Updated: May 6, 2021
Originally Published: Dec. 23, 2020
Courtesy of Jessica Lane
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Nourishment is Key
Nourishment is key. Nourishment is key. If breastfeeding doesn’t go as planned — that’s alright! Nourishment is key! This was my mantra until my little one arrived, and then it became NOURISHMENT IS BREAST! BREAST IS KEY! I was fixated on the desire to breastfeed and provide my baby with my body’s natural source of nutrition. Unfortunately, our journey was riddled with challenges.
Early Challenges
From the start, our latch was problematic. Hospital lactation consultants were taken aback by my baby’s strong grip. After bringing my son home, he began vomiting blood—my blood—from my cracked, sore nipples.
As we struggled through breastfeeding attempts, my son’s birth weight of 6.8 pounds continued to drop. We practically lived at the pediatrician’s office during those early days. Each visit left me in tears as his weight percentile fell. Worried for his health, I embarked on the trifecta of feeding: breastfeeding, pumping, and bottle-feeding. I aimed to boost my supply and provide him with more calories. I was advised to pump after every feeding. Since my little one wasn’t getting enough nutrition from breastfeeding, we fed him every 1-1.5 hours, totaling up to 12 pumping sessions a day.
Medical Concerns
We held onto hope that a tongue-tie procedure would transform our experience, making my baby a proficient breast feeder. Then came mastitis, a nightmare for nursing mothers. Yet, this infection appeared not in my new ample breasts (finally a size B!) but in the swollen bud of my son’s left breast. In a panic, we rushed him to the local Children’s Hospital ER following another tearful pediatrician visit.
In addition to mastitis, our son developed two other concerning infections on his limbs. The ER doctors feared a systemic infection and wanted to perform a spinal tap to rule it out. It had been hours since his last bottle feed, and I didn’t have a pump with me. My limited breastfeeding during this traumatic experience didn’t hydrate him. Both spinal taps were unsuccessful.
Embracing Pumping
After a harrowing 36 hours at the Children’s Hospital, I began my exclusive relationship with a breast pump. No latch required—just two flanges, two duckbill valves, two backflow protectors, tubing, a pump, and an electrical outlet. This glorified vacuum reliably filled bottles to feed my baby.
I mourned the loss of my ideal vision of breastfeeding. I felt anger towards myself for not having the fortitude to keep trying, and illogically, I was frustrated with my baby for having a poor latch. I envied friends who seemed to breastfeed seamlessly, while I had to connect myself to a machine and sit in confinement.
Exclusively pumping was not what I had envisioned, but it was my reality, and I was determined to be the best pumper ever! I invested in all the accessories—silicone flanges, hacks to pump into bottles, and scoured my local Buy Nothing Facebook group for storage bags. I purchased a massager that looked suspiciously like a vibrator to tackle clogged ducts. Each session lasted a full 30 minutes until my once dark nipples (or mocha choca lattes, as my husband fondly called them) transformed into pink, elongated versions of their former selves.
My sessions yielded anywhere from 11 to 18 ounces, solidifying my status as a certified milking machine. “Moo I’m a Mom” by Doja Cat became my personal anthem. Finding a chest freezer to store my liquid gold during the COVID era was a challenge, but I eventually found one lone dented freezer to protect my stash.
Struggles with Weight
Proud of my pumping success, I didn’t mind the countless hours spent pumping, sterilizing, and preparing bottles. I walked into the pediatrician’s office with confidence, convinced my little one would finally be thriving! Ironically, despite my ample milk supply and his seven-ounce bottles, he had dropped to the 1st percentile in weight. Apparently, my body only produced skim milk.
Now I felt I had failed at breastfeeding and continued to struggle with nourishing my child. Despite my initial resistance to formula, I had no choice but to begin supplementing. I grieved all over again, reliving feelings of inadequacy. However, as my son began to gain weight and develop adorable wrist rolls, my concerns faded, replaced with gratitude for the magic of Enfamil.
Conclusion
Over six months later, after two months of gradual weaning, I completed my final pumping session. I carefully folded my teal hands-free pumping bra, sterilized my flanges one last time, and gazed at the last 1.5 ounces my remarkably long nipples would yield for my firstborn. As I looked at my pump, I felt an unexpected wave of sadness. Reflecting on our challenging journey—dead batteries, forgotten flanges, broken tubes, clogged ducts, and milk blebs—I found myself mourning the end of this chapter.
Despite my desire to end my relationship with this device, we had shared a long and arduous journey together. I allowed myself to acknowledge these unexpected emotions and sat with them on the couch… with my Spectra.
Further Reading
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Summary:
In my journey of exclusive pumping, I faced numerous challenges, from a poor latch to mastitis. Despite my commitment to breastfeeding, I found myself relying on a pump to nourish my son. While I initially struggled with feelings of inadequacy and disappointment, I gradually embraced pumping and found success. Ultimately, my experience taught me resilience and gratitude for the support of formula as I navigated motherhood.
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