MILK MOM
I remember sitting up in bed one night, a little while after Andie was born, and I asked Chris what he thought the hardest part of having a baby was for the mother. Having him be my partner and witness the entire process from start to finish (twice), I was curious about his answer and his perspective of it all. Was it pregnancy, postpartum, or (what I thought was the obvious answer) labour. Right away he answered “breastfeeding”. I was so surprised (especially since he’d seen me push out two humans), but he was sure of his answer. “It’s non-stop. You don’t get a break. Your body doesn’t even get a break.” He was right.
You climb all these mountains to have a baby. You navigate fertility, ten months of pregnancy and all the symptoms that come with it, you take hours (in many cases days) to give birth, and then you start the process of healing (sometimes just to do it all over again). But there is this other huge mountain on the other side of all of that, that nobody talks enough about, and that is often the most challenging and many times lasts longer than all the other parts put together. Breastfeeding.
Since my experience of exclusively breastfeeding both of my children, I’ve had to reprogram my mindset into giving myself and my body the credit it deserves. For me, a lot of that has to do with language. I try not to refer to my breastfeeding journey with the term “luck” anymore. Because to be completely honest, none of it was luck, it has all been hard work. “Luck” is minimizing the accomplishment, and I think it’s often done in a way to appease the culture of “fed is best”. I think it’s really important to learn that you can be an ally and supportive of something, without diminishing yours or someone else’s experience in the process.
I fully support the idea that fed is best. No feeding journey is easy, and I know firsthand the stress, and strain, and pressure you can put on yourself and how difficult that can be. Every circumstance for every family is so different, and there are a million valid reasons why a mother might not breastfeed. By their choice or not. I have friends who outright chose not to breastfeed before their baby was even born. I support all of it.
I just don’t believe I need to mute, or censor, or include a disclaimer anytime I want to celebrate my accomplishment. My pride in my accomplishment, shouldn’t be taken as an offence to anyone. Women have had enough of their physical journeys muted by society. Lift all women up, always.
So, in honour of world breastfeeding week, I’m going to proudly celebrate my accomplishment. Toot my own horn (or “horns”) if you will…
Photo by Yai Photography
Lou latched onto me within hours of being born. She was exclusively given breast milk for just under five months, when we started introducing solids. Still, even her oats were mixed with my milk. I had an oversupply and kept a stockpile in my freezer, most of which I collected with the hakaa from my own letdown. Like with all babies, she nursed every three hours. When she’d suck, my tender uterus would contract intensely, and I would bleed. As time went on and Lou started sleeping through the night, and I would set an alarm to get up and pump. I’d sit in the nursery (Lou was still sleeping in our room), curl up in the rocking chair with a blanket, and watch videos of her to help bring on my letdown. She always took a bottle of my milk easily, and would let anyone feed her. It still wasn’t easy. I had an overactive letdown and Lou was diagnosed with infant acid reflux. She spit up everywhere, all the time. Sometimes it felt like the entire feed I’d just nursed her, was vomited up on my shirt. I had to experiment with different positions, and worked with a lactation consultant through the health unit. At one point I would lay flat to nurse, (as in lay flat on my back and have Lou on top of me), in the hopes that gravity would help slow the flow of my milk. Try doing that one in public. I’d set a goal in my mind of nursing her for six months and then a pandemic hit. With all the talk of potential food shortages, I wasn’t about to cut off my own supply. I pumped whenever I had a window, often right after a nursing session to signal to my body that I needed more. Eventually she lost interest, and told me she was done. In the end, I was Lou’s primary food source for nine months. It was exhausting, and challenging, and so fucking beautiful.
Photo by Yai Photography
Andie also latched right after she was born. She started by nursing every two hours, and slowly worked her way up to three. Once again I had an overactive letdown and an oversupply, so Andie would break her latch a lot and take in air. It made her gassy and sometimes fussy, but she was a great burper. (Although I might have just been scarred by Lou’s reflux). I worked with a lactation consultant again, to try my best to support a proper latch and learn to trust my baby. Still in a pandemic, and trying to balance life as a mom of a newborn and a toddler, we didn’t offer her a bottle right away. Quickly, my freezer filled up with gallons of milk, all collected from my letdown. When we finally tried bottle feeding her with my milk, she refused. A few weeks later we tried again, and she refused. A month or so later we tried again, and she refused. We experimented with different milk temperatures, different bottles, different nipples, different people feeding her, different times of the day, even different formulas, and still to this day… she refuses. Just shy of nine months and she is, by her choosing, still exclusively breastfed. We came to find my milk this time around had a high lipase content, making it taste sour (more on that in a future post). We introduced solids slowly at around six months, and she is a much pickier eater. She still nurses every four-ish hours in the day, before naps and before bed, and still gets up for at least one dream feed each night. It’s tethered me to her, like a newborn, for so much longer than Lou. I can’t go out for the day or not be home for each and every single nap, and bedtime. My diet still heavily consists of carbs, and I’m not entirely back to a comfortable weight. I had postpartum hemorrhaging with Andie, and my uterus didn’t contract the way it did with Lou. All the while I’ve also been raising a toddler. I’ve nursed Andie while I’ve made lunch, and while I helped Lou on the potty, and one time I even nursed her while I made my bed. Demanding, exhausting, and still… so fucking beautiful.
Both babies exclusively breastfed and both experiences were entirely different, each with their own unique challenges and triumphs. Our bodies have the potential to accomplish incredible things, and I’ve never been prouder of mine. For almost four years it’s been a vessel for creating and sustaining life. Society tells me to hide, correct, and disguise my stretch marks, and my saggy skin, and my grey hair, and practically every other physical marker of my body’s insane accomplishment. I’m still working on reprogramming that mindset too, but one thing I need no coaching on, is how insanely proud I am of what my breasts have, and continue, to do for my babies. With each one it took a lot of time and hard work, but just like I carried them, I continued to surrender my body to their needs.
It’s such a beautiful thing. I’m so grateful I was able to do it, and so appreciative of the support and resources available that helped me in this journey. Although, I still think we have a long way to go when it comes to lactation support. I loved that I gave Lou everything she needed and all that she wanted, and let her tell me when she was done. I’ve loved doing the same for Andie, and I will keep loving it until the day she’s ready. And then… I’ll miss it.
