This post is not a cry for help, it’s a f***-this post!
Pregnancy, labor, and recovery were not what I envisioned. Don’t get me started! However, I knew there was one thing that would work out.
*looks at the moon because looking at the sun would be harmful*
That one thing was breastfeeding.
I was going to be a breastfeeding goddess. Breast milk would flow from me like a fountain. Like, one of those fountains at fancy events that has Champagne flowing from it but that didn’t happen. It never happened.
In the hospital, I did not produce a drop of milk and requested the lactation nurse at least twice a day and allowed her to aggressively grab and squeeze my boob, shove it in Baby’s mouth, try positions such as the football, was given a hospital-grade pump (I wonder how much that cost me), and left the hospital with a boatload of breastfeeding tips. Once home, I moved back and forth between Baby and the pump. Baby would never latch but who could blame her? There was nothing there.
I started asking for help from all the breastfeeding groups I was a member of. Naturally, conversations with other moms included the discussion of breastfeeding so I asked them for help but the best advice I got was to schedule an appointment with a local lactation doctor.
While waiting for that appointment and right before showering, I noticed that my bra was wet. I was so excited because it meant my breast milk finally came in. I immediately pumped and proudly added that half an ounce of breast milk to her formula but eventually grew agitated after a few days because I was not producing the amount necessary to replace the formula.
The day of my lactation appointment was a snow day and the south shuts down during snow days so the lactation doctor canceled my appointment. That day, I called my OBGYN and requested medication for postpartum depression. I felt overwhelmed. My mom had left, I was with Baby by myself while Husband worked, was in pain, sleep deprived and was still unable to produce milk. Note: I never got that prescription, was told I had to wait 6 to 8 weeks to ensure it was postpartum depression. By that 6th week, I felt better and didn’t need medication.
At Baby’s 2-week checkup, her pediatrician wanted me to keep trying to breastfeed, told me that women who have c-sections usually have to wait longer to produce milk and suggested I take fenugreek. I bought it immediately and started popping it like tic tacs. A couple of days later, I had that rescheduled appointment with the lactation doctor who suggested I triple the amount of fenugreek and pump 8 times a day. When would I have time to do this? I eventually succeeded at pumping 8 times a day but did not produce more than an ounce or 2 a day.
The process became tiring. I decreased the number of times I pumped then went a day or two without pumping. Baby was 2 months or so when I decided a decision needed to be made. Increase pumping or quit. Naturally, it was a tough decision but during Baby’s 8-week checkup, she told me a healthy baby was a fed baby. I had been told that a few times before. Finally, I made the decision. I said, “fuck this!” I put the pumps in storage, unsubscribed from all of those breastfeeding groups and accepted that Baby would be a commoner.
To the moms lucky enough to be that fountain, breastfeeding your kid until they’re 32, ease up on moms like me. Mommyhood is hard enough. However, this story is not all bad. As a result of not breastfeeding, my boobs won’t sag. My hair is growing even faster post pregnancy and my locs are glowing. This has nothing to do with this story but I thought you should know.
Oh, and the baby is doing well… 10 pounds now!
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