Lactation frustration (or, how I learned to stop feeling guilty and make my own damn decisions)

So. Breastfeeding. I've been wanting to write about it for a while, but my feelings about it change pretty much with every feeding. But I wanted to throw some thoughts out there, because I felt SO ALONE trying to figure things out for the first 2-3 weeks, which coincidentally was also the period of time when I was strapped on the crazy postpartum hormone train. And a disclaimer: these are just my thoughts. I am a pretty judgmental person, but I honestly have NO JUDGEMENT about the choices people make on the feeding front. Not after living through the process myself.

I came to the decision to breastfeed pretty haphazardly. It's encouraged by, well, pretty much everyone, and seemed to me, in the limited amount of time I spent thinking about it, to make sense. The natural order of things and all that. I took the prenatal breastfeeding class, which seemed at the time to be long on evangelizing about the wonders of breastfeeding and short on actual breastfeeding instruction. I read a little bit about it in my library of pregnancy tomes, but basically just thought I would figure it out when I got there. I mean, it's what nature intended, so how complicated could it be, right?

WRONG. Well, at least for me. I think breastfeeding can be pretty easy for some women, but I've only met a handful of these women. Every other new mom I've talked to falls into the "wow, this is way harder than I expected" camp.

Here's how things went for us during the first couple of weeks:

1. My first couple of breastfeeding sessions were completely unsupervised. A nurse basically dropped her off with me about an hour after I gave birth and said "you want to try breastfeeding?" and left. So, I hazily put her to the breast, and figured that even though it didn't feel very good, that probably was because I'd never had someone sucking on my boob that vigorously before.

2. When I finally got some guidance from a couple of different nurses, the message from both was basically "smash her face into your nipple, and she'll latch on eventually." By the end of day one, I had 3 blood blisters on my areolae, due to the Chicklette frantically latching wherever she could, with no meaningful guidance from me.

3. On the second day, a lactation consultant came by. She was appalled that the Chicklette hadn't "eaten" anything, diagnosed her with a "disorganized suck" (you think?) and immediately put us on a schedule of 5 minutes per side, pumping, and finger-feeding formula as a supplement. Which meant that each feeding session took about an hour and fifteen minutes, maybe a little less if the Mr. did the formula feeding.

4. On the third day, we went home, and then ended up back in the pediatric wing 3 hours later (due to a breathing issue completely unrelated to his whole feeding mess). The Chicklette didn't eat for most of that day, since we were in the ER getting ignored for a good chunk of it. We ended up back in the hospital under observation for three days, during which time I slept at home while the Mr. stayed with her at night. We only had time to try and get on the breast a few times during the day. Another lactation consultant visited us there, and pointed out (finally!) that she was only really taking the nipple and not any other part of the breast, and thus wasn't getting milk and was also damaging my nipples. I continued to pump after every "feeding," and my milk finally came in. We were able to finger-feed mostly breastmilk to her after a few days, which was nice.

5. We kept trying once we got back home again. When it got to the point where I had two significant, pus-y cracks on both nipples and my baby had swallowed enough of my blood that she was pooping it out in her diapers, I made an appointment with another lactation consultant, who showed me some techniques for achieving proper latch. She also told us to ditch the finger feeding and just use a bottle. After a few more days, a tube of Polysporin, and one more consult, we seemed to be on the right track. I might only feed her at the breast a couple of times per day, but they were good feeds and weren't damaging my nips any further.

Every day since then has gotten a little easier. I breastfeed her about 4 times per day, and we bottle feed pumped breastmilk the rest of the time. I pump about every 3 hours throughout the day and night, although sometimes I go a bit longer if she's had a good feed at the boob, or it's nighttime and I don't wake up. I'm not planning to try and get her breastfeeding exclusively, as it seems silly to do that, only to have to go back to what we're doing now once I go back to work. I don't really mind the pumping, and my supply seems fine (and seems to be increasing with her growth spurts, which I try to encourage through more frequent pumping during these periods).

Physically, there's no more pain, which has made a big difference. But the bigger difference? My mental and emotional outlook towards the whole thing. Once I was out of the post-partum blues (at about 3.5 weeks), I was able to utilize my own common sense and get over the guilt of not loving breastfeeding and trying to feed her at the breast exclusively. It wasn't enjoyable for me, it didn't seem to be all that for her either, and most importantly, the frustration of struggling with her 8-10x per day was almost completely eliminating any joyful time for us to spend together. And killing my sleep. Now, my husband can feed her once or twice during the night, and I can get a solid block of 5 hours or so, plus other naps between feedings.

(Oh, and my husband actually likes to be able to participate with feeding. Which is great for him, but also, in my opinion, fair. One of the other little things they don't tell you about the exclusively breastfeeding route is that it means that mom essentially has a baby tethered to her boob for half of the day and night. Which some women love, but it's not for everyone.)

Some of the women (including the lactation consultant) who facilitates one of my mom's groups discreetly roll their eyes at my feeding arrangement. Why am I not willing to go that extra mile to breastfeed her at every feeding? It's what's best for my baby!

