breastfeeding stories

A Tale of Two Preemies

November 10, 2010 by theleakyb@@b

Leanne shares her story of journeying through her own physical problems and then her preemie daughters. The differences in hospitals dedicated to getting human babies human milk is highlighted in this touching story of struggling to get preemies the milk they so desperately need. I am honored to be bringing you this guest post and appreciate Leanne sharing her story. Leanne has a personal blog, No Spelling Required, and she would love for you to come say hi.

I believe that sometimes we, as humans, go against what is or should be possible. I am a prime example of that. Genetics has not been kind in my family. I’ve survived three genetic illnesses that are incurable. Two being autoimmune. Silent diseases that no one else can see, but I can always feel. I was diagnosed with Juvenile Diabetes when I was barely 5 years old. At the age of 17 I was then diagnosed with Grave’s thyroid disease. 5 years later I had a secondary diagnosis of Fibromyalgia. It’s been proven that people who suffer from one genetic, autoimmune disorder often suffer from another at some point in their life. I was also a rare case with the Grave’s Disease because of my young age when it happened. Most people who get thyroid disease don’t get it until they are into their 40’s and 50’s. The Diabetes I’ve always been able to deal well with. The other two illnesses, on the other hand, have wreaked a lot of havoc on my life, making me sick for years on end and also causing problems with my two beautiful girls.

My first had breathing problems due to being born early and having underdeveloped lungs. She spent about two weeks in the NICU back in ’96 when she was born. Surprisingly enough, she came out of it with flying colors even through the horrid radiation treatment I received while I was pregnant with her. Her only mishap being that she had a heart murmur which had resolved itself by the time she was 6 months old.

Breastfeeding with Jordan was short lived. The hospital at the time had taken total control of her feeding “schedule” and immediately put a bottle into her mouth when she was no longer feeding from her IV alone. I never even had a chance to latch her on once. This is the happenings of hospitals bought out by formula companies. I tried repeatedly to get her to latch on and gave up quickly with lack of proper support and knowledge at the time to do much more to help her become used to breastfeeding. I pumped for a few weeks afterward and still felt it was useless because of how little I was able to produce at the time. Our entire breastfeeding relationship had been sabotaged right from the beginning. I was only 20 years old at the time and did exactly what I thought every mom eventually did anyway and of course started her immediately on formula. I regret every day that I didn’t have the information I do now. I would have made sure I succeeded at the one gift I could have given her that was so very important.

After Jordan was born, I had also decided I didn’t want to ever try for another baby as well. I felt like I had been through enough with her to have her be my only little star. In 2006 I knew I was never going to have more children and did something that, at the time, felt very right for me and had breast reduction surgery. At 5 ft. even and being a DD bra size, it was way too much for me and I wanted to finally be comfortable, therefore I went through it. For 3 years I was in love with myself all over again and felt great! Little did I know that last Christmas I had a small gift in the beginning stages of pregnancy starting. I found out two days before Christmas day that I was pregnant with my second daughter! I just about went through the roof when we found out. My first baby was now 13 years old! I had not expected this ever. Fate had different plans for me than to be only a mother of one though.

After the initial shock wore off, I spent many of my months of pregnancy doing a lot of homework, joining online mommy groups, and studying up on how I was going to attempt breastfeeding again after my reduction. I dove into this feet first and learned how much things had changed. I had the internet this time around to guide me and boy did I ever utilize this ability! The thought of donor milk and milk banks had crossed my mind after learning about them, in case I couldn’t produce enough. I expected not to produce enough, but was adamant to make sure I was able to at least breastfeed a little this time around. Little did I know at the time how expensive buying breast milk was!

Sam and I ended up have little Zoe almost 7 weeks early because of my illnesses. Once again, I had another baby in the NICU. Only this time with many more problems and a much more intense situation. Zoe was born with thyroid issues as well. She was another very rare case. Something that almost NEVER happens to babies of women with thyroid disease did indeed happen to her and I. The antibodies that I still carry in my body, even after treatment, had crossed over the placenta and started attacking her thyroid gland. This is only supposed to happen with a woman who is actively hyperthyroid while being pregnant. I was not. My thyroid function has actually gone deeply the opposite way. I can no longer produce thyroid hormone at all on my own due to I-131 radiation treatment I had received during my first pregnancy. The case of this happening runs at only a 2% chance that the baby will be affected. That would mean about 1 in 25,000 babies would be born with Neonatal Thyrotoxicosis like Zoe was born with. The fact I was no longer hyper with my thyroid function makes this almost an anomaly type of situation as well and that much more of a rare case!

Zoe ended up spending a little over a month in the hospital to take care of these issues with her. My heart just aches for her and what she went through prior to being born and after as well. I remember having Thyroid Storm myself, and feeling like I was having a heart attack during the entire thing. The anxiety it creates, the rapid heart rate, palpitations, loss of hair, and weight, all things I remember all too well. To have to endure this when not even born yet, and have it affect you so badly your heart stops at birth as well as your breathing, it is so painful to my heart to know she had to go through this. It is painful to never know how a normal birth would have been for her or my oldest either.

The one wonderful thing about the hospital we had Zoe in was the milk banking they did. Huge amounts of stored breast milk donated by local mothers for all these NICU babies! I was petrified that I’d again be doomed to have to deal with formula pushers, especially after my previous experience. This time I came in knowing exactly what I didn’t want though! I knew I wanted to breastfeed her exclusively for as long as I possibly could. I knew I’d probably have to supplement, but I wanted to her to have MY milk first and foremost! The hospital agreed! I was so shocked when the doctor started trying to talk me into signing the consent form to have donated milk given to her. I think I shocked him as well by grabbing his pen and signing the form before he even had a chance to finish what he wanted to tell me. The lactation consultants were also amazing. They knew the hard road that Zoe and I were facing with trying to produce enough milk after reduction. They did everything they could to keep me going with pumping for her while she was in the NICU and when she was finally able to start latching on, they continued with the amazement. Everything under the sun was tried to make this work for her and I including giving me my own SNS to supplement her with. The consultants, nurses, and doctors were all so diligent in helping us succeed in this. Zoe exclusively breastfed for a full month as well as she was on the donor milk. I will be thankful every day for having that hospital staff during her traumatic birth just for the fact that they were so supportive of all our needs and wants.

I eventually gave them the go ahead to start bottle feeding her my pumped milk as well when I could not be there for all of her feedings. As much as we mothers would love to move into the NICU with our babies, that’s just not reality and there were times I had to go home too. Nipple confusion amongst young babies happens very quickly. It did indeed happen again in our case as well. I’m OK with this though. I had a choice to make, either feed my baby so she can go home with me finally, or salvage a breastfeeding relationship while she continues to be fed through her NG tube. You can imagine what my choice was immediately. I did choose the easier way out. I wanted her to be home with us, not stuck in the hospital for a longer period of time. I will not regret it. She did so well breastfeeding even only for the 5 to 10 minutes intervals that she did in her first month. For such a little baby, that is hard work! Born at 4 lbs. 9 oz. and weighing just over 5 lbs. when she was finally able to go home, I was so proud of her for trying so hard.

I continued to pump when I got her home. Eventually it became too frustrating for me to pump like crazy and only get, on average, 10 ml for both sides. I was taking Reglan from the doctors, Fenugreek, and eating oatmeal like crazy. I would produce the milk and become engorged like a mad woman, but never be able to get anything more than tiny bits at a time. Throughout a 24 hour period I’d pump just barely enough to fill a full 4 oz. bottle. It was too stressful at the time to continue to do this. I did give up completely. However, I was then on the search for a donor. Two weeks ago I finally found the lady for my little girl! A woman who had donated before to an adoptive mom and is willing to donate to Zoe all the extra that she gets. She fills her freezer up, and I come when she calls and take it off her hands. It’s an amazing, beautiful gift that this lady has give Zoe and I and I could never be thankful enough to find someone like her to help us. It takes someone so very special to be able to part with something so personal such as breast milk. I am completely amazed every time I meed such a selfless person in my life such as this lady. She gives such a precious gift to my little girl of her own free will. For that, I am just plain thankful, again amazed, and completely honored.

