I couldn’t understand some parts of this article, but it sounds interesting

I couldn’t understand some parts of this article, but it sounds interesting

I myself am an advocate of mothers being happy and content in the decisions they make- this in turn definately transfers to our babies.

My daughter was born and, me not aware of what was in store for us both, probably contributed to our success, I listened to the positive, heard the negatives – but went ahead and did what I thought was to be done. From the minute she was born – she latched (I think instinctively) so I thought it was to be a breeze – however although she appeared to be suckling, there was in fact nothing coming out of what I thought were my clever mammeries. Hours later – with my arms full of screaming newborn – my scared deer look caught the attention of the midwife on duty who (bless her cotton socks) showed me how to extract the necessary fliud. Only a tiny cap full – given that way to my daughter – settled her (now silent) screams – along with pepper red face.
She was then able to concentrate on the sucking rather than the hunger.
When my milk came in – I was horrified – I was already huge but to literally double in size was only impressive to my husband.
She went on to enjoy her booby time which was full time until It was time for me to return to work – 3 months after she was born! I still have immence feelings of separation anxiety over this and that was 5 years ago.
However, I did continue to nurse when I was home from work and pumped at the office to give supply to my daughter for the times I was at work. My heart wrenched each time I pumped at work – I should be with my baby! I was however, forced back to work due to my (now ex) husbands inability to support our family.

My new family consists of My wonderfully delightful daughter, my new husband – who supports us and my nutty ways – and our darling son – who turned 3 months old yesterday. He was born almost nine pound and is now over 14…. nurses say it must be the water I am drinking. He latched immediately but when I got home from the hospital – we had the same problem with latching. Not wanting to put him through more stress I resorted to bottle feeding – but me pumping the supply – success, so I shrugged and said ok, so hes a bottle baby! a week or so later – I tried again, and took to the nipple again like a champ!
I am in no hurry – and there is no necessity now for me to return to work – which has created a very content mummy – hence a very content little man who I am very proud of.

My first son was a textbook nursing experience. He nursed pretty much just like all the books told me he would. At sixteen months, he gave it up without a fight, but only because I was scheduled for sinus surgery the following week. I was sad, but felt good about my sixteen months of milk producing joy.

My second son entered with world with some breathing issues and was fed his first few drips of the golden juice via a tube. After a little work with a lactation consultant and some tears, he was a nursing champ. He was a comfort nurser extrodinaire, and I loved every minute of it. I kind of reveled in the fact that *I* was the only human in the world that he wanted and needed to nourish him. He nursed happily until my milk dried up at seventeen months.

When Max, our third son, made his debut, I was a seasoned pro and couldn’t wait to nurse him and make him my own. Unfortunately, Maxy encountered some health problems that were far worse and more excruciating that any we had anticipated. He survived severe Pulmonary Hypertension and Sepsis, and he came out of the event unscathed. To us, it was a miracle, and after a two week NICU stay, and many hours of pumping, I was ready to begin our nursing journey. Only, I wasn’t expecting so many speedbumps along the way. I didn’t realize that he would tire so easily when trying to nurse, and that his latch would cause bleeding, blisters, and a pain that I wouldn’t have wished on my peacefully sleeping husband. We tried finger feeding to break his latch; we tried every nipple shield made; we tried bottles that were shaped like nah-nahs. Nothing worked. After three months of effort, I gave up and decided to pump. Every ounce of my being felt crushed, even as I told myself over and over that I was doing the best I could for him. Well, after three more months of pumping, I decided to give latching him on one more try. By then, my boobs had healed from their World War III invasion, and I was ready to take the pain. Amazingly, since his mouth had gotten bigger, his latch was better. Not perfect – but good enough that we kept trying it. Before too long, he was a pro-nurser. No more pumping for me! Now, I had three clogged ducts, two bouts of thrush, and three icky mastitis infections, but we did it. Although his latch was never quite perfect, I was able to nurse him for eighteen months of his life. I felt vindicated and settled.

Would I have ever come to terms with not succeeding? Yeah, sure. I would have accepted that I was blessed enough to have him, and that I should be happy that our experience was as it was. I have always been the farthest thing from a breastfeeding nazi, and whatever a mother chooses to use her nah-nahs for or not, is her business; I just knew what I wanted to use mine for, and I’m deliriously grateful my sitution ended up as it did. It does sadden me that we put so much pressure on ourselves and then guilt on top of the pressure when things don’t go as we are told they should. But, it is what it is, and as mommies, maybe we should just embrace the pressure and guilt because of what we have to show for it. And besides that, who wouldn’t want three ulcers, flabby areolas (as that’s what’s left of my mammaries), and wrinkles so deep with worry that even Botox can’t touch? C’mon – these are every girl’s dream, right?!