I tore Mommy a new one

Apparently you can get onesies that say "I tore Mommy a new one." I thought it was cute -- well, cute in the "I can laugh about it now because my episiotomy stitches have healed" kind of way. Her father tore me apart emotionally. Michelle did physically. At 9 lbs 4 ounces she definitely made a grand entrance and they had to widen the door for her...Trying to pass a camel through the eye of a needle almost seems like it would have been easier. I was afraid to look at the stitches afterward. It was pretty terrifying the first time I had a bowel movement after labour. Being constipated just added insult to injury. It was almost like having a baby again. I was afraid to push. It really felt like I was going to tear the stitches. (Sorry, this is probably WAY too much info but these are some of the things that you don't think about before you have a baby! It's a lot to go through.) As difficult as delivery was, a very wise person warned me "Labour is the easy part. Wait til you have a new baby to take care of!"

Nothing could have prepared me for what was to come. When I first brought her home (actually my sister was kind enough to let us stay at her place so I wasn't completely alone for the first week or so) she barely slept and was feeding about every hour or so. I was beyond exhausted, depleted, sore, spent. Breastfeeding was far more difficult than I could have imagined. My sister said that most of the women she knew who gave their babies formula had given up on breastfeeding because they couldn't stand the pain. Someone told me that your nipples toughen up eventually, I guess the same way that fingers become tough and callused after playing guitar for a while. My poor nipples went through Hell in the first few days. I was bruised, bleeding, scarred. They were so sore that nursing was excruciating but I stubbornly kept going. I didn't even know if she was getting any milk but I refused to give up. I went to a breastfeeding clinic where they told me that Michelle wasn't getting enough milk and I'd have to supplement with formula. I was devestated. It was like calling me a failure. They tried to talk me into buying a hospital-grade $400 breast pump. I looked at the woman like she had smoked a little too much crack. "Um...I'm a single Mom on a tight budget so that is NOT happening." Instead I went to Walmart and got a cheap single breast electric pump for $40. It's not fancy and is kind of slow but it does the trick. I was able to pump milk and see that yes I actually was producing milk. It was bright yellow at first, a mix of colostrum (pre-milk) and milk. As discouraged as I was on my first visit to the clinic, I was thrilled at my next visit. Michelle had gained weight and was feeding well. I supplemented her with a bottle of my own breast milk for a couple of days until my milk was in full force.

The best thing about the breastfeeding clinic was that they introduced me to a nipple shield which was the greatest invention ever and saved my poor nipples from being chewed to bits. They also told me that far from being a failure I had actually done the best thing -- by feeding Michelle so often when I first brought her home (as painful and difficult as it was) I had stimulated my milk production and now that my regular milk had come in (it takes about 3-5 days for the actual milk to come in) I had plenty. I was glad I hadn't just given up. Colostrum is supposed to provide enough nutrition for a newborn baby for the first couple of days. Some women panic that the baby is starving and turn to formula out of desperation. Then their milk never comes in. I was determined to breastfeed. I had many very good reasons to do so. First of all it's the healthiest thing for the baby, it's also a bonding experience and hey, it's FREE! When you're on a tight budget, you just can't beat free.

For five months or so, breastfeeding was going well. The nipple shield was a godsend. I even bought an extra one just in case and it's a good thing because I lost it a couple of times and had to break open the spare. Michelle was feeding often (usually every two hours or less) but at least my nipples were protected. Then at around 5 months it started to get uncomfortable. Michelle was getting a little rougher on me. It almost felt like she had teeth. It was hurting, even through the nipple shield. She was chewing on me like I was a teething toy. My nipples were becoming red and raw. By six months it was even worse. Before I knew it, my nipples looked like they had been through a war -- scarred, bleeding, much as they had been before the nipple guard. The shield wasn't protecting me anymore. Michelle was chewing me to bits. My Mom said she must think it's a bottle because she's sucking on a rubber thing. I know she doesn't mean to hurt me but she knows I'm not a bottle. She looks up at me mid-feeding and smiles sometimes.

My nipples were becoming so sore and so itchy that I finally asked my doctor about it. All my appointments had been for Michelle but I finally scheduled a brief one for myself just to show her my poor breasts. I was worried it might be a rash or something. I had heard about "thrush" but that's something that the baby gets in her mouth as well. It wasn't a rash. The doctor said they were just sore from the friction. Michelle was just sucking too hard. (My baby vampire!) The doctor prescribed a recipe that Dr. Jack Newman created -- apparently he's "the" breastfeeding guru. How a MAN knows so much about breastfeeding, I'm not sure but he is a GENIUS! My doctor said that some pharmacists may not "like" making the cream but most would do it. She also said that according to Dr. Newman you don't wipe the cream off, "even if the pharmacist tells you to." When I went to the pharmacy to get it I was perturbed that the cream took an hour to make (the pharmacist had told me it would be half an hour) and that I had to pay a hefty dispensing fee. I didn't even know if it was going to work. It turned out that it was well worth the investment. After just one day using the cream I was so much better! I wasn't in pain or tortured by itching. My red, raw, peeling, scarred nipples were suddenly soft and pink again! It was a miracle. I don't know what Miconazole and Mupirocin are (ingredients on the label) but they are AMAZING. I just put a bit on after each feeding (obviously the ingredients are safe for the baby to ingest though the rubber shield is still between us) and my nipples are almost completely back to normal. In just a day or two they went from looking like something out of a horror movie all scarred, red, raw, scabby, rough and peeling to being soft and pink and new again. Dr. Newman, I love you! I don't know how this guy knows so much about breasts when he doesn't have any, but thank you!