Through all of this, and with the help of everyone who has in the past few months given so much to us, we are coming out on top. The antibodies of mine that invaded Zoe’s tiny little body are finally starting to die off. Hopefully by the time she is 6 months old they will completely die. Until then, we will continue to care for her special needs and delicate situation. The amazing people who have joined us in keeping up with what’s best for her will never ever be forgotten, even when I grow old, I will always remember. Zoe may not, but I will always be forever thankful!

Filed Under: Breastfeeding, breastfeeding stories, Preemies

The Red-Eyed Breastfeeding Monster- Mastitis

October 18, 2010 by theleakyb@@b

Smunchie AKA mastitis relief worker

She looked annoyed, as annoyed as a 9 month old can look. I gently shook my boob with my hand, hoping to tempt her but she just looked away as if she couldn’t be bothered to eat right now. Obviously she had places to go, things to do, playthings to discover. Please eat, please, please, please nurse again I begged her. She all but scoffed at me. There was no need for the boob right now and we had clearly established long ago that if she needed it she’d ask for it. Offering it when she wasn’t hungry or in need of comfort was just down right insulting. Biting back tears I mentally called her a brat and immediately regretted it, she wasn’t a brat she just didn’t need to eat right now and she knows how *this* works.

But I needed her.

This wasn’t an emotional need, no, this was a desperate physical need. Early in the afternoon of that day last week I had the early signs of mastitis and by the evening it was full blown with a fever, aches, breast pain and red streaks across my breast. The help of my baby was crucial to my recovery. Since she wouldn’t nurse at that moment I decided to hand express into a bowl of warm water. I nearly cried into that bowl too. The red-eyed breastfeeding monster had struck. Mastitis.

Mastitis is interesting. Not really, actually, it’s quite painful. My friend describes it as a form of torture and thanks to my refresher this past week I’m inclined to agree. In talking to The Piano Man about it from the shower where I let hot water run over my breast for as long as I could stand it, I realized that a doctor would describe mastitis as “uncomfortable” and then would go on to explain the treatment measures as “uncomfortable” as well. Meaning: hurts like hell and will feel like someone is kicking you in the chest repeatedly and it’s the only way to get better. I’ve been told I have a high pain tolerance but the truth is I would rather give birth au naturale than have mastitis. That may have nothing to do with pain levels however and just reflect the fact that I can be a tad bit goal oriented. Let me break it down for you.

Labor + child-birth = baby with a bonus that the pain and physical discomfort comes to an end.

Mastitis + frequent painful feedings and massage = get rid of infection and end the pain which hopefully won’t reoccur.

It’s simple math, I prefer labor.

Antibiotics are the commonly prescribed course of treatment for mastitis but I really wanted to avoid them given that the last time I had antibiotics I wound up with thrush. When I first suspected at 12.30 pm that Tuesday that the bra I wore was actually a little too tight (why the heck are these things still growing?!) and that missing a feeding on my right side was more than just uncomfortable (by my standards, not what a doctor would say) I immediately took my bra off and tried to convince myself that it would be no big deal once I nursed Smunchie. But the pain didn’t go away. By 2 pm I was just feeling yucky and my breast hurt more. Still, I was in denial though I caught myself several times subconsciously massaging the painful breast and thinking “please don’t be… please don’t be…” I wouldn’t even say the word in my head. Four o’clock rolled around though and it was starting to hurt to lift my arm, I ached in all of my joints and I just didn’t want to even move. At 5 I finally said that I had the early signs of mastitis. Ha! Early signs my foot. Heat radiated from my breast and pale pink streaks snaked across it and up my chest, getting an angrier shade of red by the minute. I felt like I could barely move. When I took my temperature at almost a quarter after 5 it was over 100 and my boob was hot enough to sense the heat through my shirt.

Fine, I’m fighting mastitis I decide.

I took a hot shower, staying in there as long as I could. Feeling so terrible all over I sat down on the tub floor and shivered against the cold ceramic while hot water streamed over my right breast and I massaged from behind the painful area gradually moving the pressure down toward the nipple. Eyes glazed over with pain, Smunchie asleep and the big girls distracted with a movie (a rare treat on a week day in our house) I have no idea how long I stayed in there. Long enough for my butt to be cold and my chest and tummy red from the hot water.

The rest of my evening was a blur of near tears pain (I would have cried but didn’t want to scare my daughters into never being willing to try breastfeeding their own children), breastfeeding, PB&J dinning courtesy of my 7 and 9 year old, getting hit in the sore boob with a wooden toy sword (I’m sorry, wooden knight armor is not welcomed to co-sleep with us right now!), a temp of 103, and desperate texts to The Piano Man at rehearsal:

“Come home soon…”
“When will you be home…”
“My boob hurts…”
“I’m not sure what to do about dinner.”
“Can you leave early?”
“The girls are helping, they made dinner.”
“There’s PB&J all over the kitchen, sorry…”
“OMG I hurt all over!”
“I think the girls made dinner on the floor, sorry.”
“I feel helpless…”
“I just feel so sick.”
“I’m sorry I’m so whiney”
“Have you left yet?”
“Call me”
“My temp is 103.2…”
“I think I need to see a doctor…”
“What’s worse than having a raging infection in your boob? Getting hit with a SWORD on the boob with a raging infection.”
“Where are you?”
“I really can’t take it any more.”
“Please tell me you’re almost done.”
“I can’t do this…”
“Can’t even pick up my baby without horrible pain.”
“You haven’t called yet, does that mean you’re not on your way?”
“I hope you’re on your way…”

You may read those texts and think I was being melodramatic. Maybe I was. Or maybe you’ve never had mastitis.

The next 36 hours I breastfeed Smunchie as often as possible, I took hot showers and massaged my breast as hot water ran over it, I took more Ibuprofen than I did after I was in a car accident, I draped hot wet washcloths around my breast, I canceled everything and pretty much laid in bed for 24 hours, I ate PB&J made by my kids, I researched treatment options and read them multiple times praying reading them would somehow cure me, I nursed in different positions every feeding and sometimes more than one for a single session, and I seriously considered burning that bra. Sleep that night was fitful, I couldn’t sleep on my stomach and for the first portion of the evening I couldn’t stay asleep thanks to the fever. Wednesday morning there was no fever but still the red streaks and slightly less achy all over I had hope that I could beat this on my own. A low grade fever came back late morning but I hydrated, took a nap, put heat on it, did some hand expression, and breastfed Smunchie again and again and by the time 2pm rolled around I felt confident that I was out of the woods. By Wednesday evening I felt well enough to brave going into my kitchen and tackling sticky spots with a rag and some elbow grease from the girls’ meal-time help. Thursday I was able to get back into my routine with only faded red streaks and some soreness in my breast to remind me of the previous 40 hours. I felt a bit like a survivor, like I felt when I completed a pregnancy mostly intact. There was a taste of bitter victory from having passed a test I wasn’t expecting, a test that cost me even though I succeeded.

In the couple of days I pushed through mastitis I found myself thinking “I wish I could quite breastfeeding.” Call me weak, point at me and question my commitment but when I felt so terrible I couldn’t prepare a healthy meal for my other children and I knew that even if I kicked it this time there was no guarantee that I wouldn’t get it again I wondered if putting the needs of my youngest not just above my own needs but above those of my other children was really worth it. Though I had signed on for sacrifice in becoming a mother 5 times over, was it fair that they had too as well? These thoughts aren’t new to me, I have them any time I’m pregnant or any time I realize that we all do with less because we have more. The difference this time was that I had a community, education and experience that I would get through it that it indeed would be worth it. My friend Sue checked on me and took Lolie to ballet so I could stay in bed and my little online community gave words of encouragement, shared links and information, personal stories and tips and asked me how I was doing. Even for me, as an experienced breastfeeding mom of 5, I find a huge difference in my breastfeeding experiences between when I had very little support and when I had a lot of support. In our new way via the internet women have found the community that used to be present in our villages and families, swapping breastfeeding advice, reminding each other how it is, and troubleshooting from a well of experience that is as deep as it is fresh. While I don’t think it makes up for in person contact and community completely I do feel it stands in the gap, a gap left by bad advice and marketing of formula to women that didn’t need it a few generations ago. I love my little community. It is my hope that every breastfeeding woman can find a community that encourages and supports her breastfeeding.

