I am never breastfeeding. That’s what I told myself for almost 9 months. It looked so inconvenient and unpleasant through my eyes. It’s true when people say everyone will encourage you to do it or at least try it, but me… I’m stubborn.
I’m also a secret softy, we’ve been breastfeeding while supplementing with formula for almost two months now. I’ve even named my breasts… my left one gets all big and proud so she’s Dolly, and my right one always pulls through, so she’s old reliable… Although I still don’t love it, and i still think it’s fairly unpleasant, it is actually convenient. Never mind which bottle to use, warming a bottle, going through formula left and right… just whip your boob out and you’re good to go right?
Well… two days into breast feeding I had no more of a clue than day zero, all I knew is she was latched on there, sucking, and it hurt like hell, so that must be it. Three days into it and half my left nipple was missing. Apparently latching on all the way is an effective way to avoid that. Everyone had already seen way too much of me and now I’m told I need a lactation consultant… Now doesn’t that sound fun?! I’ve been coached in a lot of things, but none of them involved my boobs. Although I thought it would be weird, and it was, I’m thankful that job exists, it saved me hours of frustration and a left nipple!
I learned how charleigh should be latched, how to hold her, and one other very important tid bit… how to remove her without losing more than a chunk. The nurse told me people don’t usually make that mistake more than once and she has to be absolutely right. I had no idea there was a technique other than to just pull her off… that was a pain so deep into my bones I can’t even explain it, but to paint you a picture it sounded almost identical to when you pop a cork off a highly loaded champagne bottle, minus the celebration after. Like anything else, it just took practice. The other beauty of breastfeeding is pumping… as if feeling like a science project for nine months wasn’t enough… now I feel like an award winning dairy cow.
Every three hours I sit to the same tone of my breast pump. My prepregnancy boobs barely existed, but these boobs are relentless. They don’t care where I am, what I’m doing, or what time it is… if they want to leak, they are going to leak.
Now in my diaper bag I pack an extra outfit or two for Charleigh’s blowouts, and also an outfit for myself for either scenario. (Both of which have happened, and it’s never at home) also I only wear clothes now based on how easily I can get to a boob… I learned quick if you wait to long to pump or feed, not only does it hurt and leak, it can also get infected. One week after getting home and I developed mastitis, which damn near hurt more than delivery. Another mistake I plan not to make more than once… ten days of antibiotics and that volcanic boob had calmed. I’ve also accepted I will have breast milk on just about everything… my clothes, my baby, my furniture, especially my bed… and my truck… it’s like the new body lotion.
I put a lot of pressure on myself early on to breastfeed a lot, but I’ve learned to like my pump. My pump goes places with me, let’s me think to myself, and now I only breastfeed in the middle of the night… everyone else gets a chance to feed charleigh now! Win win. I’ve heard breastfeeding is the most beautiful bond and I’d be lying if those moments in the middle of the night where it’s just that breast smelling shark and i weren’t some of my favorite. It’s just her and I, darkness, and some of the cutest baby noises. All half jokes aside, I feel extremely fortunate to have had this experience with her and it only further reinforces my amazement with the human body.
