When Are Your Parents Going to Pick You Up?

I've always loved children. I like to play and be silly. I love to teach them new things. I love that soon their parents will be coming to pick them up.

I remember those first few days and first few weeks with my newborn son. The days seemed like they would never end. He was a good baby. It was me, it wasn't him. I'm an only child and used to the world revolving around me. I wasn't spoiled. My mom was a single Mom and we had just what we needed, but I wasn't used to having to spend every minute concerned about someone else's needs. Everyday was about breastfeeding, playing, changing diapers, taking a walk outside. I could barely do anything else. No time for showers, peeing, eating and certainly no sleep. It is true that as the days pass you fall more and more in love with your child. This is a mechanism designed by God to ensure that we don't kill our young like other species do. Everyday I looked into his eyes I loved him more and more but for those first few days; Day turned into night and night into day. I just kept going as if somehow I knew that soon his parents would come and pick him up.

Boob Job

Boob job. You may need one after years of breastfeeding, but I'm not talking about the surgical procedure. I mean, your boobs will be your full time job. Before my son was born I was really scared of the whole breastfeeding thing. I couldn't possible imagine that milk would be able to come out of these things and could you imagine how much force that would take. I was not looking forward to it. While I was pregnant I was literally nauseated every time I though about it. I mean it. I thought about breastfeeding and I would almost loose my lunch.

Although it was not my idea of a nice afternoon, I decided that I would make the sacrifice and do it. I knew that the health benefits outweighed my apprehension. I took the classes and watched the videos. As soon as my son had made the journey down the canal and out of my body and as soon as he was clean the midwife wanted to attach him to me. The first latch was not so bad, I was feeling pretty good about myself but a little queasy.

A few hours later I was ready to go home and care for a newborn. The first few days you are actually not producing and milk just colostrum, although the worlds best super food, not as filling as a full meal. He would not stop crying. I would move him from one boob to the next with no luck. After being indoctrinated by my midwife, I was determined not to give him formula or have him drink from a baby bottle to prevent nipple confusion. I was exhausted and delirious. My husband kept suggesting formula. I kept trying to stay strong. I gave in sometime around 1am and my husband drove to his brother's house to pick some up. I felt so guilty. I had let my son down. I wasn't enough for him.

All of this started a downward spiral for my breastfeeding confidence. My son was hungry every 45 minutes and didn't seem to be satisfied. I kept thinking that I wasn't producing enough milk. Everyone assured me that I was making enough and this was normal. I moved him from one boob to the other non-stop. I wasn't even wearing a top all day. I felt like one big boob. I ate with him on my boob. I tried not to get any crumbs on him. I kept them full of Lanolin to sooth the redness and pain. He wasn't gaining any weight and and he seemed dehydrated. I would keep going back to my midwife and they would weigh him before and after feedings. Soon we realized that it was me. I was only producing 1 and half ounces from both boobs. I tried milk thistle drops, Malta, oatmeal water, teas, malted beer, but nothing worked. I started supplementing with formula and felt like a failure. I didn't think it was fair that I was so committed but couldn't do what I had set out to do.

I slowly gave in and decided to stop the guilt and just do what was right for my son. I kept putting him to the breast for six months and supplemented in between with formula. This worked for us. I kept this going all of this time because it is the minimum time needed for both of us to gain the health benefits. After all that pain and suffering we were going to stay with it.

At six months he had really lost interest in the boobs and started trying to bite me. That was my cue. I think after all of that, breastfeeding was worth it, but the guilt was not. Not producing enough milk did not make me less of a mother and doing what was right for my son's health was all that truly mattered.