We've gone straight from breast milk to coffee with cookies. I kid, I kid.
This may be TMI, but seeing as how we’re all friends now, I’m writing to announce that I’ve weaned Penny. Sigh. That just sounded really final. We’ve been gradually heading this way, and it was a decision I made based on Penny’s interest level (which is very low) and some lopsidedness issues I’ve been experiencing. One breast has never been as productive as the other, and lately, it has been absolutely NON-productive, while the other side is flying solo, which has had some unfortunate side effects in the bra department. Do they even make bras with two different cup sizes?
What I’m currently feeling is a mixture of sadness and relief; it’s something that’s hard to give up, and yet so easy. It’s something I’ve been tempted to do for a long time, but resisted, until now.
I stopped pumping at work in May, went down to two feedings a day for most of June, then one feeding, and now none. I haven’t had any engorgement, and Penny hasn’t made any requests. Currently she is far too interested in her belly button (and other people’s belly buttons for that matter), to notice.
I think that 14 months is pretty good, in fact, I’m patting myself on the back. No one hands out gold medals for victories on the birth or breastfeeding fronts, but I have this crazy compulsion to get an A in every aspect of my life, so I compare myself to other moms and worry about whether or not I’m doing the very best thing for my baby. My mental dialogue: "You're still breastfeeding? Really? Oh. Well, can I quit?"
I’ve been playing through the little montage in my head about how hard and awful it was trying to nurse in the beginning, with my low production and incessant pumping, which then improved, until the problems with blisters, which led to swearing under my breath and counting to 10 whenever Penny latched on, and then that evolved to awkward but determined attempts to nurse whenever and wherever, regardless of our location (including such memorable locations as the horse races and the state fair), which finally became the enjoyable nursing experience I ultimately had. So when I think about how far we’ve come, it seems a shame to stop.
But I’m feeling secure with my decision. Penny is growing like crazy and loves to eat lots of different foods. I am mourning the loss of the event of nursing her, but I feel like that closeness can continue by reading extra books with her, rocking her a little more before bedtime, and getting lots of hugs in during the day.
So – to you moms who are still going strong, more power to you. To you moms who threw in the towel, I totally get it. I think we all deserve gold stars.
In case you haven't already clicked on the link from the Warner piece, this is the original article by Hanna Rosin from The Atlantic. Here are my two cents. I agree that we should not be fascists about anything, especially breastfeeding. If a woman doesn't want to breastfeed, or can't, or chooses not to for whatever reason, she shouldn't be made to feel like a bad mother because of it. And this happens all the time. Opening a can of formula should not be akin to opening a giant can of BAD MOM.
When Penny was tiny, I attended some La Leche meetings with my friend Mindy, and I felt a little uncomfortable about the tone of some the meetings. I felt the information was useful, but I already felt like my success as a mother was being measured by whether or not I was nursing, and how much I was producing, and how much weight my baby was gaining, etc. In the end, I decided La Leche wasn't for me. So I can relate to some of the things Rosin is talking about, I really can.
But I get nervous about making a "case" against breastfeeding. I agree that we shouldn't get carried away by hype or buy into claims that are not scientifically founded. However, I am still more likely to trust the American Academy of Pediatrics and the World Health Organization more than a journalist who has done her own casual meta-analysis of articles from medical journals. Rosin says herself:
"My best guess is something I can’t quite articulate. Breast-feeding does not belong in the realm of facts and hard numbers; it is much too intimate and elemental. It contains all of my awe about motherhood, and also my ambivalence. Right now, even part-time, it’s a strain. But I also know that this is probably my last chance to feel warm baby skin up against mine, and one day I will miss it."