Here are a few tips and some of what I did to help prevent my mastitis from getting worse and cleared it up. Please note that I am not a medical professional, I’m just a mom sharing what worked for me here.

“Heat, Massage, Rest, Empty Breast” if you even suspect mastitis, chant it with me… it’s good to go ahead and start this protocol.

Heat. Moist heat- I liked to stand in a hot shower, or lie down with warm wet towels or a clean warm wet diaper wrapped around the breast, soak your breasts in warm water either in a bowl or in the tub.
Massage. Massage the breast gently, you may need some lotion or oil to keep from irritating the skin. The massage can help clear a plugged duct by starting behind the lump or painful area and massaging it down toward the nipple. This is particularly helpful following heat and done while the nursling is at the breast.
Rest. Rest is crucial, the body does most of it’s healing repair work when we sleep. If you can, go to bed with your nursling, plan to breastfeed and sleep doing heat and massage in between. If you can’t go to bed to stay for the day, set up an area for you and your nursling and other little ones that may need you. You need to rest so movies, drinks, snacks, books, toys, diapers, wipes, even a change of clothes for your nursling so you don’t have to get up except to use the loo. If you work outside the home, treat this like the flue and call in sick. Trust me, if you don’t at first you will be later and it will be longer and much worse. And doing housework is not resting.
Empty Breast. Breastfeed as often as your nursling is willing, start on effected side first each time and check for a good latch. Don’t cut back on frequency, in fact, increase it if you can. Even though it may hurt more to breastfeed cutting back will only make things worse. If your little one isn’t interested in helping as often as you need it, hand express or pump to keep the affected breast as empty as possible. Remember though, your nursling is far more effective at this than any machine will be. Use breast compressions either way.

Dress for Success. As soon as I feel pain or any hardness in the breast I change into soft, unrestricted clothing. I prefer PJs myself. Going topless is good too, particularly if you’re able to stay in bed with your nursling.

Fuel. You still have to eat even if you don’t really feel like it but you need it to give your body some fuel to work with not only to feed your little one but also to heal itself. Hydrate often to help your body fight back. If someone is willing to bring you food so you can stay in bed take them up on it even if it is just PB&J and you’ll have to clean the kitchen later.

Medicines. Ibuprofen, seriously, I don’t take meds often or easily but this helped get me through and the inflammation reducer was an important piece of my recovery. I did 400mg every 4 hours from pretty early on. If my symptoms had persisted without improvement for more than 24 hours or if I had become acutely ill I would have headed in to the doctor for an antibiotic. Remember, most antibiotics are safe while nursing but if you and your doctor aren’t sure you can check here, here or here.

Herbs and natural options. Obviously, breastfeeding, massage, heat and rest are natural but there other options to try as well. I did green cabbage leaves, keeping them in the fridge and put them on for 20 minutes at a time but for no more than a couple of times in a 24 hour period. The coolness felt so good after all that heat too. I also greatly increased my garlic intake as garlic helps your body to boost it’s own antibodies and beefs up your immune system. To get my garlic in I crush a few cloves raw on a baked potato, slather it with plain yogurt and sprinkle on some cheddar cheese along with salt and pepper and maybe some green onion. I also swallowed a couple of cloves cut in half. I didn’t use any herbs this time around, just some Arnica but a few Leakies suggested Phytolacca and Pokeroot. I don’t know anything about these but have heard good things, be sure to get the help of a trained professional before using any medicines and herbs. Lecithin can also help clear it up and help prevent it in the future. If I had ended up on antibiotics I would have upped my probiotic intake and completely cut refined sugar from my diet to minimize my chances with a candida yeast over growth. I’ve also heard (but not personally used) that sliced, raw potato on the affected area will help draw out the infection and provide some pain relief. You keep the potato on the sore area until it is limp and warm and then swap it out for a fresh slice. Cold green cabbage leaves can also help. Break the spines of the fresh leaves and then place it on the infected breast for 20 minutes every 2 hours or so. This will provide some soothing relief and help reduce the amount of milk in the breast. Be careful with cabbage leaves and absolutely don’t use them at all if you struggle with low supply as they can dry up your milk. However, reducing the supply just a bit while fighting mastitis can be beneficial if you have plenty because it makes it easier to keep the breast drained. When Leakies started talking about Lactation Cookies on Facebook I didn’t ask anyone to make me some and I didn’t eat oatmeal or any other known galactagogue. While I didn’t want to diminish my supply I also don’t want to increase it as this could make things worse. So pass on the oatmeal until your feeling better.

At The Breast. Alternate feeding positions, I’ve been mostly using the cradle hold, so I mixed it up with some reverse cradle, football hold, side-lying, side-lying upside down (feet going in the direction of your head), baby sitting up in my lap, and hands and knees with Smunchie underneath me (think cow for this one) to name a few. And because I’m so devoted to breastfeeding education I even had a helper take pics of my on all fours showing off my stretched out belly (x5) and sick face smiles just to demonstrate this position. I was feverish and weak, this wasn’t nearly as fun as it looks. And I apologize for the quality, since I wasn’t feeling up to locating the camera these were taken on my phone.

Smunchie didn’t mind our creative positioning

Dangle feed position for breastfeeding allows gravity to help drain the breast

Prevention. Sometimes the causes of mastitis are clear, others not so much. If you can identify why you developed the red-eyed monster destroyer of breastfeeding in the first place you can hopefully avoid it in the future. That bra? Yeah, I won’t be wearing it again until my breasts have either gone down in size or I’m no longer breastfeeding. It’s just not worth it. The La Leche League link below has a great list of possible causes.

I hope you are never a part of the 20% of breastfeeding mothers that know the feeling of mastitis first hand but if you do join our club (sorry) don’t hesitate to go to your sister breastfeeding mothers for encouragement, help and advice. As always, be sure to seek medical advice from your health care provider in addition to reaching out to the sisterhood of breastfeeding moms. Whatever course of treatment works for you, the sisterhood understands and cheers you on and we totally understand the manic texts.

Some helpful information and resources for dealing with mastitis or a plugged duct that may become mastitis.

Kellymom’s plugged duct/mastitis chart
Dr. Jack Newman on Blocked Ducts and Mastitis
La Leche League Mastitis-Plugged Duct information

Edited to Add: If you have any helpful links to share, please do so, I’d like to add them here.
The Breastfeeding Network (UK) PDF

Filed Under: Breastfeeding, breastfeeding help, breastfeeding stories

Love and Nutrition At My Breast

October 12, 2010 by theleakyb@@b

Today I am thrilled to have Cindy share her breastfeeding journey with her 4 children and the way it unfolds with each baby and how the whole family becomes involved.

The author, Cindy, nursing her son Alex at about 3 months old, 2002.

I don’t remember ever seeing a woman breastfeed during my childhood and teen years. I must have been aware of the existence of breatfeeding, though, because I asked my aunt if she was planning to breastfeed her soon-to-be-born baby when I was 12.

She was about seven months pregnant, and she and my mom were talking bout the cost of formula. I piped up. “Why don’t you breastfeed? It’s free!” She looked shocked and said, “Oh, honey, I couldn’t do that!”

A few months later I was with her after the baby was born. We went to the store to buy formula without my baby cousin; a baby cried in the next aisle and she soaked her shirt. She was mortified, but all I could think was, “well, looks like she could breastfeed. That’s a lot of milk!”

I now have four children; my oldest is 8 and a half, followed by a six-year-old, a four-year-old and my youngest, who is three months old. Three boys and a girl. Let me tell you my favourite nursing memories for these amazing children with whom I have been blessed.

My oldest child, Alex, learned to sign as a baby, and his favourite sign was the one for milk (we used it for nursing.) He would run to me, little fist out, fingers pumping in and out, mouth open. I loved that. He would kiss and cuddle my breasts often.

