Breastfeeding

About six years ago I attended a Doula training during which I learned about the "breast crawl"- When a baby is born and placed on the mother's stomach, it has the instinctive ability to crawl up to the breast and latch on without any help. We watched a few videos of this seeming phenomenon, and I was convinced that it was the only way; someday when I had babies they would crawl up my stomach and latch on and breastfeeding would be beautiful and perfect from the very first hour of life outside my womb.

I'm not sure anything is ever really beautiful and perfect from the get go, and Harrison's and my breastfeeding relationship certainly was not.

Harrison was born after 61 hours of labor in a way that was very different from my hopeful birth plan. There was a lot of activity around us for a while as we were skin to skin for his first moments of life, I was exhausted from the intensity of the past few days, and Harrison was likely a bit groggy since I ended up with an epidural (and who knows what else they pumped in me.) There was no breast crawl, and hardly a mention of breastfeeding for a while. I have no recollection of the moment Harrison first latched, or of any of the first moments we were trying to latch. No teary-eyed picture of my newborn and I bonding in that way at all (which was part of the beautiful and perfect fantasy.)

My first memory of breastfeeding is of a few hours after Harrison was born, and the nurse saying to me "I don't usually like to offer a nipple shield before a baby is 24 hours old but ..." And so it was with that help that Harrison and I began breastfeeding, with a piece of plastic between us. I so did not want it, but I was offered no other advice, and my baby needed to eat. (I had a small knowledge of breastfeeding from a class I took before Harrison was born, but I don't think anything can prepare you for the application of that knowledge when everything is brand new and you are too out of it to make conscious decisions.)

We left the hospital the next day but not before the hospital lactation consultant visited with us, per my request because I wanted to nurse without a nipple shield. I remember only two things from the time she spent with us - 1. She had a lot of things to say and I felt like I was being talked at rather than helped. And 2. She asked if she could put a drop of sugar water on my breast to encourage Harrison to latch. After an hour of being talked at I learned nothing, and Harrison hadn't latched, and we went home with the nipple shield.

One of our midwives came to check on us the next day and everything looked great aside from Harrison being slightly jaundiced, and that I was still sorting out how to nurse him, even with the shield. So it was suggested I reach out to a lactation support company who would send someone the next day to both check his bilirubin levels (for the jaundice) and help us out with nursing.

That visit was an interesting one. The LC brought a very specific nursing pillow with her and talked me through the steps of nursing Harrison with the pillow. To my request of getting rid of the shield, she said I'd likely be able to stop using it in a few weeks. Looking back, it was another person talking at me and giving generic answers to my questions. Towards the end of her visit she started talking about how she was running late for her next client. I was feeling good enough at that point and she left in a hurry. But then Jer and I were left with needing to go out and buy more things (the very specific nursing pillow that was an important part of the only way she showed me to nurse), and while my post-partum brain thought that I had just gotten a lot of help, after processing through it a week later I realized it had been mostly a waste of time. My questions hadn't been answered and my thoughts hadn't been heard.

Fast-forward almost two weeks later, at another follow up appointment with our midwife when we found out Harrison hadn't gained any weight for a week. Our midwife wrote that he was "failure to thrive" and made sure I reached out to another lactation consultant immediately.

Ugh. The heaviness of that scenario was rough. I felt like all I was doing was nursing, it felt awkward each time and I was starting to dread him needing to eat, I had been "helped" by three different people (who, in hindsight, were part of the reason he wasn't nursing well), and I just didn't know what to do.

The one thing I do love, looking back on the messiness of that time, is that never once did someone mention a bottle or formula. It never even crossed my mind, and I am so thankful to have had people around me who wanted to see Harrison and I work out our nursing relationship and knew that we could, and so in their support they never mentioned an alternative to breastfeeding, instead they talked about a plan for Harrison and I to better learn how to do it. I see far too often formula pushed as the "only" option- given as an assumption that if a baby is not gaining weight, Mama isn't producing enough milk- while in reality it is not quite as common as it seems for mothers to not make enough milk for their babies. I wish that instead of formula being the very first thing talked about, mainstream advice would first look to checking for lip and tongue ties, encourage nursing on demand, discourage sleeping through the night, check how efficiently the baby is getting milk, and through all that giving mothers the tools they need to have the correct milk supply and the confidence that they ARE enough to feed their babies. And even after all that, I wish more women were made aware of donor milk and/or supplemental nursing systems if they do end up needing to search out an alternative. My issue is not with formula, but with the lack of support and options given to mothers in mainstream pediatric practices. If I hadn't been seen by my "crunchy" midwives, and if I hadn't already had a little bit of knowledge surrounding breastfeeding, I was in the perfect situation to be given formula for Harrison and left to my own devices after that- and this is AFTER being helped by three different women who's jobs were to help Harrison and me establish breastfeeding. I am so thankful that the support I had in the process was always "How can we help breastfeeding be established better so that Harrison is eating enough?"