And that is the key for me, the warm baby skin. The bonding, the cuddling. The connection that transcends any other tangible experience, which in my mind, is the same connection that started in the womb. I grew my baby myself, with my body. I am still "growing" my baby, with my body. We live in an amazing time, in an age of pumps and formula. We have options and we can choose the one that best suits our needs and our lifestyles. We can also adapt and make compromises, if one option doesn't work out the way we originally planned.We also live in an age where one person can write an article, another person can post an opinion about it online, and the whole Internet can explode in anger or in support. Amazing.
My apologies for the title of this post, but I think "boob juice" is hilarious. Milk is always on my mind. I've been thinking about how awkward and clumsy I was when I was learning how to breastfeed Penny and how seamless and easy it is now. Before I gave birth, I thought breastfeeding would be sunshine and rainbows and butterflies. I thought a chorus of angels would sing the moment I put her to my breast. I had heard horror stories from other women about how painful it was, including gory details about bloody nipples. I thought they were exaggerating. I thought, "That's not going to be me."
Well, it was me. For the first 2 months, I swore under my breath, stomped my feet, and counted to 10 whenever Penny latched on. I had blisters that would come and go, depending on the week. I remember feeling sheepish about the hooter hider, and dreading the possibility of feeding her in public. But the clouds eventually parted, and the rainbows and butterflies arrived. If anything, she gets so distracted, I'm the one who has to control the environment so she can focus. But it honestly took 4 months for breast feeding to be "enjoyable." Now, Penny takes about 5 minutes to eat and that's it. And it doesn't hurt at all. There is much angelic singing.
I still worry about how much I'm producing (Will I ever NOT worry about how much Penny is getting to eat?), and I loathe pumping at work. Just recently, I exclaimed how happy I will be when I can stop pumping. I actually used the word "can," because I will need to get permission from myself before I can stop. I have set a personal goal of nursing/pumping until Penny is at least a year. This is based on information I have read, mostly from the BOOKS, which say that there are many benefits of breastfeeding through the first year.
I have a love-hate relationship with my pump. It has been with me from the beginning of motherhood, so it seems like an old friend. We go way back, my pump and I. But it is hard for me to a) remember to pump regularly at work, b) to find a comfortable place to pump, depending on where I am in the state on any given day, and c) it takes time. But it is satisfying to come home and put the fruit of my labor in the fridge for Penny to have when she goes to her grandma's.
And then, thanks to the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day Sheree had the other day, I read this article from the New York Times. I found it a bit shocking. This piece has already generated 487 comments, and I wish I had the time to read them all. I will probably post a comment too. People are weighing in from all sides. What bugs me is the thought of "banning" something altogether. Judith Warner makes a point to say that hopefully someday soon, pumps will be relics in women's history textbooks.
Penny, using her "meaningless" additional IQ points to master the shape sorter...
I really needed my pump that first month and I'm glad I had it and used it. I have had friends develop cases of mastitis, who needed to nurse and pump constantly in order for it to resolve. This is probably TMI, but my nipples were pretty flat, so pumping helped with that as well. Pumping milk was also a great way for Britt to give Penny bottles in the morning before he went to work.
On the flip side, I supplemented with formula during Penny's first month, and while it's been a great 11 months of breastfeeding (7, if you count the REALLY great months), I am currently out of frozen milk. My supply has diminished considerably, mostly because Penny's demand has decreased now that she enjoys eating so many different solids. So I have made the decision to supplement with formula as needed, until Penny gets the ok to drink regular milk, or soy milk, if she's allergic to dairy. And I'm still pumping, for now.
If anything, the more aggravating issue is the constant mailers and coupons I have been getting from the formula companies since before Penny was born. I felt pressured to use formula before I had even given birth! At least the "pressure" women feel to breastfeed isn't coming from a monolithic company, who charges $15 a can. My pump was pricey, but I have gotten my money's worth and then some.
My point is, there's no black and white. I'm not going to tell other women what to do and I would hope that others wouldn't make them feel guilty for the decisions they have made for their babies and for themselves. It's hard enough to be a parent.