Cindy nursing Alex after his baptism, Feb. 2002.

“I was 24 years old in this pic with my first baby, and so proud I was BFing!”

When he was about six months old, he and his daddy made up a breastfeeding game. Alex would latch, and Clayton would pretend he was going to steal the other “baba.” Alex would immediately cover my other nipple with a hand and grin. If Clayton made it near the breast, he would laugh and push him away. They would play this until I kicked them both off my chest.

Alex once completely undid my shirt buttons at a restaurant when I wasn’t looking. He wanted dessert, I suppose.

Isaac, my second child, was cuteness personified. As a baby, he would pat and caress the beast as he nursed. Once he was older, he showed his good manners by often offering the other breast to his brother or other children, the way you would offer to mix a drink for a friend. (Um, no thanks, Isaac, I’m not a milk bar!) He had a great sense of humour even as a baby, and would often try to nurse upside down as a toddler. When he learned to walk, he treated me like a drive-in, and always wanted to nurse while standing up.

Isaac at about 5 months, in the sling.

As a toddler and pre-schooler, Isaac “nursed” his dollies.

My pregnancy with Naomi, my only daughter, was not normal; I had hyperemesis gravidarum, a rare pregnancy illness that causes severe, unrelenting nausea and vomiting. I felt betrayed by my body during that pregnancy; breastfeeding started the healing process for me. My body could nourish my baby. It could work properly. I was not a failure.

Naomi at birth.

The first time I breastfed her, I was in the recovery room after my C-section, and the nurse had never seen a mother nurse ten minutes after surgery before. But my husband was holding her, and I was alert, so she was game. Naomi learned to latch perfectly; the nurses dragged new moms into my hospital room for days afterward so I could help them with latching.

Naomi was fiercely possessive of my breasts. They were HERS, and no one else better touch! Nowadays, she just wants her own set.

Edward was born in May, and is the only baby I’ve ever had who has baby fat and rolls upon rolls. After three slim babies, I’m amazed my breast milk can do that. Eddie has also been eager to teach me I don’t know everything. He is the laziest latcher ever. EVER. He will open his mouth into a rosebud and expect me to stuff the nipple in. Um, no, Mr. Man. Open that mouth.

Edward’s first latch!

It’s funny how breastfeeding a new nursling brings back forgotten memories of the others before, I had forgotten that funny sound of expectation babies make as you get the breat out, the “ahuh, ahuh, ahuh” just before you offer the breast. I forgot about the funny satisfied sounds, too, as they drink the milk, “hmm. hmm.” Nursing Eddie means I can relive it all again, and remember my big kids when they were tiny and helpless and got their love and nutrition at my breast.

It also means the older children can watch exactly how well-loved they were as babies. It’s funny, breastfeeding is so normal for Alex that he will get right down and kiss Eddie with his own head touching my breast, and he doesn’t even think about it. Giving my oldest son these memories of breastfeeding is gratifying. I know that if he has children one day, he will support and love his wife as she breastfeeds, and think nothing of that, either.

Filed Under: Breastfeeding, breastfeeding stories, guest posts

The Best Laid Plans

September 15, 2010 by theleakyb@@b

Today I’m so pleased to get to share this guest post from Maureen Alley, a regular on TLB Facebook page and forums. A real life story of making plans, seeing them change and learning to adapt. Struggle, hope, reality, and support all play important roles in her tale. We need to hear more stories like this, I hope you love it as much as I did! Maureen originally wrote this for a blog contest on Mommypotamus and I appreciate the opportunity to share it here and as always, if you have something you’d like to submit for a guest post just e-mail me at theleakyboob@theleakyboob.com.

I had a plan. I had a couple different plans, actually. There was one for the year leading up to getting pregnant—switch to organic foods and all natural soaps and lotions—and there was a plan for during the pregnancy, which was all about glowing, gentle yoga, and cute maternity clothes. I had a birth plan too, of course, which involved no drugs, perhaps a water tub, and a general celebration of birth and my body’s abilities. I also had a plan for after the birth day, which was a bit vague. (I knew it involved breastfeeding, but I didn’t think much beyond that.)
Everything was going according to plan, right up until about the tenth week of pregnancy. I had a blood test that showed elevated levels of hormones, which hit my internal panic button. In an effort to allay my fears, my OB sent me in for an ultrasound. My husband and I were waiting anxiously to hear the confirmation that our baby was ok, and there was nothing to worry about.

“Do twins run in your family?”

I didn’t think much of the technician’s first question. I figured it was routine, something she asked everyone. So I answered, “No, why?”

“Because I see two babies in there!”

At first, I thought that exhilarating news meant the end of my best-laid plans. My OB began tossing around words like “elevated risk”, “c-section”, and “prematurity”. I realized that I had two choices: I could acquiesce to her plan for me, or I could find a way to create a better reality for myself and my babies. So, I signed up for a natural-childbirth class, fired my old OB and found a new one, one who had conversations with me instead of talking at me.

I attended my childbirth classes, Le Leche League meetings and kept practicing yoga. I befriended a midwife, and collected positive twin stories. I got acupuncture, prenatal massage, and super-fruit smoothies. I visualized the birth I wanted, I talked and sang to the babies who were stretching my womb and my imagination. I woke up every day of my second trimester smiling and rubbing my burgeoning belly. My original plan was altered but still basically intact.

Because my husband and I decided to stay within the medical establishment, I also saw a perinatologist. He was a specialist in caring for mothers of multiples, and he won my trust with honest answers to my copious questions. So when Dr. M dropped the “b word”, I listened. Bed rest?! Bed rest would ruin my hope for an active pregnancy, but I decided to plan for it accordingly. I squared away everything at work, found a substitute for my class, and checked up on my short-term disability policy. I honestly thought that if I worked so hard at preparing for bed rest it would never happen. However, right before I hit 24 weeks, I was put on modified bed rest due to a structurally unsound cervix.

I was devastated at first, but I decided to roll with the punches and enjoy the quiet weeks I had before my babies arrived. I had a lot of weeks to go, but I truly enjoyed my first Friday of bed rest. I rested, reflected, and fidgeted. I was feeling “off”, but attributed that to the fact my professional life had just ended for awhile and I was anticipating being bored. I spent that Saturday turning and readjusting myself on the couch. I was irritable and short with my husband. When, around seven pm, I started cramping in my low back and getting a feeling of heaviness in my uterus, I called my midwife friend. I explained how I was feeling and she told me to go the hospital. Really? Well, if the midwife-who-hates-hospitals tells you to go, you go.

Once at the hospital, getting hooked up to a contraction monitor was the first step in a nightmarish journey through pre-term labor. I learned all about—and experienced—terb, mag, and the chilling dread brought about by a visit from the neonatologist who told us what to expect if our boys should be born so devastatingly early. At this stage, all my energy and focus went inward, to convince my body to keep those precious baby boys on the inside. They were not done cooking, and I was determined to let them finish.

For the next ten weeks I stayed still, literally and figuratively. I prayed and bargained and hoped against hope that we would make it to 38 weeks. I kept up the visualization, but after every subsequent visit to the labor and delivery floor, every new plunge of the needle, every time I hooked myself up to the home contraction monitor, I grieved for what I was losing. I knew I would not have a peaceful drug free birth. I had lost the pregnancy I wanted, but I still had my babies, and for that I was grateful with every fiber of my being. I clung so hard to that fact that I didn’t allow myself to feel much else.

Just before I hit 34 weeks gestation, I had to go back to the hospital. Never in my wildest dreams did the drugs not work. All of my imagined scenarios told me that if I had to be readmitted, the magnesium sulfate would work and the contractions would stop. This time, they did not. I was delivered of my babies on February 9, 2010 at 2:07 and 2:08 pm via c-section. It was everything I did not want. The next three weeks were a blur of pain, hormone-driven despair, leaving my babies in the hospital NICU when I was discharged, endless visits to that very same NICU to see my babies, and pumping.

