This is no small thing for me. I'm so thrilled he's doing so well. I wanted it to work out badly. But, the questions, outside pressure, and doubts have started to creep in and I'm freaking. A little.
Before I had Juliet, I just assumed she'd be breastfed. It's what women do. My mother did. I never doubted it-- I bought bras, nipple creams, tops, and a pump. I was sure it'd be easy.
It wasn't. I lost a lot of blood during her birth and ended up with low iron. The midwives on the hospital ward told me this would affect me supply. I couldn't get her to latch on without help, and when I asked, the (admitedly overworked) midwives came along, grabbed my boob and her head and then left. On the second night in the hospital, a midwife suggested I give her a bottle. That was the beginning of the end. I learned once home to get her latched on, but I kept giving the bottles. Sometimes it was easier to let someone else feed her while I saw to other things (including looking after myself). I never established a good supply, for whatever reason. Probably some combination of my not knowing what to do to get things going well, and stress, and PCOS, which I later learned can cause supply problems. I considered every bottle a failure on my part. I was overcome with anxiety that not breastfeeding her meant she would defintiely die from cot death. I struggled on my own without asking for more help for 12 weeks and then quit and started taking antidepressants. I was devastated. Heartbroken. I'd failed as a mother and a woman.
A day didn't pass (and still doesn't) that I didn't regret how it ended. I ached to see mothers nursing their young toddlers. I wanted to do the same. I had to grieve for it, accept that she thrived on the formula, and move on the best I could, but my heart still hurt over it. Still does.
However, had I still been breastfeeding, we might not have had Simon. So God's plans sometimes work in mysterious ways.
Within 10 minutes of Simon being born, I had him latched on without help. I'd worried in the end of my pregnancy about it-- I wanted it to work, but I think I was scared of the heartache if it didn't work out again. I kind of tossed around the idea of just giving him bottles from the beginning, but decided to give it a shot. I had more help. Hindsight. Articles read. I was much better prepared.
In the hospital, my iron was very low again (talk of a transfusion floated around). I kept on. He spent most of those first three days on the breast. All night. I was exhausted and very sore, but so stinking proud to be actually feeding my baby that I kept on. And on. A midwife came the second evening and had a talk with me. She and the other mideives had obseerved how much he was feeding, and how tired I was. She told me that I'd never establish a supply if I didn't get some sleep and heal. I knew she was right. She suggested topping him up with 1 oz of formula. My heart sank.
I left the hospital giving him 1-2 oz after most feeds, and feeding every hour, at least. This is part of where I got it wrong the first time-- it's bloody hard. Nobody tells you that. It's a lot of work in the beginning, and work you can't get help with. It's exhausting and painful and full of worry that he's not getting enough to eat. My mum came to visit and told me I was feeding him too much. He cried a lot and I let him suck for comfort. He gained a pound in a week when the midwife came to weigh him 1 week after we got home. I worried I was overfeeding him. She said cut out the supplementing. I did-- he hasn't had that since.
So now we're at 6 weeks. People say it's supposed to get easier now. It has in some ways. It doesn't hurt anymore. I've been taking goat's rue, and seem to have a good supply. He's getting enough because he's growing. I love the way he puts his little hand on me when he's feeding. That I'm the only one who can give him that. It's kind of nice. And I'm not depressed about it.
But I'm still worried. I think he has a milk allergy. He was having loads of mucus in his throat at night-- breathing funny and causing more worry. I gave up dairy and he stopped. He was throwing up loads after eevry feed, even on reflux medicine, and crying. Bringing up clear stuff I assume was acid. Struggling with loads of gas. He still feeds every 2 hours. I made the mistake of reading a breastfeeding book that said babies should be able to go 3-4 hours at his age. He doesn't.And he doesn't feed for the 20-45 minutes I've been told he should. He's a 10 minutes every hour or so kind of baby. Is that down to his reflux? And he's gained 3 lbs in 6 weeks. Am I making him fat? Am I overfeeding? Am I setting him up to associate food with comfort? Or am I projecting my own issues with food and body onto him? Doesn't it count for anything that he's very long?
I don't know the answers. Often with parenting, that's the way-- you have to try to do what's best without letting everyone else tell you what you should be doing, to take all the advice with a grain of salt and without letting yourself feel insulted and incapable when it doesn't match what you're doing. Sod the baby whisperer-- he's my baby and I'll have to make my way. I'll have to find the right balance. I want to parent him with love. I can't let him cry-- it's not my style. I can't "hold him off" until it's 3 hours since the last feed. Maybe I'll have to learn to, I don't know. I have my health visitor coming tomorrow and plan to unload all this craziness on her. I have our 8 week GP check next week. I've started going to a breastfeeding support group. We'll see what happens, but right now, I feel confused and worried.
And I have no beef with anyone who formula feeds for any reason. I understand why. I did it. My baby was fine. In some ways, it was easier. But I will keep on with this as long as I can, because I love doing it. It's maybe a little selfush, but it makes me happy, so that's the right thing to do.
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