I think my short and arduous journey into the land of breast feeding is coming to an end. Emilie has been outright refusing the breast during feedings over this last week. I've been meaning to write about my breast feeding experience for so long now. Wanting to share my journey, hoping that maybe it will bring comfort to someone out there. Now that everything is most likely coming to an end, I think now is the time.
I grew up in a home of three girls. My mother exclusively breastfed all three of us. My youngest sister is 8 years younger than me, so as a young girl I learned that babies weren't fed from a bottle, that's what boobies were for. My mother even shared a story of me as a 9 year old sitting outside our home freaking a neighbour right out when I lifted my shirt and put my baby doll to my chest so she could "eat". It just seemed natural. You have a baby, you breastfeed said baby. Easy peasy right?
NO!!!! A million times no!
I heard stories of friends, beautiful stories of their beautiful wrinkly, little newborns being placed on their chest and starting to suckle on their own scootching up to their breast so they can have that first little meal. That was not my reality. My reality was a sleepy, lazy, satisfied little girl who was so full of the fluid they (the doctors) had pumped me full of during my delivery, that she was in no way wanting another meal. All she was interested in was snuggling on my chest for a nice little nap. The closest we got those first few hours was her flicking my nipple around with her tongue, trying to push it away.
::Le Sigh::
Little Emilie was not interested in eating those first few days. Our second night in the hospital she went a full seven, S-E-V-E-N hours between feedings. Not from our lack of trying either. I swear that night I met almost every single nurse on shift. Each one trying their own little trick for trying to wake a sleepy baby to feed. I ended up hand expressing colostrum, squeezing the drops of liquid gold into her mouth, letting her swallow, then starting again. That was a meal for her. The nurses had me strip her down, lay her on my chest, tickle her toes, tickle under her chin, move her arms, move her legs, finally they had me wipe her down with a cold damp cloth. Mean I know, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Even the damp cloth didn't work after awhile. She was not interested in the boob juice.
After about 36 hours of that whole routine to get her to eat, her weight had dropped below the dreaded 10% loss. The midwife gave us two options; either rent a breast pump like that minute, or start supplementing with formula via a tube to get us through until that magic moment when my milk would come in. We happened to have some sample cans of formula in our pantry, so we opted for supplementing. I also booked an appointment for my fourth day post partum with a lactation consultant. We supplemented, and she gained, and the lactation consultant fixed our shallow latch issues, and I bought myself a pump.
I started pumping for 10 minutes after each feeding in the hopes of increasing my supply. The next day (5 days post partum) I had another visit from my midwife. She delivered the dreaded news: I had a low supply. I thought the 20mL I was pumping after each feeding was great, true, it wasn't enough to even supplement the next feeding, but it was okay right? Wrong. She gave me two options, herbs, or Domperidone. I opted for Domperidone. Made an appointment with my family doctor and started that very day.
All I have to say is THANK GOD Andre was home those first three weeks. I honestly would have lost it, seriously lost my mind if it wasn't for him. Feedings were suppose to be this serene time with mom and baby, snuggling. Hahahaha. Not in our house, it was a huge production of stripping Emilie down, changing her bum in the hopes of waking her up a little bit, then trying to get her latched on. And really that was the last thing Emilie wanted to do. My boobies couldn't give her what she wanted so why try right? Once we got her latched it was a rush to get the feeding tube in her mouth so she could down the formula while on the breast. That was assuming she would latch. Sometimes after about 10 minutes of struggling, we would give up and finger feed her. I do not miss those days. Then after the whole production of feeding her I would have to relinquish my little snugly baby who just wanted to be cuddled in favour of my cold, unforgiving breast pump so I would watch Andre get to snuggle Emilie while I sat (crying) in my glider pumping away.
By this point the post partum blues were beginning to set in. The stress of everything was becoming a little bit too much for me. Andre was about to go back to work, and I knew that our routine was not something that I could continue on my own when my late night partner in crime was asleep. I made the decision to drop my after feeding pump sessions overnight, and just supplement with formula what she needed. This was probably the beginning of the end, but when your sanity is hanging by a thread, you choose your sanity.
This lead to a phase of exclusively pumping and supplementing with formula. In the evenings in an effort to calm Emilie I would put her on the breast and she would calm herself by having a little snack. After about a month of pumping, I had enough, my nipples were killing me and I was miserable being stuck to a pump all the time instead of spending time with my daughter, or sleeping, or eating, or well anything.
I was on the verge of giving up all together when Emilie decided that she would actually latch on well and take a little feeding. So in a last ditch effort to continue giving Emilie some breast milk I started offering the breast before each feeding. She would nurse for about 10-15 minutes then finish off with her bottle. Let me just say my beloved daughter has no issue with the dreaded nipple confusion. We have continued with this for about 3 months or so. I think the final blow came with my return to work. Things were going so well, but I have noticed a drop in my lack lustre supply since I've been back to work. This has led to our little Miss outright refusing to nurse the last few days. I see the writing on the wall. I know what is coming. She's had enough. I can't give her what she wants when she wants it. The bottle can.
I found myself crying today while trying to feed her. My nipple leaking and her refusing to nurse because she knows a bottle is coming. At that moment I knew what is to come. I'm still taking Domperidone, but I will probably stop taking it after today. There is no need if she refuses to nurse. I refuse to go back to the pump for the dismal amount of breast milk I can pump. It's not worth the time I have to take away from her. She's thriving. She's happy. She's healthy. I can't complain.
If she will nurse tonight before bed I will savour those last little moments. Just her and I. Something only I can give her. PCOS robbed me of my ability to breast feed exclusively, but it can't take that away from me.