The doctor and my mother also suggested that I cut down on the frequency of breastfeedings. Every two hours is common for a newborn but she's over 6 months old now and even having solid food. While I was worried about Michelle's weight I certainly wasn't going to cut back on breastfeeding but now that she's a healthy weight and doing pretty well on solids I figured it couldn't hurt to try it. So I have been trying to stretch her out to 3 hours between feedings, giving her food for breakfast, lunch and dinner at the two hour points and then nursing her another hour after that. She resisted at first. She became cranky and complained and didn't want to eat her food but I managed to distract her enough that I could postpone her nursing by an hour or at least half an hour. It's easier on me because it means fewer feedings. Aside from Michelle complaining about the change, my breasts noticed too. They knew it was time for a feeding and became engorged and sore. Little by little though it's getting easier. I figure it's better to wean her gradually so I'll keep feeding her every three hours for a while then go to every four or so. The more food she eats, the less milk she'll need. Eventually it will be cut down to two feedings a day and then when she's safe to have cow's milk I can stop. I may still try to pump some breastmilk to give her even after she's weaned because I know it's so good for them. I've seen some attachment parents carried to the extreme that are still breastfeeding their children at 7 years old. I'm not going there! I am an attachment parent but I have my limits. I do believe in feeding on demand though. I want my baby to be happy. I think it builds a strong bond and a healthier, happier child in the long run. Michelle still wakes up every couple of hours to nurse during the night but I don't mind. I'm certainly not going to deny her then. It's easier to just nurse her back to sleep. That way I actually get some sleep too! I figure that eventually when she's eating a lot more food she won't need the milk. Part of it is probably habit and a comfort thing too when she wakes up in the night.

Aside from the pain of labour and breastfeeding, Michelle seems to find new ways to inflict injury on me day by day! I know she doesn't do it on purpose (well, I'm pretty sure anyway) but sometimes it is hard to take. She loves swinging her hands and arms around so sometimes I get a smack in the face. Occasionally she even knocks my glasses off. Then I say "Oopsie poopsie!" and she laughs her head off. She also kicks me in the stomach. Her legs never stop going so if I'm carrying her or nursing her, I get the brunt of it. I try to wear her out in her Jumperoo and Jolly Jumper. If only there were a way to harness her energy. I could power my house for about two years without using hydro. Then there is the pain in my left arm from carrying her around. Sometimes she will play nicely while I try to get dinner, do dishes etc. Other times she whines and I have to pick her up and try to do everything with one hand. It's hard enough on my sore wrist now that she's heavier than ever but to make matters worse she does this new thing where she twists around in my arms and leans over putting that much more pressure on my already sore arm. Sometimes my shoulder feels like it's being torn from its socket. I have neck and back problems as well. Then there are the claws...Sometimes it's like trying to take care of a baby tiger. It's very difficult to cut her nails and unfortunately she likes to dig them into me. She's so intense she'll grab my arm full force and dig her nails in or she scratches my chest. While I'm nursing her I have to guard the other breast with my hand or sometimes she reaches up and grabs almost ripping off my nipple! I can't believe how strong she is. She's got a death grip like you wouldn't believe. She even winds up hurting herself sometimes -- accidentally scratching herself, hitting herself in the face when she's flailing her arms. She even gave herself a hickey on the arm when she started sucking her wrist one day. She's started sucking her thumb occasionally now too. I can't imagine the damage she can do once she has teeth.

Having a baby can be dangerous! It almost reminds me of MadTV's "When Babies Attack" skit...Here's the video from Youtube:

 

Like many things in parenting, keeping your sense of humour is a must. Love hurts. It's just part of it. The joy is worth the pain. Your baby will cause you more pain than you ever felt in your life but you will still love her more than anything on earth. It's weird. I guess it's a maternal instinct thing. We can take an unbelievable amount of abuse and still love and protect them. Luckily the sweet moments more than make up for the rough ones. The times when she smiles or laughs at me. The times when she reaches up to touch my face gently. The times when she looks at me lovingly. The moments when she plays nicely, sleeps peacefully, acts like a little angel. Lately she's even started hugging me really tight. She squeezes me with all her might and shakes, the way she clenches her fists and shakes when she's really excited. I love it. That's one time I'm glad she's so intense. I love those bear hugs. I can't wait for the day she can say "I love you Mommy" -- that will be more than worth all the pain I've been through. 