My mother—my angel, my guide, my support, how many names do we have for mother?—made me pump my breast milk for my babies every two hours, day and night. My supply soared, and I delivered the “liquid love” faithfully to the nurses to give my boys. I latched on to breastfeeding as eagerly as a baby to a breast. It was the one thing I had left, the last shred of my plans that I could accomplish. I was grieving the loss of the pregnancy and the birth I had so desperately hoped for. I realize that this may sound selfish or petty. My babies had been born successfully, and barring some serious reflux issues, were healthy. I had everything to be joyous about, but try telling a post-partum mom how to feel! It would have been easier to scale a mountain than regulate my feelings at that point.

Pride was one positive emotion that permeated the cloud. I was so proud of being able to pump 6 ounces per session! My husband and I learned how to feed premature babies from slow flow bottles, and we brought each of them home in due time. My babies were getting optimum nutrition, but I still felt something was missing. That something was undoubtedly sleep, but it was also a stronger bond with my babies that I was craving. Finally, one day my mom told me, in essence, to “Sit down and nurse your babies.” Their mouths were big enough at this point, and they were more than eager. By some miracle of chance, there was no nipple confusion at all. Both of my squally squirmy squeaky baby boys took to the breast like pros. Because they were! They wanted the comfort and fullness of mama’s breasts. And it gave me unspeakable joy to give it to them.

Maureen’s little guys at 7 weeks, already defending their b@@b and nursing like pros!

I nursed my babies when they were hungry, when they were sleepy, and when they were hurting from the reflux. Nursing became the only thing that soothed my fussier twin, so we had marathon nursing sessions, the longest of which was four hours straight. I was a zombie shell of a woman, but my children were thriving and growing. I was a mama.

Now, seven months into this crazy adventure, I am still nursing my boys, day and night, although we are all sleeping more. My confidence grows with each day, as do my boys. I have become very adept at juggling two wiggling bodies when it’s time to nurse, and I’ve managed to accomplish tandem feeding just about everywhere we’ve been, including in the (non-moving) car and on the beach. But my favorite nursing sessions are the quiet ones at home, with both boys snuggled around me like commas. Their sighs and hums are my favorite music, and my heart melts every time one of them stirs to check and make sure I’m still there before drifting off again. The miracle of hormones, those that I cursed just a few short months ago, is that nursing makes me feel so good. The love-chemicals get released each time one of my boys latches on and they go to work, easing the tension of the day and softening the ragged, visceral edges of my memories of the early days.

I didn’t get the pregnancy I wanted, and I certainly didn’t get the birth I wanted, but I got the children I dreamed of. I got two healthy, happy boys, and I get to nurse them every day. Breastfeeding has eased my heart while providing for my children. I am lucky, I know I am. It couldn’t have worked out better if I had planned it…

Still going strong!

Filed Under: Breastfeeding, breastfeeding stories, breastfeeding twins, guest posts

Breast Nurting: A Re-lactation Story

August 8, 2010 by theleakyb@@b

For our WBW blog carnival on “Perspectives: Breastfeeding From Every Angle” we are pleased to host guest posts from various contributors. Today we hear the perspective on breastfeeding from Rachel, a mom that re-lactated after medical reasons led her to wean very early. Rachel has a re-lactating blog chronicling her journey.

When my son was almost 4 weeks old, I began my relactation journey. I stocked up on medication, supplements, information and support. You see, he was formula fed at one week old. I was hospitalised overnight with severe anxiety attacks and extreme insomnia when he was 6 days old and was not in a state to breastfeed so he was given formula feeds.

I then allowed my milk to dry up as I focused on getting better mentally. After finding out that I had lost my first pregnancy early in the second trimester, I understandably was anxious during my second pregnancy and beyond. As a result, I had postnatal depression & anxiety all surrounding the fear of losing my son and not being a ‘good enough’ Mumma to him.

I so desperately missed breastfeeding – not only for all of the health benefits to him and myself but because I loved it.

I started being very conscious of eating well, drinking loads of fluids, resting, and nursing him as often as possible. He would latch on but got increasingly frustrated because I was producing next-to-no milk. I was taking several galactologues and started pumping regularly. I stayed in contact with a lactation consultant and ordered a Supplementary Nursing System. Some beautiful, generous Mummas are donated expressed breastmilk to us as well.

To say I was determined is an understatement.

I was so blessed to have a cooperative baby and an extremely supportive husband. I went from expressing literally a couple of mLs from both breasts at a time to producing more than enough breastmilk (750 mL in a 24 hour period) in just seventeen days!

Getting my supply back was only half the battle. It was then a matter of getting him back to the breast. 11 days later, after much frustration and a few meltdowns (from both him and I) my baby boy had his first of many feeds from the breast… and we haven’t looked back. That was over 5 months ago and my ‘boobah’ loving baby boy is so happy.

It was trying, don’t get me wrong. I had to hand express at first and expressing so regularly and constantly was draining both physically and emotionally. I had all the normal duties of a first time Mum to contend with alongside postnatal anxiety, an exhaustive pumping schedule, painful nipples (hello nipple thrush, meet hospital grade double breast pump), the financial cost and it was so time consuming. But it was beyond worth it.

I spent most of my free time (hah! Free time with a tiny baby?) researching relactation on the internet. I searched for success stories, blogs, articles, anything that would tell me that it was not only possible but that it was worth it. At one point I remember saying I just want someone to come to me from the future and tell me that this will all be worth it. Well, it is. It really really is.

I didn’t just want to breast-feed. I wanted to breast-nurture. I am a relactation success story. I just want to be a voice for relactation to say that it is achievable and gaining back our breastfeeding relationship has been so very rewarding.

Filed Under: Breastfeeding, breastfeeding difficulties, breastfeeding stories, relactating, World Breastfeeding Week

Mammaries…I mean Memories…

August 7, 2010 by theleakyb@@b

A few weeks ago I had invited The Piano Man to contribute something for World Breastfeeding Week. It didn’t seem like he was going to have the time but he surprised me with this and I’m so glad he did. A guest post by The Piano Man, the greatest support a Leaky B@@b like me could ever ask for.

The Piano Man and Squiggle Bug Fall 2009

It’s fascinating to me how perspectives vary from culture to culture, region to region, or even from person to person; how you can discover that you have so much in common with someone who lives half-way around the world, or surprisingly opposite views with a close childhood friend or family member. I’m not sure how much of the way I see the world fits with each of the different cultures (and subcultures) I’ve been a part of – French, American, family, conservative christian, liberal christian, secular university, classical music, etc. It is a complex tapestry of many sources and I won’t try to unweave it here to show where various threads find their origin. I wish to simply share some of the impressions, memories and thoughts that come to mind when I think about breastfeeding.

The first memory that pops into my head is that of a church potluck in France, where I grew up. This particular gathering happened to take place in my backyard. It was a beautiful afternoon, sunny, not too warm, and we had plenty of shade from the trees we had in our yard. Lunch was over and my Sunday school teacher’s baby girl communicated it was her turn to eat. A short asian woman, her mother was my teacher throughout my middle school years, and was always so full of wisdom. In the most relaxed way, she just put her baby to her breast and met her baby’s need in what struck me as a very natural, unceremonious way. I was very aware, in my junior high state, that breasts also serve sexual purposes, but in that moment they were intended for something much more meaningful.

The Chateau by The Piano Man’s childhood house (seriously, this was basically his backyard).

I am aware that my mother breastfed all 4 of her kids, but being the third, I have virtually no mammaries – sorry, memories – of it. Sorry, our neighbor across the street has made mention of a certain man’s club nearby (I refuse to associate the word “gentleman” with it) called Memories, and every time he does he slips up and says “Mammaries” instead, which, ironically, while pointing out just what type of club it is, also completely desexualizes it for me.

