To start things off, I thought I would share a thought that consoled me as a well-endowed teen/early 20 something (to the flat-chested who wished for more, just know that those with more often begrudged your tiny chest). To set the stage, I have always considered myself an athletic person. In fact, physical activity - especially if it involves competition - has defined much of my life, shaping major choices. I love feeling strong and fast. Unfortunately, pretty much every sport involves running, which in turn involves a lot of jiggling. I'm not talking about love handles, my friends; I am talking about tatas. If you have to wear two or more sports bras to keep yours in place when you run, then you know what I am talking about. Many times, especially when running sprints and doing circuits with my college tennis team, I internally cursed my large and flopping tatas. But then, on occasion, this thought would come to mind and soothe my boob anger: "Someday when I am a mom, I will be grateful that I have such large ladies because it will make breastfeeding so much easier."
Yeah, so that's not true. Big tatas do not equal easy breastfeeding. In addition, my former cup size seems dainty now that I am in a range not carried by stores. In fact, when I went to Motherhood Maternity to buy a nursing bra yesterday, the nice lady who measured me gave me the card of a custom bra specialist because "our company doesn't even make your size, sweetheart." If I had known the capabilities of my chest, I would have embraced my former self. Discontentment, it turns out, is just a matter of perspective.
I have learned, from moms before me, that my breastfeeding drama is not uncommon. I've also learned it's not nearly as bad as what others have endured. Again, perspective. But for a hormonally charged new mom, it seems like enough to push one over the sleep-deprived edge. I didn't stay at the hospital long after Caleb was born, but before I left I had met with three different lactation consultants. The last one, with the help of another lactation consultant, was able to get Caleb to latch on (Paul actually took a picture of this craziness, which I will not post, but I'm basically sitting there while four hands grab me and my baby, working to make the nursing thing happen. Did I mention that I have a goofy grin on my face because I am so relieved to see my child eating?). The thing is, they could only get him to latch on my right side. I went home, hoping that the good feeding session had helped him figure out how to nurse, because I still only had a vague understanding about how to best position him.
The thing is, Caleb and I both still needed practice.
The first night back home I was able to get him to latch on, but only on the right side, and only every other feeding. He was hungry and screaming - all night. I was exhausted by the morning and in tears. I couldn't even think straight enough to pray. But you know who saved the day? My best friend, Paul Haske. He spoke to me gently and prayed over me and Caleb, and then he got to work. I sat on the bed, with my back facing the edge, and Paul put his arms around me and played the role of the lactation consultant. He positioned the little guy and - as an answer to prayer - got him to latch on to the left side (for the first time!) as well.
During the next week and half, latching was improving, but pain was increasing, especially on the left side. Despite using the lanolin and religiously taking motrin, the pain reached an unbearable point. My nipple had split and was bleeding! Horrifying. My mom, in her wisdom, said "Don't worry about nipple confusion. Pump on the left and give him a bottle so it has time to heal." It turns out Caleb loves the bottle, and I love being able to give my sore boobs a break. It is already starting to heal, and my little guy is growing. Now we alternate between breastfeeding on both sides, breast feeding on the right and pumping the left, or pumping both sides for a total break.
I feel like we've made a turn for the better. Today is the three week mark and some feedings are even enjoyable. They're not consistently pleasant, but often enough to keep me encouraged. Lamentations 3:22-23 says, "The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness." I've learned, during this whole process, that his mercies are new every 2.5-3 hours.