Milk, Poo and Tears

Sometimes it feels like I'm drowning. Between spit-ups and leaky diapers (pee and poop) the baby went through four outfits and five blankets in a single morning. While I was pregnant and accumulating baby clothes I told my Mom I had enough sleepers for her to wear a different one each day. Mom laughed "You'll need about 6 sleepers a day!" At the time I thought she was exaggerating. Before the baby, a single girl on my own, I used to do laundry once a week, if that. With the baby, I'm doing a load a day. I'm getting tired of the sight of orange poo. Sometimes it's a constant stream. Sometimes I have just finished changing her and she's already pooing again. One time she even splashed my hand before I could get the next diaper on! Beware of exploding orange baby poo! At least I know she's eating well but this is ridiculous. It seems almost constant. She eats. She poos. She cries. She sleeps five minutes. And it repeats. ALL DAY LONG. Until you fear for your sanity. It seems like she screams every few minutes with another poo. I understand, mind you. I'm pretty fussy myself. I would get cranky if I was starving and overtired (come to think of it, I am!) and sitting in my own feces (thankfully I am NOT. But I do suffer from bouts of IBS and have spent a lot of time in the bathroom. Maybe poor baby has inherited my bowel blues.) So I would complain too. But sometimes she keeps crying even after she's been fed and changed and everything is good and then it's just frustrating. "But you have no complaint!" I try to tell her to no avail.

It can be daunting dealing with bodily fluids from morning until night. I'm surprised I don't have nightmares about orange diarrhea! They tell me the day will come when she will only mess one or two diapers a day. Right now it's about 6-10 a day. Or more. I lost count. At least 4 really big poos. A few smaller poos & a bunch of wet ones. She never used to spit up milk. Now she's spitting up more and more (which I hear is normal). There are often little white curds in it. (Curds and whey? What is she? Little Miss Muffet?! What kind of milk am I making here?) I heard that when they are first born they don't have tear ducts. She certainly does now. It breaks my heart to see her little tears. I never want her to cry. Sometimes it does make me angry though, when she's fed and clean and everything seems good and she still fusses. It's like she doesn't have a right to cry! I tell her I'm the one who should be crying! She has me to take care of her and meet her needs but there's no one to take care of me and I barely have a moment to care for myself!

One day when she was upset inexplicably I sat with her laying on my lap in the rocking chair making a gentle shushing noise (it occurs to me how much easier it would be if we lived by the ocean. The sound of the waves would be soothing for both of us) until she stopped crying and fell asleep. Then I started to cry. I looked at the turquoise wall that used to be grey, sitting in the nursery that used to be an office (at least for a few months) for her father, wondering where he is, what he's doing, whether he ever thinks of us. Even if he hated me (and I don't know why he would when I gave him everything, the key to my house and my heart) how could he walk away from his own child? And not ever want to see her, hold her, know her? How could he just forget? How does he carry on with his life and just pretend we never happened? I still can't believe it. And I wondered, just for a fleeting moment, what if I hadn't gone on that date, hadn't met him at Tim Hortons, hadn't fallen in love with the most cruel, most cowardly man on earth, hadn't let him move in too soon, hadn't gotten pregnant unexpectedly. Then I looked down at my perfect, beautiful little cherub and I sobbed deeply (as quietly as I could so as not to disturb her) and I thought "But I couldn't undo this. I wouldn't undo this. Even after all the pain, all the stress, all the anguish. It had to be. She had to be. And I would do it all over again to have her."

"I love you, baby," I told Michelle, wiping away my tears, "Mama loves you." She let out a little sigh in her sleep and her lips curled into a half smile. "Even when you're killing me, I love you."

I survived abandonment. Pregnancy. Being pregnant alone. (And still having to do housework, yard work, gardening, mowing the lawn, heavy lifting, even at 9 months pregnant.) I survived labour and delivery, even when it got rough at the end with a male doctor stepping in to "assist" -- reaching into my insides up to his elbows and twisting things around, even using a plunger (vacuum) and salad tongs (forceps) to pull my 9 pound 4 ounce baby out -- and ripping me apart in the process. I'm hoping the stitches from the episiotomy are healing OK. I'm too scared to look. Survived the first few difficult weeks with a newborn, the challenge of breastfeeding, no sleep, barely a second to myself to eat, go to the bathroom, do laundry. I survived. And I will survive. I have to be strong for her. She's worth it. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