So there's a bit of a baby invasion going on, which is very exciting, because it means that lots of new little friends are entering the world. Listening to/reading about my friends' birthing experiences has made me recall my own, as well as my post-partum experience, and the first month of pure hell (what I can remember), and so on. So I've decided to post some advice, or at least some things I wish I had done better...things that kind of make me want a re-do in some ways, which is a little ridiculous considering how great Penny is, and how much more confident I am now about motherhood in general. I guess that's why some people have more than one baby? So they can do things better the second time around? But in a way, I wouldn't change my experience, because it has ultimately shaped our relationships; mine and Penny's, mine and Britt's, Britt's and Penny's.
Anyway, here's my little list (with pictures!), please feel free to add your own advice:
Penny, One Week Old.
1. The first piece of advice is from my dad. Before I gave birth to Penny, he told me that everyone has their own birthing experience. (This is for the future moms-to-be out there.) You will have your own unique birthing experience. Only YOU know how YOU will feel at the time, and what YOU think YOU can handle. Just because an epidural worked for me, doesn't mean it's for everyone. And just because some of my friends were able to birth their babies naturally (which I have said is like running a marathon with your vagina), doesn't mean that's for everyone. Getting an epidural isn't a cop-out and needing a C-section is not akin to failure.
Penny, One Month Old.
2. There is no spoon. By this I mean that TIME DOES NOT EXIST when you have a newborn. I remember feeling very resentful about being awakened at 3 a.m. and I had to tell myself that 3:00 was just a random number that no longer meant anything. Penny didn't know that waking people up at an ungodly hour was rude and inconsiderate, she just needed to eat, and feeding her was my job. I had to retrain my brain to accept the feed-sleep-feed-sleep cycle that became our new schedule, and the sun was just a random occurrence. Sometimes it was up, and sometimes it was dark outside. But time did not exist.
Penny, 1.5 Months Old.
3. Don't be afraid to ask for help. I wish I had been more aggressive in the hospital and INSISTED that a lactation specialist help me with my breastfeeding. I wish they hadn't released me without making absolutely sure that Penny had a good latch. This stems from some resentment I still have about all of the conflicting advice I received from each nurse who was on duty. And in some ways, they must have thought we would be ok, otherwise they wouldn't have released us?
But even after we were home, I wish I hadn't been too proud to ask for help, or to put it another way, been so SURE that things would naturally just turn out without any effort. I felt so confident when my milk came in, I had no idea that Penny wasn't eating enough or that I wasn't being stimulated enough or producing enough and around and around in that vicious little cycle. But in retrospect, Penny was crying a lot. And she was crying because she was hungry, I know that now. If I have another baby, I will just feed her (or him?) anytime she cries. One peep and that baby will be suckling! And that's another thing. I pay a lot of attention to Penny's swallowing pattern while she eats, even now. The swallowing is key.
Penny, 2 Months Old.
4. Breastfeeding is hard. It's harder than I thought it would be. I had heard other women say it was hard, but I didn't believe them and I didn't think it would be hard for me. I was wrong.
Penny, 3 Months Old.
5. Don't forget to take care of yourself! I was so caught up in taking care of Penny that I would forget to feed myself. I know that sounds crazy. But that first month was so hard. If it hadn't been for friends bringing us food every day, we all might have starved. Also, people would say, "sleep when Penny sleeps," and usually I heeded their advice. But sometimes, that would be the ideal time to contact the outside world, or blend up a protein shake, or furiously read the baby BOOKS, which leads me to point number 6.
Penny, 4 Months Old.
6. Sometimes knowledge can be a bad thing. I think Whitney warned me about this after my bellybutton post. The BOOKS can be helpful as guidelines, but they shouldn't replace parental instincts. You might not think you have any instincts, but you do.
Penny, 5 Months Old.
