for me to hear when the nurses called me to breastfeed or to hear the alarms I had set for feedings. Antonio stayed some nights during that time, but we were in the process of opening a store front business, and I sent him to get rest and take care of the things on that end. Looking back, I wish I wouldn't have tired to be so "strong" and just willing accepted more help. This isn't to say that I didn't have it, but I felt that breastfeeding was my obligation, because it was my body that was in control of it. I wasn't pumping enough to even allow him to take over a feeding at that time. I know looking back, he felt about as helpless as I did in trying to figure out what he could do to make it easier. It's tough you guys...there is no way to sugar coat that.
Just as recap, that week, I would wake up go attempt to feed Beckett, and then immediately go to the pumping room to attempt to pump what I could and build my supply. Bring the milk back to the nurses, go sleep for a short span, and get up and do it again, and again, and again. I was physically exhausted and emotionally spent. I was given opportunities to meet with lactation consultants, which was helpful, but was also heavily pushed by my nurses in the NICU to continue breastfeeding...as if the alternative wasn't good enough, or wasn't an option in the first place. I've spoken to several women since this experience who have also had children stay in the NICU and all have had different experiences. Some were pushed to breastfeed, others were never given the chance to try. Lesson number one from motherhood...you are officially your own advocate (if you weren't really sure about it before). It slaps you in the face, is not a gentle transition period, and makes you cringe with anxiety that not only are you in charge of your own well being, but also the well being of this tiny human. Anyways...we got into a small rhythm, started seeing some progress in the realm of breastfeeding and then got discharged from the hospital.
The day after being discharged, we had Beckett's very first doctors appointment with his pediatrician. I breastfed him in the office and we voiced our concern that he was not getting enough from just me. What she told us next was life changing. "You can always supplement some of your own breast milk with some formula if you are worried he isn't getting enough." "You still will be able to breastfeed him, but also be able to relax a little." EARTH FUCKING SHATTERING. I kid you not you guys, Antonio and I walked out of that doctors office with the bottle of pre-made formula that they had there, not sure if we were supposed to grab the whole thing, but also giving no fucks about it. I sobbed on the way home as I breastfed Beckett in the backseat of the car while eating Taco Bell. Another thing nobody talks about...you are in emotional overload during this period of time, hormones are untamed beasts, and sometimes, you just gotta be cool with letting that ugly cry out about the whole thing in the parking lot of a taco bell. Be kind to the mommas you know that just had a newborn *whether they are breastfeeding or not* the whole process of figuring out your new normal is taxing, and they could use your compassion more than anything else.
In the months following, Beckett and I did figure out breastfeeding, and we got good at it. The thing we didn't ever get good at though was sleep. It resulted in us finally making a decision to co-sleep after months of taking shifts with him at night ( I did eventually build up a supply of breast milk from pumping that Antonio could use from the freezer), and an endless dance of up and down out of bed to feed him. I could probably write a full throttle post just about co-sleeping (Beckett is 3 now, and we still co-sleep) but I'll stick to the topic of breastfeeding for now. We just hit a point where we needed to sleep and it was so much easier to just lift up my shirt and let him eat in the middle of the night. It was survival. Point blank.
I enjoyed breastfeeding once we got the hang of it, had no hang ups about when or where we needed to sit down to eat, and quickly ditched the blanket cover technique to promote modesty because honestly... trying to keep that thing on and feed at the same time is a pain in the ass. If you are a momma who is breastfeeding, please please please, know that it is okay to do it in public places. If someone is offended by it, that is their own issue to sort out, so you just keep on being bad ass.
By the time Beckett was one year old, I figured we would start to wrap up the breastfeeding thing. I had made it my goal to make it to a year with him and we reached it. Those first few months were extremely hard, and I remember looking at the calendar and counting down the days until he would reach his next month milestone and things were supposed to suddenly get easier...yeah okay...just plan on always having new challenges arise in parenthood and it not getting easier, just you getting better at handling the chaos. #truth
Remember how I said it was so hard to get started breastfeeding? I would argue that it's equally as hard to wean off. Your broken heart as your child screams at you wanting to breastfeed out of comfort rather than needing sustenance. There was a part of me that hated letting go of breastfeeding, but at the same time, my body was very clearly telling me that it was time to be done. It's hard to explain, but it suddenly became almost painful to breastfeed towards the end. Almost like anytime we did it my whole body ached and I was instantly exhausted. We started with cutting down feedings during the day, then worked on no feedings, and then totally stopped feeding in the night as well. Beckett was almost two years old when we officially ended our breastfeeding journey. It's insane for me to even think about now because he will be turning 3 in a week. It's still emotional to talk about. It feels like so long ago now, but there are so many feelings I've been allowing myself to work through about that journey, and it sometimes still comes up. That's okay. I'm human. In this entire experience I've learned to just be okay with easing my grip on control, because quite honestly...things aren't going to go exactly like I planned them. Breastfeeding was a consistent reminder to me that patience was a requirement and going with the flow was just so much more compassionate than trying to force what I felt like was "the plan."
Whether you are a mom yourself, a woman, a friend, a spouse, a family member...it's okay to breastfeed or to not. There is no shame, or extra dignity, or emotionally easier option. It's all hard, it all takes practice and patience and learning as you go. Allow yourself to feel the bliss and the sadness, the anxiety, and the jealousy that comes up for you in this journey and then move forward without holding onto it. Every breastfeeding/feeding journey is different, not right or wrong. You are doing great momma.