Sometimes my heart still breaks though. I know that hormones are part of it. My breasts are leaking milk. I'm on little to no sleep. I'm run ragged from morning to night trying to meet the needs of an adorable though ruthless and irascible dictator in diapers. I am so owned. Her father mesmerized and controlled me. Now she's doing the same. The difference is she's innocent. She doesn't mean to tear me apart (even when she nearly bit my nipples off the first week of breastfeeding.) Sometimes I just think about all that has happened this past year. I see the months flicker by like movie scenes. Meeting Mike. Him moving in. Finding out I was pregnant. The house full of pets. Christmas and the beautiful letter he wrote me about how much he loved me, how excited he was about the baby, how we'd be a cute little family and I was stuck with him forever. Then his unexplained disappearance in February. Losing Banff. Being broke. Everything falling apart. All the heartache. Then miracles happening, hope, life getting better. The months of pregnancy -- a rollercoaster of highs and lows. Labour and delivery. The pain and fear and joy. Meeting my baby. The scary first few days trying to care for her. Seeing her smile the first time. Looking into her eyes. Sometimes I'm overcome with emotion. I can't believe it all happened. Sometimes I just need a good cry. It's like I can only hold it in so long and then I crack, the dam breaks and it all floods out. It's a release. A relief.

Some days it feels like an uphill battle. She poos and it leaks through the diaper and is all over her outfit and blanket. So I bathe her (which is quite an ordeal in itself with a little screaming on her part though she usually enjoys it at least partially. She never likes getting out.) Then when she's all clean and I'm putting the lotion on she pees/poos on the towel. "Really?!" It's so frustrating. I'm not about to bathe her again but it's disheartening to go through all that just to have her sitting in pee/poo again anyway. Although with 10 or more diaper changes a day it's not as though I can keep her pee/poo free for long! You just go through a ton of baby wipes and wash cloths to keep up.

There are times I think "This is hell!" and I don't know how I'll cope. Other times I manage to have a sense of humour about it. And then all of a sudden she'll surprise me and have a really good day -- sleeping better at night, not fussing so much during the day, letting me go through a grocery store or visit friends without screaming. Then there are the magical moments when I watch my little angel sleeping, when she smiles at me or stares at me wide-eyed, innocent and full of wonder. Those moments are worth anything. Even poo and screaming.

A public health nurse came to the house to see us. I guess it's standard practice when someone has a baby for them to send someone to make sure you're doing OK. It's a good idea. You never know. I mean you need to read a manual and take a written test and road test before they let you drive a car but you give birth to a fragile little human and they let you walk out of the hospital the next day without any sort of test! The biggest responsibility on the planet, caring for a baby and yet there is no test, no manual, no license. You just figure it out on your own. (Mind you the nurses did give a few pointers in the hospital. Some more helpful than others.) I remember one nurse, a cool one (I wish she had been my nurse the whole time instead of the scatterbrain that was dealing with me most of the time) saying "People think that babies are so fragile, that they're like eggs. But they're hard-boiled eggs. They're more resilient than you think." It was after she had shown me the proper way to breastfeed and it seemed a bit aggressive to me. She thought I wasn't aggressive enough. (I don't know why but this reminds me of the one time I went horseback riding. The trainer was telling me to kick the horse and I wouldn't. She warned me that I was "too nice" and the horse would be in control instead of me. I couldn't help it. I didn't want to kick the horse. "It doesn't hurt them," she reassured me, "they're tough and they're used to it." But I still couldn't do it. So of course while everyone else's horse was sauntering along obediently at a leisurely pace, mine was galloping ahead at breakneck speed, scaring me to death and doing as he pleased because I was too much of a wimp to take control. Nice guys finish last. Unless they're on a horse and then I guess I would have come in first with my wild out of control stallion!) OK this paragraph was supposed to be about the nurse and somehow I ended up on horses... I guess the point is (when it comes to animals or children) sometimes you have to take charge, to take control or they will run amok and drag you with them. Anyway, the nurse was very nice. I told her my tale (about the baby's father leaving etc.) She thought he was a monster and that I was very strong. She complimented me on the baby, on my home and said that I seem to be doing really well. It felt good to have a stranger come in and tell me that I'm doing the right things and have it all together. It was reassuring to have positive feedback, especially from an expert. It's easy to doubt yourself when it's all so new and when you have people throwing in their (often negative) two cents about what you "should" be doing.

I also had a very nice visit with a couple of friends, James and Amy, and Michelle was surprisingly good at their place. She was all smiles and in good spirits most of the time. She almost made a liar of me (they had heard about Michelle screaming and thought I was making it up) of course by the evening she was showing her dark colours again and started exercising her lungs until her face turned red. I took my cue and bid them good night. It was a treat to have a home cooked meal, a bathroom break (James held her while I went to the ladies room. Not always an option when I'm home! Sometimes I have to hold it indefinitely!) and people to talk to who are down to earth, relaxed and calm. It was a good vibe for Michelle and I to be around. So thanks guys! Amy made a beautiful Little Mermaid blanket for Michelle and cooked a nice dinner (which I inhaled ravenously!) James was hilarious as usual and even had Michelle smiling and laughing. Aside from her relatives she doesn't have a lot of men in her life (I don't plan to have one in my life for quite some time! I wouldn't have time anyway!) so it's nice for her to be around a nice one now and then.