7. It gets better! I think if I hadn't heard that over and over again, I might have remained in a post-partum funk longer than I did. Being pregnant was so fun and the idea of the actual baby was so abstract. But then all of the sudden, you have this cute little helpless creature who needs you 24-7 and it's exhausting. Even now, if I stopped to think about how much Penny depends on me, my head might explode. And she is ALWAYS going to need me. That's kind of a lot of pressure. And there is a lot of worrying. I will never not worry about her in some way. Even when she's 30, I will be thinking about her and hoping she's ok. But that's the heart of parenting, isn't it?
Queen Penny, age 6 Months, and her Chief Advisor, Chupa.
What am I forgetting?
I hope that enough time has passed for this to be funny instead of embarrassing. I have a gross confession to make: I had mildew in my breast pump. I know, I know, GROSS. Let me explain.
It may shock and alarm some of you to learn that I'm not a very tidy person. It's true. But, I DO wash the pump after each use, I swear! I just didn't know that the little yellow bits that attach to the "horns" (those of you with Medela experience will know what I'm talking about) can (and should) come off. I didn't know! I had tried to pull them off many times before giving up and assuming they were permanently affixed. Oops. And I was getting a bit lazy about taking the little membranes off. I was just rinsing the whole thing without taking it apart and drying it on the drying rack. So imagine my horror when I actually took the time to look behind the membrane into the yellow part. I think I even shouted OH GOOD GOD or something to that effect with some additional expletives.
So then I panicked. I thought about the milk I had in the freezer that might have come into contact with the grossness. I threw a couple of those bags away because the idea of Penny drinking it was too disgusting. I sent a desperate email to my friend Sheree at midnight. And then I didn't wait for her reply before bleaching the crap out of all of the parts and mucking out the yellow bits with a Q-tip. And then I realized that bleach is probably not good either (which Sheree pointed out to me in her reply to my desperate email), so I threw out the milk I had pumped post-bleaching.
I had the joy of confessing all of this to my doctor at Penny's four month check-up. She had to ponder the situation for a long time, as if she'd never heard of such a disgusting predicament, which made me feel like even more of a slob. She said she thought the mildew-laced milk was probably fine, unlike the bleach-laced milk, and that the parts of the pump should probably be cleaned with alcohol in the future. She was very sympathetic about the prospect of throwing milk out, since she knows, as a nursing/pumping mother herself, that breast milk is LIQUID GOLD.
Friends, don't let this happen to you. Take your pump apart every time (and yes, those little yellow things DO come off, you have to twist and pull) and wash everything. If you do encounter some yuckiness, use alcohol (not bleach) to clean it and then boil the parts to sterilize them.
Penny: Hey mom, can you be more careful with my milk?
For those of you with a microwave, you can use those steamer bags to sterilize as well, assuming that microwaving plastic is ok?? That's embarrassing confession number two: We do not currently own a microwave. But we're not total Luddites, see? I'm using a computer right now to confess all of my disgusting habits!
(I don't usually get to read the New Yorker cover to cover, but thanks to 40 minute feedings, I'm finding ample reading time!)
When Penny was 3 weeks old, my friend Mindy (who was pregnant at the time and has since entered into a motherhood adventure of her own) and I braved our local lactation establishment (which shall not be named, needless to say, it has a clever name which rhymes with "lactation.") together to stock up on some supplies. I was still pumping like crazy and using the feeding tube 7-8 times a day to feed Penny, so I was interested in talking to a lactation consultant and scheduling an appointment with someone who could give me some additional pointers. The woman working there was very helpful and answered the barrage of questions I had, and helped us obtain some nice (but expensive!) nursing bras.
Everything was copacetic until this guy walked in and sat down behind the counter. He overheard my conversation with the lactation consultant and then started asking me questions as well, about how much I was pumping and what kind of pump I had. He also took a phone call from a distressed woman whose breast pump had crashed and burned after pumping for an hour (bad idea..even I, in my limited knowledge, could have told her that was a bad idea...). At first I was confused, until I realized that the man worked there! Ok, this is going to sound really sexist, but it felt really odd to be discussing my pumping habits with some strange man. It was very uncomfortable!
