On breastfeeding
I’m just going to say it: Breastfeeding is terrible. How did those steely women of yore live without formula? Saints. All of them.
Whenever you hear someone talk about breastfeeding, they always talk about how joyous it was. The bond between you and your baby is incredible, they say. How fulfilling it is to be the sole provider of food for your budding baby, they croon. Seemingly, all you have to do is pop ’em on there and sit back and relax. Bask in the glow of motherhood. Hell, you can even don your flower tiara and watch the rainbows spread across the sky.
Wrong! Breastfeeding is hard! It’s painful. It’s stressful. It’s isolating. Boobs are complicated. Boobs are mysterious. And don’t forget the stigma that comes with it!
From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I knew I wanted to breastfeed because how hard could it be, right? Before my son was born, I had to sign a form saying that I was OK with the hospital giving him formula if he needed it. No problem. Once he was born, hospital staff was so kind and helpful when it came to getting me started. Those two days in the hospital were great. He was eating! I was doing it! I was a good mother!
A day later, we went to our first pediatrician appointment and found out that I wasn’t providing him with enough milk. My supply hadn’t come in, and he was jaundiced and starving. I was crushed. Devastated. I felt so inadequate. The doctor gave us a sample of formula to give him in the office and he guzzled it. That made me feel even worse. The pediatrician recommended we pick some up on the way home and give him an ounce after breastfeeding just to make sure he was getting food. I mentioned before that I wasn’t against formula, but knowing you have to use an alternate source of food because you’re not providing well enough made me feel so awful. I cried the whole way home.
Once my milk supply did come in, it was so hard to tell if he was getting enough. You have no idea how much milk is coming out, how much he’s already drank, or if you’re taking him off too soon. The uncertainty was very unsettling.
THEN to make matters worse, I developed a very sharp pain on my right side that made feeds unbearable. I would pump on that side and nurse on the left. I hated how much pain I was in and I started resenting my son, which wasn’t great for my mental health or him. “It’s gets easier,” “There will be tears,” “It becomes second nature,” everyone said. It felt good when people said they gave up because of how hard it was, but the shame I felt (the stigma!) for wanting to take that away from my son was crippling. So I sat there, sobbing uncontrollably, cradling my son while he ate and I ached.
I went to a lactation consultant and she said I was doing everything right (What?!). He had a good latch. Turns out, I had a yeast infection in my right breast (NO ONE TELLS YOU THIS CAN HAPPEN). Two rounds of antibiotics did nothing. Letting my breasts fly in the wind all day did nothing. Lanolin made it worse (NO ONE TELLS YOU THAT). Finally, my doctor suggested gentian violet, which is purple dye squeezed from violets. Put a dab on your nipples and it protects them from any further bacteria. It also turns your baby’s mouth purple as hell.
Three months later — three months of people asking me if I was feeding my infant son candy — it finally went away (and mind your own damn business, people!). And yes, it did get easier. It does feel pretty cool that I was able to help a baby grow with milk produced by my body. But if I have another child, I’m not looking forward to doing it again. Six months in, and I’m calling it quits. I made it this far, which is what pediatricians recommend, and a lot farther than I wanted to go. I am proud of that.
So to all you mothers out there who make it a full year, you are so strong and wonderful and goddesses in your own right. To all you mothers who quit after three days, three weeks, three months, I get it, and I don’t blame you. Next time you have to pop your boob out to feed your little spawn, don’t feel bad about not wanting to do it because it sucks. You’ve given your body to this little human for probably more than a year, and you want it back. You’re not alone, girl.