As I was saying, one of the only memories I have of my mother breastfeeding happened a couple of days after my little sister was born. Back then, in France, kids were not allowed in Labor and Delivery, but my Dad figured out a way for us kids to meet our newest sibling. My mother’s room was on the ground floor and looked out over a grassy area right outside her window. I remember the ground having steep hills, but perhaps they were steeper to me as a 5 year old than they would be for me now. Steep grassy hills would be something that would stick in a young child’s memory. So we walked quietly up one of the hills, admonished by our father not to disturb the other patients with loud voices. When we arrived at the top, we approached an open window and looked into a white room where my Mom was sitting up in bed, holding a bundled baby to her chest. I was afraid to get too close, acutely aware of how unwelcome I was at the hospital. The room seemed very uninviting to me, all white, sterile, with a hint of pink which must have been the blanket my little sister was wrapped in. My mother looked very tired and happy, gently holding our newborn in nursing position. Perhaps seeing my little sister breastfed contributed to my positive views on breastfeeding, having it modeled in such a comfortable environment by people I loved and trusted.

Oh to be sure, I also developed a “healthy” sexual view of breasts as well. They are one of the most obvious physical differences between men and women, and I think it’s in those differences that our fascination and curiosity with the opposite sex start. My wife, Jessica, and I have had many conversations about why men have such an obsession with breasts. For brevity’s sake, I’ll share just a few of my thoughts on the matter. The aforementioned obsession appears to be an American one. Nowhere else in the world does there appear to be such a preoccupation with body image. We could spend all day listing off examples (like how I am assailed by images of perfect bodies every time I visit the grocery store). Breasts are primarily and almost exclusively perceived as sexual in the US. In complete contrast, Jessica mentioned an article where some women belonging to an African tribe where women don’t cover their breasts were interviewed, and they laughed out loud at the thought of grown men being into breasts, the idea being so foreign to them, in fact, that their reaction was to picture men wanting to breastfeed like babies! I place myself somewhere in between these two extremes.

Jessica, Squiggle Bug and The Piano Man, December 2008

The Piano Man feeding Smunchie a bottle of Mommy-milk, March 2010

Seriously, our culture has this sexual-only view of breasts so ingrained in its psyche that I wonder how our babies would survive if formula suddenly disappeared! What a major adjustment that would be in our way of thinking!

The Piano Man providing support in labor, December 2009

When we had our first child, Jessica and I discussed what we would do to feed our baby. Though breastfeeding seemed the natural choice to me, I was also acutely aware that it was Jessica, not me, that would be the one to sacrifice her time, her convenience, her desire for solitude and privacy, in order to give of herself physically to her baby, facing discomfort, frustration at times, and even pain. I realized that the benefits would be hers as well, the closeness and intimacy, the cuddles, the many many moments that would become beautiful memories, and more. But as I wasn’t equipped to make that sacrifice myself – that commitment, if that’s a more comfortable term – I was in no position to demand that she do what I thought was best. Fortunately, we live in an era where there are other options available. (It just now struck me that if formula weren’t available, there really wouldn’t be much of a decision to make for most people!) As to the view that her breasts were “mine,” if they cannot fulfill both functions in the same season (I’m sure I don’t have to tell any of you that this isn’t a problem for many women!), assuming that they are meant for both, then to me it comes down to pitting the distinct benefits of breastfeeding for our baby (and for her mother too!) – her NEED – against my desire to enjoy her breasts for my pleasure (and hers too!) – a WANT. Need VS. want. Need I say more? After arriving at that conclusion, it was just a matter of deciding how long Jessica would breastfeed, a decision that I felt was Jessica’s to make, and which she has reassessed with every baby. My role has been to support these decisions and provide encouragement in every way I can.

I had planned to write something light and sweet, but I guess I have some pretty strong opinions on the matter! But I’ll finish with light and sweet. My favorite part of Jessica breastfeeding our babies, health benefits and all other arguments aside, is how darn adorable they are together. The sweet communion they share, those tender cuddles (I admit I am a big fan of cuddling!), the milk-heavy smiles; those moments they share where they obviously draw into each other a little further, getting closer beyond the skin to skin, in those moments, when I take a moment to observe, I feel myself getting drawn in as well, to both of them, and it. is. beautiful.

Filed Under: Breastfeeding, breastfeeding stories, World Breastfeeding Week

World Breastfeeding Week- TGIF!

August 6, 2010 by theleakyb@@b

Random, funny French ad using breastfeeding to sell their beer.
B@@bs are used to sell beer all the time these days but it sure doesn’t look like that now!

Squiggle Bug doesn’t believe in sleep any more. At 2.5 years old she has figured out how to run on pure energy. I’m jealous. I haven’t had time to really do my own blogging. Because, seriously, I have to at least attempt to sleep once in a while even if Squiggle Bug is dead-set against The Piano Man or I actually getting to sleep.

This blog carnival is intended to be open minded and thoughtful, to encourage dialogue and view breastfeeding from all different perspectives and experiences and I secretly (now not-so-secretly) hope that will be a spring board for viewing and discussing the rest of life. It’s also supposed to have funny moments. Don’t think there is much room for humor when it comes to breastfeeding? Check the blog name. Only someone that has never has sported two wet circles perfectly positioned on the chest of their top with milk that came from their own body or has never had a baby dive-bomb their chest with an open mouth or had a toddler screaming “MY BOOBIE!” could think that. Trust me, there is room for humor. There has to be. It’s a carnival hosted by The Leaky B@@b and if The Leaky B@@b can’t do humor well then, we’re screwed.

Talk about a perspective! A really kind Leaky shared this photo with me to demonstrate how she tandem feeds her twins while co-sleeping.

So I finally got something out. There are so many different perspectives I could give on breastfeeding so I shared 4. And just so you know, if you know me in real life and you bring up any of those perspectives I will deny every. single. one. Except for the Easter dress poop one, I have photographic evidence of that.

Other blogs today have a wide spectrum of perspectives, visit and let them know you’re stopping by from The Leaky B@@b checking out different perspectives on breastfeeding.

Perspectives: When “Natural” =/= “Easy”– I knew I’d love this post from the first two lines. “Hi, my name is Star, and I used to think breastfeeding was disgusting. I like to think of myself as a breastfeeding success story.” When Star isn’t chasing her toddler or nursing her infant, she works as a peer breastfeeding counselor, blogs, and spends time with her fiance. She blogs here.

The Joys of Breastfeeding Past Infancy #17– Once again, NursingFreedom.org brings a charming and informative post to the carnival. NursingFreedom.org was cofounded by Dionna of Code Name: Mama and Paige of Baby Dust Diaries. NursingFreedom.org is dedicated to normalizing breastfeeding and advocating for breastfeeding rights. Please follow NursingFreedom.org on its Facebook page to connect with other mamas who are passionate about breastfeeding advocacy.

Postpartum OCD Part 2 of 2: The Mom Who Couldn’t Stop Logging– Postpartum depression, breastfeeding difficulties and OCD, Anne invites us to journey deeper into her experience, sharing a perspective as debilitating as it is hopeful. Dou-la-la is written by Anne, doula-in-training, birth advocate and a moderately crunchy mother.

Breastfeeding and Early Intervention– A professional that works with children birth to age three in her state’s Early Intervention program, Susan gives us her perspective working with the families in need of her program’s services. A mom of 7 children, she provides support to families with special needs children drawing on her training and her own personal experience with Early Intervention for 3 of her own children. She has enjoyed the roller coaster of different breastfeeding adventures with all of 7 of her kids and is currently nursing her youngest. Susan blogs at My Breastfeeding Journey.

Our guest post today talks about breastfeeding and one’s faith and how this influenced one mom of 3. I hope you enjoy The Way of The B@@b from Jessi, an American Taoist living in China doing her best to parent her children naturally.

There are still give-aways going on and even some more to come: Kate Hansen prints and PumpEase Prize Pack.

Amber submitted this drawing done by her 8 year old step-daughter Kate and had this to share about it.

“[This] is of a woman sitting in a chair breast feeding her child and being happy about it.

Kate was very curious about when I started breastfeeding her siblings, and asked a lot of questions about how and why. When her mother had another child this year Kate told her very matter of factly, that her new sister should have the “Boobie Juices” cause that was what is good for the baby, and not those phooey bottles.

Kate is very proud to tell people that babies should have breast milk and that our 2 kids have it making them really smart.