As Mindy said later, over Iceberg milkshakes, "Shouldn't there be an ALL BOOB policy?" Well, he WAS very knowledgeable and even recommended an herbal supplement I could take to boost my milk supply. And it's not as though he was going to be the one doing my private consultation (*shudder*). But still! Uncomfortable!
I realize many women see male OB-GYNs. This has always perplexed me and it has never been my style. I feel the same way discussing breastfeeding issues. I want to talk to someone who can empathize, someone who knows what it feels like to be painfully engorged, or what it feels like to have bloody stumps for nipples (ok, I'm being melodramatic now). Maybe I should be more open-minded....?
I have no neck!
I hate not having a neck!
All humor aside, I was still a mess when Britt (I have decided that it's ok to use his name...) came home from work. I had tried the feeding tube and had gotten milk all over myself and Penny. I needed an extra set of hands, since breastfeeding was still a clumsy and awkward experience for both of us. When Britt came home he flew into action. He told me not to worry and immediately started calculating how much more time he could take off from work to be with us. We were going to get this baby to gain weight and we were going to do it together.
If I may gush for a moment about my husband: He held the tube for me and controlled the speed of the flow (damn physics!) so I could have one hand on Penny and one hand on the tube inside the nipple shield to keep it in place. He got up with me every 3 hours so we could do this, even at 3 am, when we were both zombies. Eventually, we figured out how to rig it to the couch so I could do it myself without getting milk everywhere, but the point is, he fracking rocks (for you BSG fans out there) and I couldn't have done it without him. This is not the first time he has been my emotional buoy and I'm sure it won't be the last.
I also need to gush about the friends who continued to bring us food through the first month. I had a couple of people routinely checking on me to see if I needed anything and I just want to say how much I love and appreciate them. Thank you!
Of course this story has a happy ending. Penny started gaining weight right away. Diapers were messier and more frequent. She spat up after eating, which we celebrated, because it had never happened before, because she had never been full before. The best (and possibly most heartbreaking) part was that she was a different baby. She was so happy and content and she started sleeping better. We began to see that sweet, ruddy-cheeked "milk coma" countenance we had seen on other babies and have since come to recognize it as the main indicator that she has eaten her fill.
I have let go of most of the guilt associated with this experience. I felt like a bad mom for a while, but as a result, I learned Penny's hungry cry, and learned what her face looks like when she's full. Britt pointed out that if my doctor didn't think we could handle the situation, she wouldn't have let me leave her office with Penny that dreadful day. Enough time has passed now that I can actually look back and laugh and say, "Remember when we had to use that tube to feed Penny? That was CRAZY!"
Sometimes moms will ask me if their child has a hearing loss because of something they did while they were pregnant, such as drinking too much diet coke. Another common scenario is when their child has an ear infection that goes undetected. Parents feel horribly guilty for not picking up on the signs. I assure them that it's not their fault. Now I think I can relate to them a little better.
When the time came for Penny's two-week checkup, I thought things were going pretty well. She had been fussy, but babies are fussy, right? Her crying had been increasing and she seemed hungry all the time. Well, she must be having a growth spurt! My milk had come in, and I was letting her nurse until she fell asleep.
The day of the appointment, I was feeling a wee bit stressed because I was exhausted from sleep deprivation, B had gone back to work that morning, and I was venturing out of the house without him. I couldn't stand to be away from the nest, and the idea of going anywhere with the baby alone was absolutely terrifying. Penny cried the entire way to the doctor's office. I thought, "I can't take her in the waiting room like this, people will think I'm a horrible mother." She calmed down when I put her in the sling (hooray for slings!) and then I calmed down as well. Then they put her on the scale.