It was with that support that I (finally) reached out to a friend who is an International Board Certified Lactation Consultant. Why she wasn't the first person we talked to is beyond me, I wasn't thinking clearly those days and other people were making decisions for me.

Kim came to our home the very next day, with a softness and gentle energy I hadn't yet felt by anyone else in her field. She took one look at the nipple shield and told me to put it in the trash. She watched me struggle with the nursing pillow for all of 10 seconds and then we set it aside for good. She checked Harrison out. She checked me out. We grabbed a bunch of pillows from our bed and she showed me and Jeremy how to use them to get Harrison to nurse in a variety of positions. She showed me how to actively help Harrison nurse, and got him to latch immediately. He was gulping down milk so fast and strong we could hear it hitting his stomach. We chatted, and I was listened to. As questions arose, they were answered. Harrison and I were looked at as two individuals learning how to do something together in a unique way best suited only to us. She left by showing me how to side-lie nurse in bed, Harrison next to me, me in the middle, and Jeremy being an active participant by cuddling as the big spoon. There was a calmness in the air and for the first time in two weeks, I had a bit of confidence that everything was going to be okay.

Kim came back two days later to weigh Harrison and was looking for a one ounce weight gain. He had gained THREE ounces and was already starting to form the double chin that has stuck with him now for the past year.

And everything was okay after that, though not to say it was all rainbows and butterflies. I was stressed out for the better part of the next few weeks, tracking all his feeds, listening for his gulps, and being very hands on when he nursed, as he still needed a lot of support to be efficient with it. I was exhausted, my breasts were sore, and I was constantly worried that he wasn't getting enough. But time released the fears, little by little, and nursing became easier and easier, and at some point it became second nature and neither of us had to exert much effort. I was finally in the place I wanted to be with breastfeeding.

Harrison and I have continued to have a wonderful nursing relationship. He exclusively nursed for close to seven months, and we started slowly on solids- giving him the opportunity to learn flavors and textures, rather than looking at the food as a source of nutrition- so for almost his entire first year he thrived on mostly breast milk. These days he is obsessed with eating solids and nurses noticeably less, even turning down the opportunity at times. But he still nurses frequently at night and nap time, and I am eager to continue that through at least age two, and am hopeful that he will still ask for the occasional feed a year or two or three after that.

first birthday nursing snuggles

I am thankful that while learning to breastfeed had its struggles and frustrations, the only "problem" we had was bad advice. Harrison simply wasn't able to nurse effectively with that darn nipple shield. I am doubly thankful we were finally able to find good advice to get us on track for our positive nursing experience. I know there are so many issues that women face in their breastfeeding journeys that can take a lot more effort, time, and intervention to fix; I sincerely hope that mainstream knowledge will start to take a turn and focus more on how to help new Mamas and babies efficiently nurse and that more positive breastfeeding support will be available for everyone who needs it.

I will breastfeed here or there, I will breastfeed anywhere

My Soapbox

The other day I did something that I purposefully make a habit of not doing- I initiated and engaged in discussion of a hotly debated subject in an online community of Moms.

Three of my stronger personality traits are being quiet, reserved, and avoiding conflict. An instigator I am not. Argumentative?- Nope. Do I enjoy a healthy debate? I'd rather observe.

But I have passions. Ooooh do I have passions. And these passions invoke in me a wild animal persona that could chew your head off. Well, in my mind that is what I want to do. Outwardly that wild animal shows itself in the form of respectful conversation, careful questions, and information presented with a combination of research-based knowledge and heart. Lots of heart.

(Jeremy gets to hear it all unfiltered, and he definitely knows a side of me that doesn't get presented to the world.)

Catch me at the right moment, with the right side story, either positive or negative, about one of my passions, and I will engage with you for hours and likely still have more to say.

So back to the other day ...

I've made it no secret that our family bed shares. (I used to think I wanted to keep quiet about it, but, passions.) Harrison knows nothing different then sleeping every night in between Jeremy and me, and taking his naps in the middle of our mattress (or in the baby carrier.)