 

I decided to brave the grocery store again (the same one she'd had her meltdown in before). I do have to eat after all! Miraculously she stayed asleep the whole time. I almost have it down to a science now though. Feed her. Wait half an hour. Change her diaper (a huge poo). Then she's still a bit fussy because she's tired and just about ready to fall asleep. That's the perfect moment to get her into the car. She falls asleep during the ride and then is still knocked out while in the shopping cart. She did start to fuss on the ride home. I crinkled some foil that my Mom had given me. For some reason the noise stops her crying and she goes back to sleep. Sometimes a noise is all it takes. A distraction. Entertainment.

And recently I learned that she loves dancing. I had the radio on a dance music station (I miss going dancing) and I had her in my arms because I was trying to lull her to sleep. I started dancing around with her. She loved it. She looked quite content. The more I bopped around and swayed back and forth, the happier she seemed. Before I knew it, she was out like a light. It's good exercise for me and entertains her so I think I'll be dancing a lot. She likes her swing too sometimes but other times it doesn't cut it. Sometimes I guess she just needs to be cuddled and carried. Needs to know that Mama is there.

She was also good as gold in Walmart. She stayed asleep the entire time and even when I was cashing out, she woke up but was still mellow and didn't cry. I was so relieved. I thought maybe she's turned a corner and is going to be good from here on out. But then she had a difficult night, fussing and inconsolable. It seems if she has a good night then she's fussy during the day and if she has a bad night she's good during the day. I guess it's too much to expect her to be happy and restful both day and night!

The summer is almost over and I was a little disappointed that we didn't get to the beach (other than my little backyard beach) this year but it is too soon. She's too young and fragile and being a pale blue eyed redhead her skin would be much too sensitive, vulnerable to the sun. You can't put sunscreen on a newborn. We'll have to wait until next year. I'm not really ready either. I'm hoping to be bikini ready by next year. I'm hoping to lose the "Mommy tummy." It has gotten a little smaller. I wish I could lose the stretch marks too. I hope they fade at least. I wanted to do a little beach photo shoot with Michelle so I improvised. I had these cute shades from Osh Kosh and adorable little sandals from Old Navy. I did have an adorable pink swimsuit that was supposed to fit 0-3 but it was way too small for her. She pretty much fits 3 month sized clothes now. She looked at me like "What the heck are you doing Mom?" Sorry baby. You live with the paparazzi! You're going to be in a LOT of photos! Everyone always says they grow so fast. I want to capture every moment.

When she gives me a hard time -- with seemingly endless poo and tears -- I can be grateful that she won't stay this way for long. Her stomach will grow and she'll be able to hold more food and poo less often. And hopefully she will learn that her needs are always met and she doesn't need to cry so much. But when she's a delight -- wide-eyed, sweet, smiling or just contentedly looking at me curiously and I look at her angelic little face and her tiny fingers and tiny toes, it makes me sad that she won't stay this way for long. She'll grow up and won't need me so much and maybe I'll look back at this time and think how lucky I was, even when she was screaming. 

She's one month old now! It's hard to believe a month has gone by already. It really has flown by. Even the really hard days. This time is so precious. It is more than just breastfeeding, changing diapers and soothing tears. It's about bonding. It's about love and patience. It's baby Michelle and I learning as we go. It's not easy, for either of us. She's discovering a whole new world that she's just entered. I'm figuring out how to be a Mom (a whole new world for me!) We both have a lot to learn. We'll figure it out together.

Breast Intentions: Navigating the Milky Way

Breastfeeding, I had decided very early in my pregnancy, was the only way to go. It is extremely healthy for the baby. Your own milk is perfectly balanced, filled with nutrients and antibodies they simply can't replicate in a formula. I've even heard that it can cure cancer! On top of that, it's free, always the perfect temperature and it's a wonderful bonding experience for you and your baby. What I hadn't anticipated was just how difficult it was going to be.

Many women had warned me that I might not be able to breastfeed. They told me their own stories about not having enough milk etc. I wasn't going to go into it with a defeatist attitude. I was going to give it my best no matter what. My sister had breastfed her children and never had a problem. I knew that my breasts had been preparing very early on. Almost my first symptom of pregnancy was that my breasts grew and felt tender.

I had read that the milk doesn't always come in right away but that your breasts produce a pre-milk substance called colostrum which is loaded with nutrients. I heard that a newborn baby's stomach is so small that they don't need a whole lot to eat and that the colostrum is enough. Some overzealous nurses try to get you to feed the baby formula but this sabotages the mother who wants to breastfeed because milk production is supply and demand. The more that is demanded, the more your body will supply. If baby isn't suckling, you won't make milk at all. This could be what happened with the women who were told they weren't producing milk.

