The Early Days of Motherhood, part four

Part One
Part Two
Part Three

My Boy was born March, 12, 2001. From the beginning I knew in my heart I was going to bottle-feed.

My Hubby knew it too. He wanted me too. He knew what my past experience had done to me.

I didn't even try to nurse.

I had some very pro-nursing nurses in the hospital that questioned my decision and tried to get me to change. I didn't budge.

After about 3 weeks home with our second child, something new began.

COLIC.

No sleep for baby. No sleep for mom and dad.

Crampy, gassy, fussy, sleep-deprived baby. Crazed mom.

For the love of all that is good in the world, why didn't you nurse? See what YOU've done?!

At this point there was no way I was going to attempt to go backwards and take my son off formula and try and "charge up" my breasts to nurse.

It can happen. It's about supply with demand. Breast economics.

Not going to happen for me.

We tried soy, Nutramigen, Alimentum, lactose-free. Burping over the shoulder, burping across the knee, burping bent at the stomach.

Swirling the bottle vs. shaking it. Burping after 1 oz. Burping after 1/2 oz. I even burped a few times, but it didn't help him.

Gas drops in the bottle. More water. Less milk at a sitting. Sleeping propped up.

Short from standing on my head while feeding him, nothing helped.

Deep within me depression reared it's head. Post-partum or not. Because of the bottle feeding issues or because of the colic, it began...again.

Mother-failure.

Time went by and finally, thanks to Yaya and going against all that was right with child-rearing, we put My Boy to bed on his stomach.

GASP. That's not right, all the books say.... all the experts say..... everyone knows that that is taboo. Well, my mom's view was that I grew up sleeping on my stomach and I'm okay. We tried it.

Just that slight pressure on My Boy's tummy worked wonders. Of course our crib monitor was nearly tucked in his diaper every night to keep tabs on his safety, but he was sleeping. He wasn't as whiny, and less gassy.

So I'm the non-nursing mother who puts her kid to sleep against the rules.

Rebel.

Will all of this continue to affect my life 10 years later. Yes. And no.

Am I different from normal moms? Yes and no.

Am I worse than a normal mom? No.

Did I go against the grain? Yes and no.

Will I always feel judged? Yes.

Do I care anymore? No, not really. I cared enough to write about it. To heal my heart. To possibly connect to someone else who felt the same way. I worried about the comments. But, I shouldn't. This is MY story. It can't be told any other way.

Did I nurse my 3rd child? No. And, finally I don't regret a minute of it. It doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things. My love for them always has been the truest of feelings that cannot be affected by something so trivial.

The First Days of Motherhood, part three

Part One
Part Two

So that first outing with baby was a doozy, well at least for me.

You get the oohing and aahhing and then one peek at a bottle and POOF!

The nosiness kicks in.

The common sense filters are shut off.

People say the RUDEST things.

Oh are you bottlefeeding? Translation: You are giving your baby poison.

What happened, couldn't you nurse? Um, excuse me, STRANGER, none of your beeswax.

You know that nursing is healthier for the baby, it gives them so many more antibodies!! Really, I hadn't read that in all 200 books I'd read.

You were one of THOSE. Well, ship me off to Exile Island.

Sure, all the sarcasm was in my head. All I could do was bow my head in shame and just pray that my daughter's health was going to be okay regardless of my worthless milk-makers.

And, that praying didn't help.

The more I was exposed to friends, family, strangers, the more stories I heard.

The all my kids just couldn't get enough of the boob stories don't help at all. Do people just say things like this to push the knife in just a little deeper?!

It worked for you fabulous. Don't bring it up to me during my struggle.

As much as I wanted to say, wanted to believe, I was doing the right thing for me and my baby, the more I caved and just let all the words hurt more and more.

You're always told that the most unsolicited advice will come after you have a baby.

It's true.

DQ became afflicted with ear infections at about 6 months on. Pretty consistently that she was put on preventative antibiotics, and would still get them.

The comments came. More were fabricated in my head. If you had breastfed, she wouldn't be dealing with this.

If, only.

All nursing children are healthy as horses. I know that's not true.

But, I beat myself up emotionally.

For 3 years I heard it all.

Bottle feeders will get rotten teeth.

Bottle feeders will be sicker kids.

Bottle feeders won't go to college.

Okay I made that one up, but where did it end? Why are people so merciless? Why can't they keep their words to themselves and accept that everyone does things differently and in the long run, whether my children were fed from formula or mother's milk won't matter!?!?!?!

