It's official. I am no longer a breastfeeding mother. My darling boy and I had our last feed on Monday night {sob}.
I was lucky enough to be able to feed all our babes. Twelve and a half months for each of them. And while they would have been happy to continue past that calendar counter, even if only for another few months, maybe longer, who knows, I felt it was the best time to wind things up. I have gone from feeding to pregnant to feeding to pregnant to feeding. And now I am just me again. No me + one. But there's not much of me. And that is part of the reason I decided to wean Eliot the same time as his brother and sister. Part of me wanted to keep that nightly feed going for a few months, but he was already telling me he didn't really need it.
Around the 9/10 month mark with each of them, I have looked thin. Very thin. I am naturally thin, a fast metabolism I guess. By their birthdays, even before, I am weighing in under 60kg. And I'm 5'9". And I eat. A lot. And I don't mean
a lot of bowls of salad. I mean carbs. Substantial fill your belly up kinda stuff. And I have a sweet tooth. Not for lollies, for cake and biscuits. It's a sad day when the biscuit jar is empty. That's why I don't let it happen very often.
Ruby was a champion feeder. Once she arrived, within sixty seconds she was at the breast and camped there for nearly two hours. I never had a problem with any part of feeding with her. When I met my mums group for the first time, I realised how rare this was. Almost all of these women {now very close friends} told their stories of horror beginnings of sore, cracked, bleeding nipples. Tearful two hourly feeds. Babies who wouldn't attach. Expressing all hours of the day and night. To be honest, I couldn't really understand. Why did I have it so easy and they seemed to be going through hell? Then Cole arrived. And I understood.
Cole decided to make his grand entrance two and a half weeks early. I had a tear in my placenta and there was blood in the liquor when my obstetrician had to break my waters, less than ten minutes before he was born, fully dilated. It is quite rare, and my OB believed it had happened within the previous 48 hours which was what forced the early labour. Cole was little. He fed from me for ten days before he wouldn't attach. The morning he wouldn't attach, I had already expressed a bottle, for comfort. It was as if my body knew what was coming before
I did.
Looking back, I knew things were different during those first few days. It was hours before he wanted to be at the breast after birth. He was exhausted from his big, speedy debut. He wasn't an eager feeder the way Ruby had been and he couldn't drain me the way she could. Of course I had enough milk for three babies, not just one. I expressed every feed for nearly three weeks, had a couple of visits from a lactation consultant, did a few breastfeeding clinics at my hospital (why? what the hell for? I had done this all before? what was wrong with me?), to try and get him back at the breast. The frustration I felt during this time, I struggle to put into words. And if you've been there, you will know what I mean. I never understood how mothers could try breastfeeding for a week, give up and go to the bottle. But then I had Cole. And I understood. I still remember hubby saying to me after another tearful feeding attempt,
it's okay, just bottle feed him. I'm sorry,
what? Do you not know me
at all? More tears.
My hospital is a pro-breastfeeding hospital. The clinics I did were wonderful.
Wonderful. The midwives they have there supporting you must be chosen on the strictest of qualifications and standards. Including their personality. These women were made for the job. And within minutes of being in their care for the first time, they put you at ease. Gentle words and caring gestures. A belief that, yes, your baby
will attach again. You
will be successfully breastfeeding again. Soon,
very soon. Now I don't call three weeks
soon. It was the
longest fucking three weeks of my life. But they were right. So bloody right. The midwives believed his sucking reflex hadn't developed properly as this is one of the last things to develop before baby arrives, full term. But I definitely give credit where it's due and I absolutely believe that Cole was able to attach again after a {according to the midwives} short time, because of the
Medela Special Needs Feeder. They are crazy expensive from a chemist, but cheaper to buy direct from the hospital. We paid $30. Some chemists charge $90! This bottle has an extra long teet and a tricky system where the milk only flows from the bottle when baby sucks for it. Like a breast. Most regular bottles will allow a small amount of milk to flow without baby sucking, therefore they have to do very little work to get the milk. The Special Needs Feeder makes baby work like they are at the breast, and in doing so, encourages them back to the breast, because of the similar mechanism.
It was eight weeks before Cole and I were a team. Before we had tear-free feeds (from me, not him). Feeds that felt the way they should. Like nothing. Because that's what breastfeeding feels like. And I don't mean the feelings on the inside. Your heart is bursting every time you draw that sweet baby delight to your breast, to fill them up and make them all drunk and dreamy. I mean the nothing feeling around your nipples. When attachment is perfect and that gentle gulp and nasal breath is all you can hear. A tiny, gentle hand playing with your necklace or just feeling your skin.
Failure was not an option for me. {And I don't use the word
failure to piss off any of you lovely readers and friends who were in a similar situation and unable to get baby to breast, or successfully feeding. This is how
I felt. My view about
my journey.
My struggle. We all do what we have to do.} I had fed Ruby. And I had loved doing it. I knew what it was like to breastfeed my baby. The closeness you feel, to be their lifeline. To have moments in your day, just for you two. If I had struggled feeding Ruby the way I had with Cole, perhaps I would have given up. Perhaps I would have raised the white flag. Or maybe I would have been just as stubborn and carried on. I am grateful that's just a hypothetical. I knew what I would be missing if I raised that white flag with Cole. All those happy memories feeding Ruby, were like a shining beacon right at the end of a long, narrow tunnel. In the beginning it was weak and faint. But each day it grew a little brighter until one day, there was just light. All around. No tunnel.
We made it. And he never looked back.
And he made up for lost time. He porked up
fast.
Eliot looks like Ruby. The baby photos are freaky. He has done a lot of things just like she did as a baby. Including the feeding. This was my greatest relief after he was born. I had prepared myself for a repeat performance on the feeding front, but was ever so grateful that Eliot wanted to show his big brother and sister up, and be the best feeder of all. Which brings me back to the start. I can't be a healthy weight feeding into a second year. It just takes too much out of me. And to be constantly asked
are you okay? Are you sick? Is there something wrong? You look so thin! Like I don't own a mirror. With Ruby and Cole, I had stopped feeding to have my body back to myself for a little while before I would hand it over to the next baby. And, call me a bitch, but I like to cut them off before they can make a real song and dance about it. It's easier for me. It's easier for them. All of them weaned relatively easily and went straight to cow's milk. And they are all still champion milk drinkers.
Breastfeeding is such a personal thing. Some women choose not to feed at all, some desperately want to, but are unable to because of lack of milk, or unsuitable nipple shape, baby is too vigorous a feeder and it's simply too draining. Some women just don't like it. I still remember an old boss' wife announcing during a boob discussion that her breasts were for her husband. Not her children. She was
not a cow. Okay then. See ~ each to their own. The
Australian Breastfeeding Association recommends breastfeeding for the first two years of life. And if you can do that, I take my hat off to you. That second year just isn't for me.
I have loved breastfeeding. I have
not loved what it has done to my breasts. But I have loved it all the same. It's a bittersweet moment. That I am just me again, after four and half years. My little people don't need me in
that way anymore. It gives me a little more freedom. And the opportunity to wear normal bras again. Hurrah! But it's the tearful pulls on the heartstrings that remind me how fast they are growing up too. That my baby is no longer a baby. We are moving into that
next phase as a family. Today we delivered three applications. Two for school and one for kindy. {Lump in throat}
So it is with a heavy heart that I give my thanks for this week's gratefulness. But I know there will be plenty of light, joyful hearts, taking the time to be grateful, joining the newly free
Maxabella for
Kidspot. And that should cheer me up.
