nursing school

The thoughts herein did not start as a blog post but instead a response to my friend Abbe's blog post. As I began writing, I was surprised at how much I wanted to say. Hence, this long post. Abbe wrote in brutal honesty about her experiences breastfeeding. Like Abbe, I had quite the perfect image of breastfeeding while I was pregnant with Will. I learned about the bond between mother and child while breastfeeding in graduate school of all places. My male professor, whom I am a BIG fan of, painted a tear-jerking picture of what nursing is like. Granted, the picture I am about to paint was made up in my mind, he didn’t paint this picture, just described the bond between mother and child during breastfeeding. This is all what my mind developed.

Imagine: you are sitting in hand-carved oak rocking chair that you plan to pass on throughout the generations to come. You are wearing a white linen gown that is blowing gently in the spring air. You are by a window and the smell of fresh lilacs blows gently through the open linen-curtain covered window. Although all that beauty surrounds you, you are focused on one thing---your small child. You are holding this child, rocking him while he nurses, longingly gazing into his eyes. The bond is unbelievable. He nurses until he falls asleep, there is plenty of milk for the next time that will remain, painfree, until he needs it…

*************************INSERT RECORD-SCRATCHING MUSIC*****************************

Um, not in my world. In my world, it went something like this: Jason had gone to work, I had settled into the ONLY spot in the house I could get “situated” to nurse somewhat comfortably. Linen gown replaced with puke-stained black yoga pants that did not in any way make me relaxed like yoga does. I was using a nipple shield because my nipples were inverted and Will couldn’t latch on. He FINALLY, after many, MANY FRUSTRATING MOMENTS, of the nipple shield falling off and having to put it back on, latched on and was eating. The stupid nipple shield was my nemesis. I hated it like I hate evil. I wish I was exaggerating but I’m not. I’m amazed I continued on with nursing. Was probably that voice in my head that said I was a bad mother if I didn’t nurse for AT LEAST one year. So, back to being settled…I was finally settled, Will was nursing. Both hands were being used to hold on the stupid nipple shield (can you tell I didn’t like it?) and holding his head because the Boppy kept slipping. Finally, peace…then Izzy started barking. She had to go outside. There was no WAY I was getting up to let her out. So…she made a mess and, dare I actually say that my dog does this…cleaned it up. All while maintaining eye contact with me as if to say, “Sucka!” I thought eye contact was to be maintained with my beautiful baby, not my feces-eating dog. Oh, I really can’t believe I said that. Oh well, as Abbe has inspired…I’m being brutally honest.

Fast forward to going back to work. The pump bag. My second nemesis. For a while, I was able to pump 2-3 bottles of breastmilk in an 8 hour day. Recently, I’ve only been able to pump 1-2 OUNCES of breastmilk that took 2, 20-minute pumping sessions out of my work day. Then I would go home and pump EVERY TWO HOURS in the middle of the night just to get enough milk for him to ALMOST make it through a day without formula. I finally had to start supplementing formula because I wasn’t making enough. That damn voice in my head that kept saying “you will do a disservice to your son if you don’t breastfeed for AT LEAST one year-AT LEAST…you have allergies in your family and breastmilk will help avoid that...breastfed babies don't struggle with weight as they get older...breastfed babies are smarter...what kind of mother doesn't breastfeed their babies for as long as possible...maybe you should try fenugreek or mother’s tea again, it works for everyone else…maybe drink more water…smell Will’s clothes while pumping will help…formula is evil...you may as well give your baby poison if you even think about feeding him formula”...sigh. SIGH. SI-IGH.

Present day. Starting last week I have stopped pumping. The first day of going to work without having to first prepare my pump bag with disinfected bottles, pump parts, etc. was like my first day of freedom. NOT exaggerating…AT ALL. Since my production had already started to decrease, I haven’t been in much pain and have still had plenty to nurse Will in the evenings and weekends. I am prepared for production to decrease due to not pumping and am ok with that. I am learning to be more patient with myself and understand that I am not supermom…despite what the voices in my head tell me :)