I’m Beautiful Like Me.

A fellow blogger posted about her breastfeeding successes a few months ago and it inspired me to document my own failures and successes.

When I was pregnant with Joy, I read absolutely everything I could get my hands on about pregnancy, childbirth and breastfeeding. I talked extensively with my mom about her experiences, as well. Mom told me she had only nursed my eldest brother and not for long. Her husband was called in for military deployment and she said the stress of that dried her milk up overnight. Later in my pregnancy, I talked to my dad and he made a comment about remembering when my mom nursed me.

I argued with him: “Mom did not nurse me!”

“Yes, she did!” he responded.

“I think a mother would remember something like that, Dad. Mom said she didn’t nurse me.”

He said, “Ask her about the nurse who threw me out of the breastfeeding room.”

So, natch, I called mom and confronted her. This piece of information jogged her memory. “Oh, yes. I did nurse you.”

I was baffled that she had forgotten. She didn’t remember anything about how well it worked for her or how long she nursed. She only knew that it wasn’t for long.

Joy came and I thought I was prepared. After all, I read so much. As it were, I didn’t know much at all. They took her before I could bring her to my breast. I had told them that she wasn’t to receive a bottle or pacifiers, though. It would be hours before I saw her again. A lactation consultant came to visit us in my room and watched me nurse. She gave me some pamphlets but the information those contained were nothing new to me. A few days later, we went home.

The first few weeks at home were pretty good. She nursed and slept, like all newborns. But after two weeks, my nipples were hella sore and she was always crying. No one told me that a breastfed baby shouldn’t be on a schedule. Joy’s father wasn’t very supportive, either. He rarely changed diapers or gave her a bath or woke with her at night. Finally, after a lot of frustration, I called the lactation consultant from the hospital.

She was a really nice lady. She came to our home, helped me get Joy to open her mouth wider and told me some tips to help my nipples heal. She also helped me acquire a hospital-grade pump to use to help increase my supply.

But still, the following two months were a constant struggle. I continued to feel confused about Joy’s seemingly never-ending hunger and started to supplement with bottles of formula. Before long, my milk supply - even with a hospital-grade pump - started to dwindle. Pumping was weird, too, because, at the time, we had a single, childless roommate.

As if becoming a parent for the first time isn’t hard enough, this was a new and strange world to me for another reason: I am the youngest child in a military family and never, ever had the opportunity to personally witness or experience any type of baby. Not siblings, not cousins, not even friends! I was completely clueless.

In late January of 1999, I came down with the flu and no longer had the energy to continue. I understood that it was still safe - even better - to continue breastfeeding. I just couldn’t. For weeks afterwards, I felt immense guilt. I no longer viewed my breasts the same, I no longer viewed bottles the same and I even looked at my daughter a bit differently. It’s hard to explain how because I don’t quite understand it myself.

After she was a few years old, I was convinced I would never have additional children. I still had regrets over my failure to nurse her for the first year, but I had made peace with it. She was a very healthy little girl. She didn’t get sick at all her first few years of life. Her cousin, just two months younger, had required antibiotics numerous times in his first year and she didn’t get her first round until the Halloween following her 3rd birthday for a very icky ear infection. I felt proud of that and silently attributed it to having nursed exclusively for those few weeks.

In the years to come, I would have another baby and I would succeed in breastfeeding, but not without its own trials. I brought Buddha to my breast within the first hour of his birth, I made sure his mouth was open wide enough, I fed him on demand (virtually keeping me in the rocking chair my in-laws gifted me at the baby shower for the first 6 weeks), and I had a lot of support from Husband. Still, sure enough we developed latch problems and later thrush. I turned to a new source for help.

The world wide web has encouraged a global community. Resources became available to me that before were not. Those resources - other, experienced moms - provided me with information, support, encouragement and courage to continued success. My son is now just shy of 16 months and we are still nursing strong. A special thanks to ima, Mrs. R, nicurn and Red at bf.com. I really could not have done it without you.

I strongly feel that part of the reason I failed with Joy is because ours is a culture that not only doesn’t support and encourage breastfeeding, but actively propagates formula and bottles for babies and toddlers because - for whatever reason - breasts are associated with sex and sex is a taboo subject. There isn’t anything wrong with breasts being sexual, but they are first and foremost designed for feeding our babies! If breastfeeding were normalized in our culture, I (read: we) would have [had] more exposure to it. More women would try and more would succeed for longer, having access to other the knowledge and support of other experienced moms - by and far the single most valuable tool for my own success.