So while I was in the hospital and a nurse brought a bottle of formula for me to give the baby, I didn't use it. I kept it, just in case, but I didn't plan to give it to my baby if I could avoid it. I saw this as a form of sabotage. I was determined to breastfeed.

The baby seemed to get a good latch right away. She was a natural! I couldn't believe the suction she had. The nurse called her a Dyson vacuum! None of the breastfeeding positions they showed me were comfortable. I didn't like the football position or cross cradle hold. There didn't seem to be a comfortable way to hold the baby to feed but I tried to follow instructions, cradling the baby's head with one hand, holding her body in with that arm and squeezing my breast with the other hand. I couldn't believe how much it hurt! I would have thought an innocent little baby would be gentle. She was a ravenous animal! My nipples were red, purple, black, scabbed and scarred. "She's giving you hickies!" one nurse said "That's why you have to make sure she's latched on properly, onto the breast, not just the nipple." I couldn't believe a newborn could be that strong or have that much power in her jaws. It felt like she had teeth and was going to chew my nipples off! By the looks of them, she nearly did!

I kept nursing her even though it was hurting and even though I wasn't sure if she was actually getting anything. One of the nurses squeezed my nipple to show me that I do have colostrum and that I can use it to coat and soothe my sore nipples. I wasn't able to express any myself.

My doctor had suggested I visit the Breastfeeding Clinic for tips. Every new Mom struggles with it. Apparently 90% of women find breastfeeding difficult in the beginning. Many are so discouraged that they give up. I was not giving up. I set up an appointment to see them the day after I got home from the hospital.

I had been anxious to leave the hospital because I didn't get a wink of sleep there (between the duelling screaming babies and the father in the next bed snoring all night). What I didn't know is that I wouldn't get much sleep when I got home either.

I was staying with my sister in my nephew's old room. She was kind enough to let me stay with her before my delivery and for a while after so I wouldn't be alone. Thank God she was there to turn to or I may have lost my mind. The first day was a nightmare. The baby didn't sleep more than a few minutes the entire day. She just fed and cried and pooed and cried and fed and cried and pooed. I was completely drained. I would stagger downstairs and my sister would have a meal ready for me. Starving and dehydrated, I would eat and drink quickly, scarfing it down like a starving animal then go back upstairs to my baby vampire, sucking me dry. (Her father had joked about being a vampire. Maybe she is a little like him. Cute and tears me to shreds, yeah there are similarities...)

I had no idea how hard it would be. My nipples looked like a war zone. She actually drew blood. They were so sore I would wince in agony the entire time she was suckling but I didn't stop. I didn't give up. I wasn't even sure if she was getting anything but I kept trying. I spent the entire day in pain, on no sleep, feeding my little shark baby.

The next day I had my appointment at the breastfeeding clinic. I didn't know how hard it is to make an appointment with a newborn. I had her all ready, buckled into the carseat when I heard a gurgling sound, she began to cry and I knew that she had pooed. So I had to unbuckle, undress and change her and start all over again.

"Wow! You made it in good time!" they said when I came in five minutes late.

I was pretty frazzled. One of the women took me off into a curtained corner to talk. She was going to weigh the baby before and after feeding. After weighing Michelle, she told me that the baby had lost too much weight. Babies are allowed to lose up to 10% of their birth weight but more than that is a red flag. Apparently my baby had lost more than 10%. I argued that she was a big baby to start with. It's not like she was a 6 pound baby and went down to 5. She was an over 9 pound baby who went down to 8, still a very healthy weight. She didn't even fit any of the newborn clothes. I had to put her in 0-3 month outfits (thank goodness I thought to pack some just in case). They said that the baby was dehydrated. They wanted to give her formula. I was reluctant. I told them my fears -- that giving formula was admitting defeat, that I wouldn't be able to produce milk if she was dependent on formula, that I knew other people who were discouraged from breastfeeding and I didn't want it to happen to me. But I finally caved. I couldn't let my baby starve.

I cried. I felt like a failure, a bad Mom. I was trying to do the right thing. I spent an entire day feeding my baby, physically and emotionally spent, my nipples ripped apart, and then they tell me that it's not enough, that she's starving, that I can't feed her. I was devestated. My milk hadn't even come in yet. It was just colostrum. It was supposed to be enough. I'd read that it was enough for the first few days until the milk comes in. The woman tried to console me. She said that I had done the right thing by feeding so much, that doing so would stimulate my breasts to produce more milk so that when my milk did come in it would be strong. She said not to get discouraged, that 75% of women need to supplement with formula in the beginning, that I'm not a failure. She also suggested I get a breast pump. They just happened to sell one there, hospital-grade for $400. $400?! "Are you on crack?!" I almost asked. I explained that being a single Mom on a tight budget that that's not a possibility. She suggested renting one. Ummm. Certain things I'd rather not share with strangers. A machine that extracts bodily fluids would have to be at the top of the list! I was getting angry. I could overhear other clients in other corners talking with the women. It was starting to feel like a cult. It reminded me of a time I went to a scrapbooking party and they try to bully you into ordering their expensive equipment. "But I can get scrapbooks and paper and stickers at the dollar store that don't cost $1000!"