I am a new mom, but at this point not a brand new mom, and when I see newer families struggling with the adjustment of a newborn in their lives, I like to offer to them what works for us. Often those offerings are in the form of mentioning bed sharing. I don't like to tell people what to do, but I do like to share my viewpoint because far too often I only see very one-sided (i.e. mainstream) advice. Jeremy and I have found ourselves parenting in a way that is very different from mainstream, so I like to give my insights on the off-chance that they could be helpful for another family.

So in the case of online communities, I offer my insight and that's usually the end of it.

The other day after I replied to a Mom struggling with lack of sleep and asking for advice, of course I gave her encouragement and told her about our nighttime routine.

And there came a response directly after mine, a response from a pediatrician that said, in so many words, "Do not take that advice because it is dangerous, don't do it don't do it don't do it it's wrong and bad." The response also gave information about sleeping habits and gave a terribly unrealistic age (in terms of biological norms) that a baby should be sleeping through the night.

I read that and my heart fell, and then I felt an anger inside of me that I don't often feel. The wild animal was being unleashed, seriously. I don't care about someone offering a different opinion, but it really drives me crazy how mainstream parenting has become a set of rules, and if you deviate from them you are doing something wrong. After ruminating on it for a little while, I realized I couldn't stay quiet.

I respectfully responded with research-based information and throughout the day looked back to the thread and had a short, kind conversation that clearly had two very differing points of view, but we were able to each have our say. It was a pleasant enough conversation, and that was the end of the discussion.

But inwardly, I have not been able to shake it. That discussion has stayed with me for the past few days. Because I hate seeing parents being told what they can and can't do, I hate seeing alternative points of view passed off as reckless parenting, and I hate seeing babies posed as manipulating, trainable beings.

I often feel like modern parenting ideas have actually made parenting a baby more difficult than it already is. The general guidelines for mainstream parenting feel very frustrating and I believe they contribute to parents having all these questions about what babies "should" and "shouldn't" do, rather than reassuring that parenting with instinct is the best way.

Babies need to be close to their parents, they need to be fed, they need cuddles, and they need these things around the clock. I feel this is all instinctual if you take away the insecurities that can come up when you're trying to follow the "rules"- rules that are generally designed to try and make our babies less dependent on us. Our infant children are the most innocent and beautifully needy and dependent beings that we will ever know. They communicate and express their needs through their little (or loud) cries. It doesn't matter the time of day, or the circumstance, or the location. I have fully experienced the maternal instinct that is to tend to my baby when I hear him cry, as he is clearly expressing a need that I can and should meet- as his mother, as one of his parents, as a caregiver.

So why is there such a deeply ingrained idea in our society that the most vulnerable and needy among us should not be taken care of when it is inconvenient for the parent? Why are we told, time and time again, that our babies who can't even tell night from day are manipulating us to tend to them in the middle of the night and that their cries, their needs, should be ignored? I'm not trying to harp on any one type of parenting idea, but rather voice frustration that the common information given to inexperienced, malleable parents is information that has them parenting against their instincts. Who in their right mind- a mind free of fear, free of exhaustion, free of depression, free of other people's ideas stated as fact- would instinctually ignore a baby with a need?

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So yes, one part of parenting instinctively in our household means bed sharing. This is the best set up we've found to meet Harrison's needs as they arise throughout the night. But here's a confession: on a few occasions, I have had a more difficult night's sleep, because the idea of bed sharing worried me on those particular nights. There is a common thread that links these nights- they happen after I've read an article, or blog post, or friendly discussion, or heated debate about the (un)safety of bed sharing. I second-guess my clear maternal instincts and the set up that has worked wonderfully for our family anytime I see someone mention something bad about it. I'm not even one to care about other people's opinions, but the switch can flip that quickly for me anyway. Something about that is so wrong- how can an anecdote that someone else mentions bring me to such a state of fear that I worry about the way that I am parenting my child? I'm thankful I'm always able to quickly find my bearings again and go back to fearless, instinctive parenting.

Everyone from trained professionals to our next-door neighbors to the strangers we pass on the streets needs to STOP offering fear-based parenting techniques. In fact, next-door neighbors and strangers can stop offering unsolicited advice altogether, and my heart will sing the day that the trained professionals we trust with our children offer balanced viewpoints, rather than a checklist of "do's" and "don'ts." As parents, we know our babies better than anyone else, and it is our duty to care for our children the best we can- instinctively and fearlessly.