“I had such an easy newborn.” This phrase has echoed around me countless times. As I approach six years of motherhood, I remain perplexed by what an “easy day” truly means. When my second son was just a month old, I found myself in a coffee shop, tears streaming down my face. I dusted off an empty journal, the stark exposed brick of the café contrasting sharply with my cloudy thoughts. I longed for clarity, for the magic of motherhood I had envisioned—a tiny baby nursing peacefully, dozing in my arms. Instead, I found myself staring at my neglected coffee, grappling with the harsh reality of my situation.
My first son entered the world on a rainy January day in 2015, and for a full two weeks, we barely set him down. We took turns napping, sometimes horizontal, sometimes vertical, with our little bundle in our arms. I imagined serene newborn photo shoots, with sleepy babies arranged like owls and mermaids. But my newborn was anything but serene. When we tried to lay him down, he erupted into furious, silent sobs, his tiny fists flailing in frustration. He was only calmed by being held or fed, and we offered both non-stop, feeling increasingly angry and hopeless.
I fed him with a latch that every nurse had praised, feeding him as often as he demanded—which sometimes stretched to two or three hours. My nipples cracked and bled, but we persisted in survival mode, oblivious to how much weight he was losing. We selected a Family Practice to care for us, skipping the pediatric bells and whistles. Our compassionate physician was the first to realize something was off. We later discovered, much too late, that our baby was two pounds under his birth weight due to a miscalibrated scale. That oversight still weighs heavily on me.
Eventually, we were referred to a lactation consultant. Walking into her sterile basement office, I felt frazzled and scared. We weighed my son together, and my heart shattered as the numbers flashed on the screen. I felt branded with words like “failure” and “inadequate.” Mary, the consultant, looked into my eyes filled with tears and assured me, “You are a wonderful mother, and we’re going to get your baby fed.” We introduced formula to his diet, and for the first time in nearly two weeks, he slept soundly—something I had longed to witness.
Over the next few weeks, I worked with Mary, supplementing his feeding with formula while we tried to improve my breastfeeding situation. It turned out my son was only transferring .3 ounces of milk per session. I pumped tirelessly for months, trying to overcome this perceived failure. We eventually learned that he had a form of tongue tie, which would require a complicated procedure far away. I decided against it and instead focused on making the best of our situation.
As my milk supply dwindled, I found myself torn between pride and shame. I’d give him whatever breast milk I could muster before supplementing with formula. I felt a constant tug-of-war inside me, relaxing as he gulped my milk but tensing with each sip of formula. I now understand that formula saved my child, but the shame I felt was deep and irrational. I searched for validation from other mothers, hoping to find someone who shared my struggle, but it only left me feeling more isolated.
During a reflective afternoon at the coffee shop, I recognized the same patterns with my second son. Determined not to repeat the past, we sought support early on. Despite our efforts, we were back to pumping. This time, I resolved not to get bogged down by shame. I put away the pump and embraced other ways to nourish my baby, allowing myself to grieve the loss of breastfeeding.
One summer afternoon, I sat with my youngest son, savoring a quiet moment. At four months old, he latched on for a brief nursing session, his sparkling eyes filled with distraction. Watching him smile, I felt my grief transform into warmth and connection. In that moment, I knew I wouldn’t breastfeed again.
This experience has shaped my understanding of motherhood and nourishment, revealing the complexities and challenges many face. If you’re interested in exploring more about the journey of pregnancy and home insemination, consider checking out this post on acrophobia, or learn about fertility solutions at Make A Mom. For a deeper dive into the IVF process, this resource is highly informative.
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Summary:
The author shares her journey with breastfeeding and the emotional struggles she faced as a new mother. After a difficult experience with her first son, she sought help and learned the importance of nourishment, both physically and emotionally. With her second child, she approached breastfeeding differently, choosing to let go of shame and embrace alternatives that prioritized her and her baby’s well-being.
Keyphrase: breastfeeding challenges
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