When she saw my nipples the woman at the clinic shook her head and said "You poor thing." She tried to show me how to get a good latch. After having the formula, just as I had feared, my baby rejected me. When I tried to bring her to my breast, she pushed me away. I was heartbroken. Now that the evil boob Nazis ("No boob for you!" -- if you're not a Seinfeld fan just ignore this, it won't make sense unless you've seen the soup Nazi episode) had given my baby formula, she wouldn't settle for me and my empty boobs. How can they call themselves a breastfeeding clinic when they deliberately sabotage you so that you can't breastfeed?! I was bitter. I was devestated.

They had paged a doctor to check out the baby and make sure she was OK. The doctor was taking his sweet time. They needed my curtained corner for another client so I was shuffled off to the waiting room with hard plastic seats. There were two waiting rooms. "Which one would you prefer?" a woman asked. "One where no one is, but I guess that's not an option." I was in tears and a mess and wanted to be alone. The guy in the room took his cue and left. I sat on a hard plastic chair for 2 hours (with a sore butt and stitches from an episiotomy I might add!) waiting for the doctor to come. I hadn't had breakfast. I wasn't expecting the appointment to take this long. I was getting more frustrated by the minute. I finally threatened to leave so they paged the doctor again and he finally showed up. He had a student with him who was reading questions off a clip board. Some of them she was asking me twice which was getting on my nerves. She kept going on about jaundice (quite a few people had mentioned jaundice. They were obsessed with it.) Everyone commented how pink Michelle was, that at least she wasn't jaundiced. OK. Why keep going on about it? The doctor said that she did seem very healthy. She was just a bit dehydrated but if I supplemented with formula until my milk came in she should be OK. I fell apart in front of the doctor. I told him I was hanging by a thread. Felt like I was going to have a breakdown. I had no idea it was going to be this hard. Who knew labour was the easy part?!

The doctor told me that everything I was going through, everything I was feeling, was normal. This is what new mothers trying to breastfeed grapple with. And it's not easy. He showed me some things to do to comfort the baby when she was crying. He lifted her up and down, in my opinion rather aggressively -- like a ride at Wonderland! -- and made a shushing noise. He explained that newborns like this kind of noise and movement because it mimicks the sounds and sensations of being in the womb. He swaddled her in the blankets, tight as a mummy and said that restricting their arms and legs is comforting to them because they were so enclosed in the womb that it makes them feel safe. He said that it would get better, easier.

The woman from the clinic gave me a feeding plan and a box of sample formula bottles. She said she knew that I was angry with her but that she was just trying to help. I told her I was just angry with the situation and frustrated. I never wanted to go back to the clinic again as long as I lived but I agreed to return the next day. She tried again to sell me their super fancy breast pump. I said I'd think about it.

I talked to my sister about it. She'd never used formula or a breast pump. I called my Mom. She had to use a breast pump in the beginning with one of my brothers. She said not to invest a lot of money in something I'd probably only need at the start and for emergencies. She was pretty sure I could get one at Walmart a lot cheaper. I decided to check it out. Good old Walmart. I got an electric breast pump regularly $60, on sale for $50. I was afraid to use it. What if it didn't work? What if I didn't have any milk?

I read the instructions. It mentioned that a hot shower may stimulate milk production. It said to relax and think of your baby. I finally got up the nerve to give it a go. It felt a little strange putting the rubber cone around my breast and turning the vacuum on. It made a little buzzing noise. It didn't hurt really, not the way the baby chewing on me did at least, it was just a bit uncomfortable. At first I was worried nothing was happening. I couldn't see any milk. But then, miraculously, I saw the container start to fill up with a strange yellow liquid. I managed to pump 50 ml from my breasts. I told my sister about it being yellow. She said that breast milk isn't pure white and plus this could be my transitional milk from colostrum to regular milk. I was just happy that I actually was producing milk. The baby lapped up every drop of my milk from the bottle. I was supplementing with the formula as per the feeding plan. She was still feeding from me, not rejecting me anymore.

I finally found a breastfeeding position that was comfortable -- lying down, like a mother cat with her kitten. It was so comfortable that both baby and me fell asleep contentedly. It was the most restful few hours of my life.

When I went back to the clinic, they were impressed. Baby had gained a lot of weight. They joked about her eating a sub in the middle of the night. I had a different woman dealing with me this time thankfully and she was much more helpful, encouraging. She also introduced me to possibly the greatest invention a new Mom could ever find -- a nipple shield! A little rubber nipple with holes that fits over your own nipple, so baby can suck on that and save your real nipples from the pain. It was amazing! I had become a human bottle! Now it would be easy to transition her between my breast and a bottle filled with pumped milk and a bottle of formula (just for emergencies.)