She is very smart herself, and she cracks me up!”

Filed Under: Breastfeeding, breastfeeding stories, Children's Art Project, guest posts, World Breastfeeding Week

The Way of the B@@b

August 6, 2010 by theleakyb@@b

For our WBW blog carnival on “Perspectives: Breastfeeding From Every Angle” we are pleased to host guest posts from various contributors. Today we hear the Taoists perspective on breastfeeding from Jessi, originally one of The Leaky B@@b regular contributors and partner.

Everyone’s motivations for breastfeeding are unique to themselves, but there are certain commonalities for most. Health benefits, frugality, and convenience generally top this list and for good reason. All three are incorporated in my personal reasons for breastfeeding, but unlike most, none of them are the most important reason to me. Unlike most, the biggest motivating factor for me is philosophical, or a more relatable term, religious.

Our family is Taoist. Over the years, I’ve learned that Taoism is not very widely known or understood. Unlike it’s more commonly acknowledged “brother” Buddhism, Taoism isn’t even a household word. Before I met my husband, even I admittedly was ignorant to this ancient philisophical system.

In short, Taoism is named after Tao (道), which literally translates as “the way”. The main texts of Taoism are the Tao Te Ching (道德经) by Lao Zi and the works of Zhuang Zi. I always find it difficult to give a succint explanation of Taoism because outside of the basic principles, it gets very complex and VERY open to personal interpretation, but the fundamental is this:

Nature is the ideal example of the Tao. If you bring your life into harmony with the ways of the natural universe you will be enlightened and at peace.

Obviously, under this main belief there is a lot of sub-declarations that are more specific but the basic idea is pretty much just that.

What this means in reference to my choices as a mother become a bit more obvious once you are aware that Taoism dictates that you pursue the path of the most natural choices and it really does not get much more organic and natural than nourishing my children from the very body that nutured and grew them from the moment they were created. Being Taoist effects and enriches and influences so many aspects of my parenting life, but breastfeeding is one of the most effected. It adds another facet to an already beautiful bonding experience. Of course, any experience in our life is made that much more meaningful when it had a relation to our faith, whatever path you walk.

I could not imagine my life without my breastfeeding experiences. My oldest son nursed until 21 months and probably would have gone longer, but I was 4 months pregnant with twins and my supply suffered and he lost interest when the well ran dry. And now, nursing twins, which is a whole other journey, just seems natural and comfortable. No measuring formula, mixing and warming bottles, no climbing out of bed in the middle of the night to prepare night feedings. I just roll over to whichever side of me is making the noise and drift back to sleep while the hungry baby fills their tummy and then does the same.

Convenient, easy and lets me sleep as much as possible. Damn, Mother Nature knows what she’s doing!

Filed Under: Breastfeeding, breastfeeding stories, World Breastfeeding Week

Not From Personal Experience or Anything

August 5, 2010 by theleakyb@@b

This post is a part of The Leaky B@@b blog carnival “Perspectives: Breastfeeding from Every Angle” for World Breastfeeding Week 2010.

Me feeding Smunchie at a working ranch during a field trip.

I’ve wanted to share some giggle-worth perspectives on breastfeeding but for the life of me I can’t find my funny bone lately. Well, I have, it’s been in my head. I’m constantly cracking myself up, unfortunately all anyone hears of that humor is me laughing at myself because I can’t get it from out of my head onto the computer screen. Which is fabulous. I walk around and giggle from time to time because I mentally write a line or develop a concept that I find funny. A frazzled looking woman walking around laughing to herself, what’s so odd about that? Where I live, you see it all the time, particularly near that one part of town. Fortunately I’m regularly upstaged by my children so I think the crazy lady laughing and mumbling to herself goes mostly unnoticed.

To shut-up the voice in my head telling me funny stories and to make myself seem at least a little less crazy, I wrote down some of these under-developed perspectives. I feel I need to be clear, none of these are things I know personally, these aren’t my personal perspectives and experiences here. No, I’m sure I can’t relate to these perspectives at all. Ever. In all the years nursing 5 kids. Nope. Ok, maybe a little…

Perspective #1: The Cheap Lazy Mother
Ladies and gentlemen I’m a cheap, lazy mother! No, not that way, get your mind out of the gutter. Don’t you love how by saying that your mind totally goes in the gutter? Ah, the delights of cheap humor. But it is true, I am a cheap, lazy mother. Yeah sure, breast is best… ok, normal, we’ll go with normal, since I’ve had a thing or two to say about getting rid of that terminology. Human breastmilk is normal feeding for human babies. It is also cheap. And easily available, as long as everything is working normally. I love that. It can be kind of difficult sometimes for the first few weeks maybe but considering you’ve either pushed the equivalent of a human Smart Car out of your vagina or had your belly opened up and pulled apart to remove the human Smart Car, you understandably have some laying around to do anyway. May as well get the cheap feeding machines up and running while you lay there. A few weeks further down the road and you’ll be well into not just the cheap part but the “OH-MY-GAH-WHY-CAN’T-EVERYONE-IN-MY-FAMILY-EAT-THIS-WAY?” mode. Particularly if you’ve been down this road before and those former happy b@@bie customers are now little (or big) people that constantly say any variation of “I’m hungry” or “What’s for dinner?” And then complain about the options. (Consequently, our bilingual home is proof that you do not have to speak a language well to understand “I’m hungry.” “I’m hungry” whined in any language sounds just as annoying as it does in English. Even when that other language is French.) But when you have a regular b@@b customer it is over and done with just a lift of your shirt and best of all, no complaints. Those little buggers love it every time! The original fast food and infinitely better for your customers, b@@bie juice is ready and available to customized perfection whenever, where ever and however. Nothing can make that claim no matter how it is packaged and marketed. (HA! Take THAT Nestle!) When 4pm rolls around in my house and I realize I never threw “something” in the slow cooker and I have to actually figure out “something” to cook, I have found myself wishing I could just park my butt on the couch and feed my family without having to get up. It’s not gross or disgusting. It’s lazy and cheap but still better than McDonald’s. And just because I’ve wanted to do that doesn’t mean I have.

The big girls have turned me down every time, dang it.

Perspective #2: The Vain Mom
I’ve heard women say they didn’t want to breastfeed because it would ruin their breasts and make them sag. Aside from the fact that they are wrong about that and obviously haven’t researched if that is true or not, they are missing out on so much! And, it’s not, by the way. Blame pregnancy, gravity and genetics, if your breasts are going to sag they are going to sag. Look around, there are plenty of older women who have never even had children that have their knockers knocking their knees. These women that don’t breastfeed to spare their breast, I have to wonder what they are thinking. Breastfeeding is awesome! Burn 500 calories just by breastfeeding! That’s like eating a whole giant slice of chocolate cake and it doesn’t even count. HELLO! What in the world am I going to do when Smunchie weans? Plus, breastmilk b@@bs are firm but soft, full but natural, bouncy but expanded. They look great in a low top, in a t-shirt, and drop-dead stunning in the nude. Ruin my breasts with breastfeeding? Heck no! Breastfeeding did me a FAVOR!

Perspective #3: The Diaper
Now why should you give a crap what the diaper’s perspective is on breastfeeding? Well, for starters, I get to use an obvious pun. Secondly, it’s a valid perspective. Diapers deal with the other side of breastmilk and formula. (Score, another obvious pun!) Whether you’re changing it, near it when it is being changed, washing it or taking the sausage links of plastic wrapped fecal packages to the trash can, there are no ifs, ands or butts (I am on an obvious pun ROLL!), breastmilk poop looks better, smells better and cleans up better than the formula variety. People, I’ve dealt with both and here is the cold hard truth (or should I saw the warm, soft, sort-a-sweet smelling truth?): breastmilk poop is way better than formula poop. Formula poop is nasty, stinky, ugly and just plain a load of sh*t no matter how you dispose of it. (And the puns just keep a-coming.) The color of breastmilk poop is even better, I love the color- check out my walls. And if you cloth diaper, breastmilk poop is like a mustard color lazy pass: you don’t have to rinse, spray, dunk, swirl or flick just toss the soiled dipe in your wetbag and go on you merry way until the next time it is time to wash diapers. Wash. Hang any stained ones on the line in the sun. Voila, done. You don’t have to flush all your time away (YES!) trying to scrape off sticky, stinky formula rejects. The diapers will thank you for breastfeeding, no matter what kind of diapers you use.