To which I respectfully disagree. The Chicklette is gaining weight, occasionally sleeping through the night, and eating exclusively breastmilk. And even if she had to have a couple of formula supplements, that would be fine with me as well. She is thriving. And so am I. We enjoy our days together, and I'm able to focus on the parts of raising her that aren't just about feeding. And now that I'm sleeping more and feeling more rational and sane, I know that this balance is just as important as all of the other stuff. My daughter needs a mom who is not constantly at the end of her rope.

So, anyway. There it is. My breastfeeding manifesto. My advice for anyone getting ready to embark on this journey: do the best you can, use your common sense, digest the information that's out there (no pun intended), and make the decision that is right for you and your baby.

Oh, and invest in some Soothies.

The things we do....

One of the funny things about pregnancy and parenthood is that you get to cross a lot of things off of the "oh, I would/could NEVER do that" list. You know, things like giving birth, kissing your kid after she spits up, etc. etc.

Last night, we crossed an item off the list which has scared me ever since I started reading about baby care. Something I never thought I could do. Something that makes me cringe every time it happens to our cats at the vet. That's right, folks: the rectal temperature.

The Chicklette was super-fussy and miserable yesterday, and felt a little warm to me. I knew if we called the doctor they'd ask if we'd taken a rectal temp, so we had to suck it up. And you know what? It was easy! Easier than breastfeeding! Or changing a diaper! And the baby didn't care! (She did have a temp, by the way, but it seems to be gone this morning. And how do I know that? Because we took her butt temperature again! It was just that easy!)

Why do I post about this, you ask? C'mon, there have got to be other people out there just as terrified about sticking a foreign object in their baby's butt. And I'm here to tell you: YOU CAN DO IT.

(Sorry about all of the exclamation points. I think I might have put a little too much caf in my half-caf coffee this morning.....)

6 weeks

Despite pushing a small bowling ball out of my hoo-hah six weeks ago, I was still VERY WOUND UP about my 6-week postpartum OB/GYN appointment yesterday. You'd think that after all my lady bits had been through, the prospect of a speculum and maybe a finger or two would be no big deal. But, nevertheless, I was scared. What if I was scarred for life down there?

The good news is that I'm not. Things are healed up just fine, and the exam didn't hurt a bit. (Which of course then made me worry that I've been stretched to infinity and will never feel anything -- good or bad -- down there again, but I'm not prepared to really think about that yet.)

And then we commenced the birth control conversation, which I found highly amusing. I mean, seriously? But, because my infertility urban legend friend is expecting in June, I listened. My choices are basically the mini-pill (which concerns me because of the milk supply issue -- the doctor says it shouldn't affect things, but I know a handful of people who had trouble), condoms (which honestly would be fine with me, but not with my husband), and a whole host of other options that don't really appeal to me for various reasons (sticking things up the chute right before trying to get romantic doesn't really do it for me).

So, I don't know. Maybe we'll strike a compromise and use condoms for a couple of months until I go back to work, and then try the pill since I'll probably have to supplement with formula at that point anyway.

Part of me is just tempted to throw caution to the wind -- I mean, really? We're going to get pregnant? And if we did, would that be so bad? We want to have another, and it's not like we're going to let non-ideal timing get in our way after waiting so long for #1.

What holds me back is the embie in the freezer. We need to give that little guy a chance, and then suddenly we're looking at the possibility of three kids. Would that be OK? Yeah, probably, but it's just not something we've ever seriously considered.

Yes, yes, I'm getting way ahead of myself. The chances of our one embie surviving a thaw and a transfer are not great, and the chances of us getting knocked up the old-fashioned way are even less great. Chances are, we'll decide to start trying, go through the whole rigamarole again, and probably not be lucky enough to be successful on the first try of IVF. But these are the things I think about, waiting for the Chicklette to fall asleep at 4 in the morning with "19 Kids and Counting" on in the background.

Maybe I should just stick to SportsCenter.

Miss Fussy McFusserson

According to this popular child-rearing tome, the Chicklette is scheduled to reach her peak of fussiness this coming Wednesday, i.e. when she turns six weeks old. And let me tell you, Little Miss Fussy McFusserson has certainly been ramping up with a vengeance.

She does well in the morning, and for most of the day (she's started smiling and interacting with the other babies at mom's group, which is So Effing Cute), but starting at around 3:00 we start the long descent into the City of Fussbudgetton. The top of her little head turns red, and then you know you have about 3.7 seconds until you are in for it.

And the eating -- oh, the eating. Apparently there's some growth spurtage going on in Fussbudgetton, because my boobs cannot churn out the goods quickly enough. Well, they actually can, which is lucky I guess, but holy cow. Literally.

So, anyway. You can imagine that we have been in major "let's try and soothe the baby" mode. Here are some things I've learned do NOT soothe the baby:

--Walking around in the Baby Bjorn. The baby starts to scream the second she SEES the Baby Bjorn, much less get strapped into it.

