New mom far from a dairy queen
I’m not sure if it was reading about alleviating engorged breasts with boiled cabbage leaves, or the illustration of a woman drying her nipples with a hair dryer in Penelope Leach’s Your Baby & Child, but in my ninth month of pregnancy, I decided to put away all the reference books and take a wait- andsee approach to breastfeeding.
I was aware of the benefits, how it increases protection against ear and chest infections and diabetes, as well as the numerous health benefits for the mother. I planned to breastfeed for the first year, pumping milk for when I would be at university. It never occurred to me I might have difficulty. Duncan initially seemed to be feeding well and I had been assured before leaving the hospital that he had a good latch, but by the third day, as my colostrum was changing to mature milk, it became apparent that he wasn’t getting enough to eat even though I was feeding him for the better part of each and every hour. As the afternoon turned to evening, he became noticeably frustrated and the minute I’d take him off the breast, he would cry hysterically. As an experiment, I tried the electric pump — which sounded like a donkey braying — and only managed to coax out a couple drops of milk.
After 12 hours of unproductive feeding, Duncan was too tired to keep nursing yet too hungry to fall asleep. My husband Ken and I panicked and took him to the emergency department where a nurse gave him a bottle of formula, which he downed while we watched and wept — exhausted, but relieved.
I was determined not to give up, so I spent every day of the following week at a breastfeeding clinic run by Toronto Public Health. The moment I walked in, I felt an instant bond with the other new moms struggling to breastfeed their babies. It was reassuring to know it’s normal to feel overwhelmed and, at times, a little crazy when you are a first- time mother with a newborn. The nurses offered moral support and made many suggestions. I tried the milk- producing herbal supplements from the blessed thistle and fenugreek plants, compressions ( squeezing my breasts while nursing — ouch!), pumping and finally a lactation aid, in which one end of a tube goes into a bottle of formula or pumped breast milk and the other goes into the baby’s mouth while he’s breastfeeding. It may work for some, but it made me feel like I was changing the oil in a car. One nurse suggested I take a “ honeymoon” with Duncan and spend the whole weekend breastfeeding in bed, to promote skin- to- skin contact and encourage milk production and feeding. Again, this may appeal to some, but I’m the kind of person who really likes to bathe and get dressed each morning. The thought of hanging out in my pyjamas all weekend wasn’t terribly appealing. I was also beginning to feel like too many people had looked at my breasts and squeezed my nipples, even if they were trying to help.
I’m all for a woman’s right to breastfeed wherever she pleases and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the female breast, but I needed to regain control over my body, especially coming out of the hospital where it felt like half of East York had seen my backside. I decided to risk the so- called “ nipple confusion” and put Duncan on a regular routine of breast and formula feedings, so that he would get breast milk without going hungry.
Although I told myself I had done my best, I was wracked with guilt that somehow I had failed my baby, even though several mothers I have since spoken to tell of midnight runs to pick up formula. It seemed like everywhere I went I found myself being taunted by posters and brochures advocating breastfeeding and I found myself having to explain to people why I was feeding Duncan by bottle. After Duncan’s pediatrician told me it wasn’t worth it if breastfeeding was so difficult that I wasn’t able to enjoy my new child, I realized I had been so caught up in the anxiety of feeding him that his first two weeks had whizzed by with little pleasure for either of us.
In the end, there was no nipple confusion and the stress was replaced with the pleasure of spending time with my contented, chubby-cheeked baby. My only dilemma was what to do while both hands were being used to breastfeed. The thought of looking after the baby by myself was a bit daunting, but when Ken returned to work, I found that each day things got a little easier, despite the sleep deprivation.
I started out with embarrassingly minuscule daily accomplishments. The first thing I did was shave my legs, which really made me feel like a natural woman. By the end of the week I was taking Duncan for long stroller walks and even picking up groceries along the way.
After all the child- care books I had looked at, I found the most useful advice came from mothers I knew who offered simple words of wisdom such as: put the baby in the car seat and take him into the bathroom if you want to bathe, keep receiving blankets handy because they’re multi-purpose, don’t feel that you have to amuse the baby constantly and my sister’s cardinal rule: if the baby is sleeping, do not wake him, even if he’s making odd, squeaky noises. The following week I returned to York. It was the first time since Duncan’s birth that I hadn’t been with him and although it was nice knowing that he’d be with his dad, it felt strange to walk down the street by myself. I missed Duncan so much, yet I enjoyed the normalcy of being in class and the freedom of riding the subway. So far I’ve been able to keep up with the readings and research, but the true test will be whether or not I can write essays to deadline and be prepared for exams. Having recently “graduated” from the six- week postpartum period, I am trying to push myself a little further each day. Still, I have found myself trying to return university books to the public library and riding subway trains in the wrong direction, so I’m beginning to wonder just how well I’m juggling everything. The main thing is that Duncan is thriving ( he’s already beefed up to more than 13 pounds) and is extremely contented, which his newfound smiles attest to. I’m looking forward to every stage of his development. Watch for the third instalment in our occasional series covering the trials and tribulations of first-time parenthood by Toronto freelancer Erin Hawkins, who gave birth to 8-pound, 12-ounce Duncan on Aug. 24, 2005 after 36 hours of labour.