We found out we were pregnant shortly after I had accepted a job traveling. I had given notice and I didn’t want to look back. As the pregnancy progressed my husband and I took a good look at our income and decided one of us could stay home with our beautiful bundle of joy. We made the same amount of money but he hated doing what he was doing and I loved my job. In a state of complete ignorance, I agreed that he would stay home and I would continue to work after my maternity leave. When my daughter was born, it was easy to say she was a natural when it came to nursing. She loved it, it was easy, and she was getting the best nutrition money can’t buy. She was a good eater and I seemed to have ample milk while I was home with her. With one exception, she couldn’t be in a room with other people and eat, she became way to distracted. As soon as she could move her head to look at voices, she did. I nursed alone so that she would eat. I almost never nursed in public because she couldn’t eat and stare at the pretty baubles or listen to voices at the same time.
At seven weeks we decided to introduce a bottle so that the transition would be easier. I started to pump and then my husband tried to feed her. We learned some lessons quickly. I couldn’t be within sight, hearing or smell or she wouldn’t eat. She would then only eat after a solid twenty minutes of crying. If I could hear her crying about eating I would immediately let down and soak everything I was wearing. We all got it at about 10 weeks, just in time for me to return to work.
And then the nursing nightmare really got ugly. I couldn’t make enough milk anymore. I had to pump 8 times a day and got half the milk she needed to keep growing. I tried everything: fenugreek, really hoppy beer, mother’s milk tea. The pumps hurt my breasts, they were continually raw. None of my clients had nursing rooms where I could pump so I often pumped in my car in a garage in the most private place I could find. I was pumping milk in a garage in Marietta, GA for 3 months. Sometimes my meetings would go all day and I couldn’t get away to pump which made me dry up more and hurt worse than about anything I had ever felt. Planes were often seriously delayed and I couldn’t pump while in the airport because I had packed everything except the frozen milk and my laptop. More than once I told my husband to let my daughter stay hungry so I could nurse as soon as I met them at our home airport. She ended up liking the bottle more and after 6 months I made the heart wrenching decision to stop nursing altogether.
I look back at 2001 and wonder what I was thinking. But I know what I was thinking. Breast milk is best. The bond it created with my daughter very quickly made sure we were tight. Nursing isn’t obscene and shouldn’t be treated that way. I don’t want to come across that everyone should nurse, I feel that everyone should make the choice they are most comfortable with, whether that is nursing or formula. If I had another child I would do the same thing, although now I have the seniority that I would take the time to pump correctly.
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4 comments:
omigod, pumping is fucking barbaric. It hurts like hell, and if you are even REMOTELY not relaxed, it just doesn't work. Some women have no trouble wiht it, but I was nto one of them. I think if I had to redo it I would have a tape of her crying, alternative with laughing or vocalizing, a movie or something distracting, and a onesie that smelled like her. Maybe it's time to make the nursing egg - a private little egg shaped nest/chair (which closes completely and locks for privacy) that smells like mother's milk (they have that scent artifically made, makes you wanna lactate) and the sounds of babies and videos of kids being cute or hungry. Install one in large downtown office buildings.
~H
Thanks for the post. Sometimes, no matter what, it just can't be done.
I know.
I appreciate your post more than I can tell you --
My kids weren't great nursers -- we got there eventually, but they didn't gain the weight they were supposed to on breast milk alone.... I used to joke that my milk was "skim".
As soon as I went back to work, my supply dwindled, no matter how many times a day I pumped, no matter how many remedies I tried -and I tried them all fenugreek, goat's rue, more milk plus, teas, tinctures, vitamins, three different pumps, oatmeal, several lactation consultants ($$$)... it became a bit of an obsession and it got more than a little out of hand.
Friends who were more successful pumpers, or who were able to stay with their babies during the day tried to withhold judgement but just couldn't understand or relate to my struggles -- they would use phrases like "giving up" when in reality, it was my body that was failing me. Looking back, the stress of it all probably made matters worse.
I was able to strike a balance and supplement the breast milk with formula (this helped the weight gain issue) and they both weaned when they were ready -- earlier than I would have liked, but -- they did it on their timetable, so I can't complain.
I'm glad I stuck with it and would certainly do it again, but I still feel the pain that the well-meaning breastfeeding community can inflict on mothers who desperately want to continue nursing but are just unable to.
I say I "pumped myself dry" ... literally. And I wasn't pumping in a garage ... just trying to nurse twins. Even though I remember very little about their first year, I DO remember hating that stupid pump.
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