And when one of those diapers can’t possibly hold the entire package of goo one day and you and baby are both wearing it smeared all over your white Easter dresses, you’ll thank yourself for breastfeeding just because yellow mush smells like buttered popcorn or yogurt. You will not thank yourself for the white ensemble or the lack of a change of clothes for yourself. Not that I know this from personal experience or anything…

Perspective 4: The Sleep Deprived, Harried Mom
To get air to her nipples as they toughen up during the first few weeks of breastfeeding her new baby she took an old stained tee of her husbands and strategically cut 2, 2 inch holes in the chest. A needy and upset tiny infant hasn’t slept more than 20 minutes at a time for the last 9 days. Her head itches constantly from needing a shower, her hair having been in the same ponytail since the shower she had after giving birth, now drooping and creating a halo of frizz around her head as though she stuck her finger in a light socket. Just as she was going to get in the shower for the first time in 5 days because that little person finally fell asleep and let her set him down, the doorbell rings. Knowing she looks like a meth addict but craving adult interaction, she stumbles to the door, hesitating for just a moment but far too exhausted to figure out why. They are going to leave and you’ll not have spoken to another adult other than her husband for who-knows-how-long if you let this moment pass! Flinging open the door with a little too much fake enthusiasm she sees a twenty-something man in a brown work uniform holding a digital clipboard and a box. Somebody thought of her and sent a package! Suddenly she is 6 years old again, filled with glee, A PRESENT! Controlled by fatigue still, she gives a lopsided bounce and weak clap, croaking “yay!” The expression on the attractive (hey, she’s tired, not dead) delivery man’s face difficult to read, she reminds herself to not act so desperate and takes his clipboard to sign for the package. Avoiding her eyes, he awkwardly takes the clipboard back, pushing the cardboard package away from him. She takes it and reads the label, her best friend from out of state sent the hand made blanket they had planned together for the baby. Even more excited, she bounces up and down a little more and needing to share that excitment with someone she calls out to the UPS guy retreating from the house “Thank you so much! You don’t know how much this means to me? What’s your name? Joe? Joe, thank you so much, I could hug you!” Like a cornered puppy desperately looking for an escape, he nearly trips over a flower pot to bolt to his truck. He must have a lot of packages to deliver, he’s in such a hurry. Inside she opens the box and admires the beautiful handmade blanket with her son’s name stitched into it and reads the card 6 times, having to wipe the snot and tears from her face at least as many times. The clock is ticking though and she knows the angle sleeping in the co-sleeper will wake up soon and become the swirling vortex of screaming. Shower. Still smiling slightly thinking of the blanket and note from her friend, she walks with a little more energy now into the bathroom to shower. Walking past the closet door with it’s full-length mirror, she sees someone. Oh, that’s me. Wow I look… Oh. My. God. Smile gone. The hair, the eyes the red nose and blotchy skin, they are nothing.

Shirt.

Holes.

Nipples.

All the blood drains from her face. For just a minute she sees how it looked from the other side of the door. How she looked. And it totally makes sense.

For just a few seconds she feels a little sick.

Then she snorts, chortling at the image and the memory of the scene. She rushes to the shower to start the water and laugh without waking the baby. Silently giggling she tugs the ponytail free and looks in the mirror. With a bray, she’s laughing hysterically, tucks her hands into her shirt and jabs her fingers through the nipple holes. She has to lean against the wall and hold her side when she suddenly realizes she’s about to pee, she takes her seat and remains on the toilet until the uncontrollable laughing subsides and mops her the snot and tears from her face once again. Stripping down, she gets in the shower and shrugs, oh well, who cares, she’s just happy she’s actually getting to shower. And, as a bonus, she peed in private. When the baby wakes up she’ll have to tell him all about it.

Other Perspectives
I have more. Oh yes, I talk to myself all the time and think up funny and even some not so funny perspective about breatsfeeding. And other subjects too, actually. Here are some I’ve written before.

Lactating b@@bies and I have a conversation. Well, I talk to them really. I let them know how I see things on a few issues. More on b@@bies, A-DD, here. I talk about b@@bs a lot.

This could be called “The Smart-ass vs. Polite response to Stupid Breastfeeding Comments Perspective”

For a colorful perspective on breastmilk, particularly on The Piano Man and Earth Baby’s first poop experience you should check out “Holy Crap.”

My friend Sue takes a look back at breastfeeding now that her youngest is weaned. Talking about the experience of giving her 4 children the “sweet nectar of life,” Sue brings humor to even the most, um, interesting experiences she had breastfeeding.

Earth Baby has shared her personal perspective on breastfeeding already, but all of my girls have very vocal opinions on breastfeeding.

My perspective of a 4 month old Smunchie nursing in the carrier.

Filed Under: Breastfeeding, breastfeeding humor, breastfeeding stories, humor, World Breastfeeding Week

Mexican-American B@@bies

August 2, 2010 by theleakyb@@b

For our WBW blog carnival on “Perspectives: Breastfeeding From Every Angle” we are pleased to host guest posts from various contributors. Today we are honored to share from Martha, Mexican-American mother working in the US and breastfeeding her daughter.

I am a Mexican-American. My parents are both from Mexico and came to the US before I was born. I was born state-side. My entire life has been a struggle between two cultures. Growing up I wanted to be just an American. I didn’t deny my Mexican heritage but being a Mexican wasn’t my top priority. I think I always felt like I didn’t belong anywhere. I’m never Mexican enough, never American enough.

Then I had my daughter. Audrey has been the piece that made me feel whole. I don’t have to belong to anyone but her. Breastfeeding has been an integral part of that journey. Knowing that Audrey’s well-being was based on me finally made me rearlize that no one else’s thoughts about me and my background mattered. Audrey is number one in my life.

Growing up breastfeeding was just a normal part of life. Boobs were for babies. Who had money for formula? If you had to give a bottle, it had regular cow’s milk, not formula. To me, breastfeeding was just normal so there was never a question in my mind that I would breastfeed.

Though I have to admit, I did buy into the whole American bottle thing. I had just about bought the whole American birth/baby thing. You have to buy stuff to raise a kid, right? If you don’t spend the money, your child will be weird. I almost fell for it and then my midwife said “All you need for the baby is a blanket, a diaper and pair of boobs.” A light went off. I don’t need anything else but my breast in order to raise my baby. You can successfully raise a child with just your boobs!

I knew from the start that I would be returning to work after 6-weeks so I was going to have to bottle feed once I returned to work. I was worried that working full-time and breastfeeding were not going to work together. I didn’t know anyone that had done it. All the women I had known that breastfed were stay-at-home-moms. I had never heard of pumping! I took a breastfeeding class and that helped put my mind at ease that I could do it. I could work full-time and breastfeed. Maybe it wasn’t what I was used to, but I could do it. A true melding of the Mexican and American me.

It hasn’t always been easy. At week 5, just as I was sure I could do this. Just as I was getting comfortable with the whole operation, I got thrush. Honestly, it hurt worse than labor. I was sure my breastfeeding days were over. Thankfully my doctor gave me a prescription and encouraged me to continue. After that, the transition back to work went smoothly. Audrey refuses to take a bottle unless she is really hungry, which means a surplus of milk in the freezer. But otherwise, thankfully, we are going strong even after 7 months.

I’ve learned that my life isn’t about being Mexican or American; it’s about being me and being the best mother I can be. For me, breastfeeding has been a huge part of me growing into a woman. I’m not a little girl playing dress up, I’m a wife and mother. My body has had a part in creating life and continues to nurture that life. It took my breast living up to their potential to help me see myself as a whole person.

Filed Under: Breastfeeding, breastfeeding stories, breastpump, breasts, World Breastfeeding Week