It's not on the college application.

It won't be in a job interview.

It won't make or break finding a mate and living happily ever after.

It just won't.

Stop placing breast-feeding moms on a pedestal and formula-feeding moms beneath them.

When DQ was 2 years, 4 months old, I was pregnant with My Boy. First thing I thought...will I even try nursing or go straight to the bottle?

....Part 4.

The First Days of Motherhood, part two

Part One

I went to the nursery and scanned my detailed notes.

And by notes, I mean the chicken-scratch that is my tally marks on post-its of wet diapers and mustard-filled.

There are guidelines to follow when nursing, was I doing it right?

Those newborn diapers were so small, how could even tell if they were really wet. Was she drinking enough to produce enough output? Newborn breastfeeders poop like around the clock. That wasn't happening here.

Had my milk come in? What does that even mean?! I suddenly felt like a child. Helpless, incapable.

Something so important and supposedly natural, and private, and the bonding, the bonding would be so special... and....and....and....

Fail.

Stop the madness.

Hubby cracked open a supplementary bottle, that somehow appeared in our kitchen. Did the nurse bring it, did it come home in our bag of goodies?! Who knows. It was time.

My poor starved child inhaled the bottle like a champ.

A million emotions flooded me. Guilt being the main one.

Hubby was thrilled. Not only was the baby content, but he was involved. From the beginning Hubby was the husband and father you would dream of. Now, he would share feedings with me, be the equal partner that he wanted to be.

I saw this as a sign. An opportunity to sleep, but also a weight off my shoulders. I can do both. A little bonus formula will help me out until I can produce more milk.

Days would pass. I talked to friends. I should be feeling "full" if my milk was in. Heavy. Pain like you need to feed to relieve yourself. I had none of that. DQ still had the same latch, it seemed right, but we now had purchased cans of formula and were using them after each breastfeeding session.

Trying the pump one afternoon, I realized there was next to nothing coming out. Huh?!

Every two hours, was I doing nothing but providing a fleshy pacifier for my daughter?

I consulted a friend from our mom's group, a lactation consultant. I was offered sessions where she'd help, and was told to STOP the BOTTLE completely, it's too early and will cause nipple confusion.

My nipples and my brain were confused. Fabulous combo.

My head spun. My heart sank. This isn't working for me.

We decided to bottle feed exclusively.

At home, things began to smooth out. Sleeping for all of us increased. Taking turns worked itself out between Hubby and I. DQ was happy. Healthy. Growing.

It wasn't until I stepped out into public and realized what lied ahead.

.....Part 3.

The First Days of Motherhood, Part One

Looking back on those few days before my first born arrived, I try and remember how quiet our house was.

How the walls knew nothing of crayon or pencil markings.

The carpet was absent of juice, ketchup, and vomit stains.

The walls had virgin ears to the cries of a hungry infant.

Those days were also anxious for a new start, a new beginning, a new life.

The nursing bras were bought. The pads, the pump, all ready. Not a can of formula in sight.

Why? I was going to nurse my child. It's what was expected of me. Of mothers. What I had planned.

I set high expectations.

No supplementing, too costly. No bottles, just me, and my baby, my body.

The rush to put the baby to breast in the hospital was a blur. This nurse on this shift said the football hold is best.

That nurse on that shift said I should lay down.

Some nurses forceful and adamant that only breast is best.

Got it, taking mental notes.

Getting home.

Around the clock, feeding the baby. Am I doing it right, is she getting enough?

Who knows? Boobs and babies don't come with fuel tank gauges.

I will not supplement. It's not okay.

Okay for who? Baby, me? Society.

Struggling, not happy, not full, baby needs something.

I call the nurses station at the hospital 3 days later. An old family friend stops by. Comes to my bedroom to latch baby on. Latch isn't proper. Baby is starving.

Many nights those first days I remember crying myself to a mock-sleep. You know, the kind you get after a newborn.

Hubby is lost, he cannot produce milk. Knows we have alternatives.

No. Breast is best. The only way.

You don't have struggle, it's only one little bottle, a little help.

Defeated. I caved. In my mind, my heart. One bottle, then I will figure this game out. It's supposed to be natural, not this hard!

Where are the rainbows, the unicorns, the fairies dancing around. You know how new motherhood is portrayed in the movies. Where was my silver lining?

Already my mind and my heart were fighting, neither was winning.

....Part 2