--A pacifier. Unless it's five minutes later, when the pacifier becomes the best thing EVER.

--Dancing around with the baby, and making her shake her hands in the ay-a like she's a big play-a. Although this greatly amuses me, which cannot be underestimated at 3 in the morning.

--The Food Network. Which I don't get, because doesn't the Food Network soothe everyone?!?

I know this phase will end -- at least everyone tells me this phase will end -- but right now it feels like it will never end. Please please tell me it ends.

Are they trying to tell me something?

On a somewhat random note, I find it amusing that the spam in my Yahoo account has morphed from "Last Chance -- 50% off Maternity styles at Old Navy!" to "Join Weight Watchers with no activation fee!"

Are they trying to tell me something? Like maybe it's time to start thinking about switching back from my maternity jeans to something with a waistband?

For the record, the weight is coming off -- almost 25 pounds so far (only 20 or so to go to get back to my pre-IVF weight -- yikes). But the thought of fitting in a Weight Watchers meeting or summoning up the mental energy to count points is pretty hilarious.

I guess my "pull something random out of the freezer and wash it down with a Chips Ahoy cookie" diet will have to do for now....

Progress?

I'm always hesitant to post when something goes well, or when it seems like we've made some sort of breakthrough/discovery with one of our baby issues, because it seems inevitable that the universe will construe it as bragging and immediately send some other aspect of baby life to shit. But, since I'm sitting here at 5 in the morning killing time until I'm sure the baby's asleep, I guess I'll take my chances.

In addition to the breastfeeding issues, we've also been struggling with sleep. Not so much that the Chicklette doesn't sleep, it's more that she was sleeping at all the wrong times (like, from say 10 in the morning until 6 in the evening) and in all the wrong places (car seat, swingy chair). And not sleeping at the right times (anytime it was dark) or in the right places (her bassinet).

At first we thought it was a day/night reversal thing, which apparently is pretty normal for a person who's spent the first 10 months of their existence in the dark. But then we started thinking (thanks to a smart mommy in one of my 4 mommies groups -- more on that some other time) that maybe she has a touch of reflux, given that she was sleeping comfortably in any sort of contraption that kept her elevated. Maybe the day/night thing was just a coincidence?

So, a couple of nights ago we tried putting her down in her bouncy chair for the first part of the night, and then in the swing after her early morning feeding. And it seems to be working, although the second part of the plan involves me sleeping on the couch in the family room for at least a couple of hours. But, I'll take it. It beats being awake, or trying to put down a fussy baby multiple times into a bassinet.

The best part of all of this (other than that the Chicklette is sleeping more at night and less during the day, and seems generally happier overall) is that I'm able to piece together 7 or so hours of sleep a night (3-4 from 9 or 10 until she wakes up, thanks to the Mr. doing a bottle feeding or two, 2-3 on the couch, and then maybe another 1 or 2 after she eats at 7 or so). It's not perfect, but it sure beats the walking dead routine I was doing last week on 3-4 hours plus little naps during the day.

We talked to our pediatrician on Friday, and he's fine with this plan. Basically, anything you can do in the first couple of months to get the baby to sleep is OK -- it's a little later you have to start worrying about setting bad habits. (Or so he says -- I'll let you know if I'm still falling asleep to the dulcet tones of the Fisher Price My Little Lamb Cradle Swing when she's in high school.)

So, it's still a work in progress. But, as they say, baby steps.

4 weeks

I just realized, as I sit here in the dark in the family room at 4 in the morning waiting for the Chicklette to fall back asleep after a feeding, that today is 4 weeks and Saturday will be a month. It has been a LONG month.

If you read this blog, you know that, obviously, I really really wanted to have a baby. I'm grateful every day that I was able to. And I love my little pork chop more than anything in the world. BUT.

This newborn thing is hard. Harder than anything I've ever done. And I don't even think I have a difficult baby! But the combination of constant and unpredictable demands, lack of sleep, physical recovery and hormonal fluctuations is pretty brutal.

And the breastfeeding.....oh, the breastfeeding. I've been hesitant to post about it, since I'm still working out how I feel about things and what the plan is going forward, but let's just say it hasn't been smooth sailing. I'm happy to report that she's getting all breastmilk (sometimes from the breast, sometimes from a bottle), and that my nipples are no longer sporting open, bloody/pus-y cracks, but it has been a long and painful process. And while I've had lots of "support," let's just say that "support" doesn't always come in the most helpful forms. And it's a horrible feeling to be so frustrated with your itty bitty baby that the supposedly transcendent experience of providing sustenance for your little one devolves into wincing and cursing.

But anyway. Enough bitching. Things are getting better, slowly but surely, and I'm focusing really hard on enjoying her and the process of her growing up. I realize that there will be good days, usually followed by bad days. I've learned that things ALWAYS look brighter after a good cry (and maybe a glass of red wine and a bath). And that my husband is a rock star, even though sometimes he's so cheerful that it makes me hate him a little bit.

And thus is my state of mind very early in the morning on just a couple hours of sleep. Aren't you glad you stopped by? ;)