feeding claire

Some time ago, I decided that I would wean Claire by nine months. I’m not sure why I chose nine months. At the time, it just seemed right; even though, by everything that I’ve read and my commitment to breastfeeding, I should nurse her until she’s at least one. But Claire will be nine months next week.

Breastfeeding, for me, was hard in the beginning. And when I say beginning I really mean the first three months of Claire’s life. Maybe even longer. In the hospital right after her birth, she could latch on but I could tell something wasn’t quite right. I spoke to a lactation consultant who told me how important breastfeeding is (which I knew), told me some pointers, and wished me luck. Right before we were discharged the pediatrician came in to give me all of the baby stats and told me she had a high bilirubin count (her count was high because she was not eating enough and therefore not wetting enough diapers, which often causes jaundice in newborns – this is common in breastfed babies but Claire’s count was quite high) and that she was to return to the hospital the next day. So we did. The count was higher. (Fortunately, I met Sabrina, the most amazing lactation consultant who showed me what I was doing wrong.) We were then to go to her pediatrician the next day. The count was the same. Let’s just say for the first week and a half, we were seeing the doctors almost everyday. We had to supplement with a bottle. I would cry, feeling like a failure despite that I knew – my brain knew – that it wasn’t my fault, that breastfeeding is a relationship between two people who have absolutely no idea what the hell is supposed to happen. Claire would guzzle the bottles that Aaron gave her and I would cry some more. But she needed it so we kept it up for about two weeks. Finally her bilirubin count went down.

The pediatrician still recommended that I feed Claire every two hours. That definitely changes my perception of myself: I was not a mother but a milk machine, and not a very good one. Claire was gaining weight but we were both still unsure of ourselves. Each time I nursed there was pain, pain that would make me cry out – and continue to cry. My boobs went through just about everything that nursing boobs could except mastitis, which I went to the doctor for but I was just engorged so badly. I had tubes of Lansinoh all over the house. It was not rosy. I was the anthesis of blissful. I can’t believe Aaron is still with me because I can’t even imagine what kind of terrible crazy woman I became when everything seemed to be going wrong. But Claire kept growing and growing. Something must be going right. Right? Any self-assuredness I was trying to muster as a new mom was being squashed under my now ginormous breasts. I didn’t think I could do it. I questioned my ability to be a mother. If she rejected something so simple and basic, how is my daughter going to feel about me?

Weeks went by and it wasn’t really getting better. I didn’t really know how I could ‘practice’ but each time I nursed I was focused on technique. I would stop and restart if I thought things weren’t going right. I was determined to get this. It’s so simple: I’ve got milk and Claire needed it – no fancy contraptions, just being human. But often I got so focused on how it should be rather than how it is. This is a relationship, right? Maybe not always a two-way relationship, especially in the beginning, but still a relationship. I started reminding myself that we need to give ourselves time to get to know one another – despite nursing for almost two months. If this is how it’s going to be, well, here we are: mother and daughter, miserable together.

Somehow that made me feel better. As Claire grew and got older, things started getting better. And better. Then all of a sudden things were great. I know it sounds corny but it just magically happened. My cracked nipples healed. I stopped leaking all over myself (and the bed, and the couch, and anything I touched). There was no more crying – at least, from me. Claire and I were learning to enjoy the experience. And I dare say that it became easy and relaxing. It took a long time but it was worth it for us. For as much as the trials shook my confidence, finally getting it right restored it ten-fold. Don’t get me wrong, I am far from super-mom and don’t think that being able to breastfeed qualifies you – millions of moms have been doing it for thousands of years. It just took me a long time to feel like I could be a part of that group.