I was so relieved. My milk had come in strong now. I was even leaking through my clothes. My cups were overflowing. My already large breasts had become enormous. Baby was feeding well, was actually sleeping sometimes and with my handy nipple shield, my nipples were healing again. Baby was happy. I was happy.

When I went to the doctor she said that Michelle was doing very well. She had already regained her birth weight a week later (usually it takes 10-14 days). She was pink and healthy and strong and feeding well. Everything looked great. I returned to the clinic quite pleased to show them how well baby was doing (and that I didn't need to buy their $400 pump to make it happen.) Now she was only getting my milk and was still doing very well. They weighed her before and after feeding and said that she was getting at least 25 ml from each breast at a feeding.

It's still not easy. I have good days and bad. Some days it seems she just feeds for a minute and falls asleep, then wakes up still hungry and cries and this goes on all day. It's a challenge. When I'd give her a bottle (of formula or pumped breast milk) it struck me how much easier it was. She can drink so fast from a bottle and I know how much she's getting. So she's full and content and then can sleep. When it's at my breast, it's more time-consuming, she gets lazy or tired and falls asleep and I don't know how much she's gotten and she doesn't sleep as well or as long. So what do you do? Do you do the right thing or the easy thing? I know that breastfeeding is the right thing to do, but it's so time-consuming, so draining, so difficult. I can see why women get frustrated, disheartened and give up. But I am not giving up. I've heard that it will get easier. At least I have my nipple guard (I even got an extra one as a backup because if I lost this thing I'd go insane!) and I know that I can always pump milk as well (which is handy to have when you need to go out and need to be able to feed her quickly.) I even got some storage bags so I can keep my milk in the fridge.

It's kind of surreal. Sometimes I feel like a walking dairy farm or feeding machine. It seems to be all I do now. I feed the baby, every couple of hours, sometimes every hour. I feed her, I change her, I wait for her to fall asleep for a few moments so I can run around and do the laundry and everything else I have to do. I'm exhausted, drained. It feels like I'm giving her everything and there's nothing left for me. Of course there are advantages to breastfeeding for Mom too. It helps to shrink your uterus back to its normal size sooner. It helps you to lose weight (it burns 500-700 calories a day!) I've already lost 30 lbs and that's without exercise. Hopefully the next 30 comes off that easily. I will start to exercise when the doctor says it's safe. Hopefully I'm able to find the time. I don't mind the new boobs. I'd like to keep them and lose the tummy. I guess I'll have to see how it goes.

It is hard to find time to write. I started this blog about my baby journey and don't want to stop now, but I really had no idea how much work a newborn is. I couldn't have imagined what I was getting into. My time is not my own anymore. I live for her, to cater to her every need and sacrifice my own needs. Sometimes it's a challenge just to steal a few seconds to run to the bathroom or grab a bite to eat so I don't pass out from dehydration. Somehow, miraculously I manage to find a few minutes here and there to type a few thoughts and eventually post my blog when it seems done. I apologize if I let more typos slip through. I don't have as much time to proofread and edit! I need to write. It's important to me, to share my thoughts and experiences as I go through this journey. This is sustenance for my soul.

There are times when I'm so utterly depleted I don't know how I'll go on. It feels like I'm falling apart and there's nothing left. Times when she screams because she's hungry or needs to be changed (again) or is just tired (that makes two of us, baby!) She's a little drama queen already. My Mom jokes that it's because she's a redhead, that she will be as moody and demanding as I was. My Mom says that the trade-off was that I was brilliant. She says I was extremely easy to potty train because I couldn't bear to be uncomfortable for one instant. My baby appears to be the same. The instant her diaper is soiled, she lets you know. This is part of the reason that girls are easier to potty train than boys generally. Boys don't always mind being dirty. Girls like to be clean. I wanted a girl. They are definitely higher maintenance!

Then there are magical moments, when I look at her wide blue eyes and she is so beautiful and so sweet. Her tiny hands, her little round cheeks, her pink lips. I love her so much that I would go through anything for her. I will go without sleep or food. I will give up my whole life to care for her. I will even let her bite my nipples off if I have to. I just didn't know how hard it would be. It's not what I expected, but then nothing has been. You just don't know until you're in it what it's really like. It's a rollercoaster that soars higher and dips lower than any ride I've ever been on.

She smiles and suddenly all is right in the world. It's worth whatever I have to go through. They say that babies aren't even supposed to smile yet but she does. And I know it's not "just gas" like they try to say. She smiles when I say I love you or tickle her cheek. Sometimes she even smiles and laughs in her sleep. She is my little angel, even though she can be a screaming demon sometimes! I want to do all the right things for her. Even when it's not easy. Being a Mom really is the hardest job in the world and the most rewarding. I had heard people say that so many times before but I never really appreciated what it meant until now.