She had grown 2 inches and lost almost 2 pounds. My ordinarily very chill doctor suddenly became very serious. We discussed the number of diapers, etc, which weren't enough. I looked at my baby and saw her with new eyes. She looked tiny. And sad. And hungry. I am not exaggerating when I say that I was crushed. I was frightened for Penny, and I felt absolutely stupid because I actually thought things were going well. We discussed a plan of action. Either my milk supply was to blame, or she might have a metabolic disorder of some kind. But the most important thing was to get Penny to gain weight. I was to pump ASAP to see what I was producing, with the goal being to feed her 2 ounces every 3 hours. Then, she gave me this:
A pediatric feeding tube, with instructions to pour my milk in + formula as needed to reach 2 oz. (We had to add the electrical tape after the numbers wore off). The idea was to have the tube go down to my breast to simulate breastfeeding. At this point, my head was spinning and I was trying my best to follow her instructions. I wasn't really thinking, only nodding and saying, "Ok." Did I mention that I hadn't slept and B had gone back to work?
Then came the heel stick test, and Penny cried. My brave facade crumbled and I cried too. The nurse, who really does dislike torturing children, told me to take my time and that I could feed Penny in the exam room if I wanted to. Eventually, we went back home. I felt overwhelmed and inadequate.
The good news is, it was not a metabolic disorder. It was my milk supply, which definitely added to the feelings of inadequacy. Poor Penny had been trying to eat, but had been falling asleep when the milk ran out. At this point, B's mom's radar (mom-dar?) went off and she showed up at my door. She had been thinking about me all day and felt like she should check on me. I cried all over again. She assured me that it wasn't my fault, which is exactly what I tell the parents who come to see me, only this time, I knew how it felt.
So then there was the placenta and the stitches and things of that nature going on and I didn't care because I was basking in all of the beautiful baby glory. We actually got to hold her for quite a while before she was taken to the nursery. I did try to breastfeed right away, which didn't work at all, but that was ok. We were both tired and had no idea what we were doing. B got to go with her to the nursery to help with her first bath and to make sure nothing happened to her. We were already in full-blown protective parent mode...
My post-partum stay had some real ups and downs - we were visited by many loved ones who came bearing gifts of delicious food and showered us with affection. What disturbed me was all of the conflicting advice I received from each nurse regarding breastfeeding. Penny had some trouble latching on at first and although I was hoping to work with a lactation consultant right there in the hospital, I kept getting "help" from whomever was on duty. One nurse in particular really bothered me and immediately busted out the supplementary nursing system with the little tube and the formula. Penny started gagging and sputtering on it and I freaked out because SHE WAS GOING TO DROWN MY BABY. Ultimately, I taped the little tube to my finger and let Penny suck on it so she would learn to keep her tongue down. Later, a different (and very nice nurse who owns cats) gave me a nipple shield, which helped Penny latch on and our first "real" feeding happened.
I was elated about this until I was told the next day by the aforementioned awful nurse that nipple shields were bad and that doctors don't recommend them. The nurse on the night shift told me not to worry about obsessively trying to feed Penny because she would eat when she was ready and had a nice big meal before she was born, and that it was normal for newborns to lose weight after birth, etc, etc. And then a totally different nurse after that told me that if I didn't feed her at least every 3 hours she could go into a HYPOGLYCEMIC COMA and have BRAIN DAMAGE. Jesus.
This was all understandably upsetting for me, however, in the midst of it all, we had this really cute baby:
So we tried not to let anything get us down.
After 2 days we were ready to go home. After agonizing over her middle name, we filled out the paperwork for her birth certificate, signed papers saying she was really our baby and hadn't been swapped for some other baby, and that we felt less incompetent about caring for her at home, thanks to the highly informative videotape we watched. (I signed the last one even though I still felt totally incompetent). Then it was time to leave:
I like this picture because she looks so sentient, and she didn't object to her car seat. When we got into the truck I insisted that the radio be turned down and B drove 20 mph home so she wouldn't get bumped too much on the drive home. :)
