My Breastfeeding Journey

I feel like I have a lot to say and yet I really don’t have the time anymore… turns out having a baby keeps you busy! Therefore, as I write this, it will take many tiny sessions of sneaking it in during naps but also when I’m not tidying, sorting and generally living life around Little B!

Let’s start at the beginning…

I have always wanted to breastfeed, not really because of all the propaganda/guilt tripping of “Breast in Best”, but because it felt like it was always meant to be part of my mothering journey, a primal instinct if you will, almost cave-woman like! I was very aware that it may not happen and prepared myself mentally for that but also tried my best to encourage and kick start my boobs into action.

Before B was born I heard about ‘harvesting colostrum’. I did a bit of research and as all modern mums do I YouTubed it and gave it a go. At first I felt wildly awkward, I shut myself in the bedroom and started fondling my boobs (warming them arm and stimulating them). I have the syringe at the ready and give them a squeeze… nothing! Hmm maybe I’m doing it wrong. Let’s YouTube it again. It took a fair few attempts, leaving it, coming back another day, feeling awkward and a bit embarrassed (that is true Britishness there - getting embarrassed whilst alone), but suddenly something clicked. Sat cosy on the bed, Disney classical playing, lights dimmed to set the mood… a drop… two drops… ladies and gents we have lift off! I felt so excited (and then silly for feeling this excited by the tiniest amount), but I read that even the smallest amount will be good. I squished and squeezed for 10 minutes or so and then popped it into a ziplock bag and froze it. I never really got over the awkwardness of it so didn’t do it loads but I had hope the getting colostrum meant milk probably wasn’t far behind. When the day came, we grabbed the labelled bags from the freezer, popped them in a cool bag with ice blocks and headed to hospital. When B was born she got my colostrum as she was having trouble latching and it made every bit of silliness and awkwardness worth it!

We were told within about an hour of Little B being born that she was badly tongue tied so breastfeeding may be difficult. Turns out the NHS couldn’t do anything to help (quickly) so we were told to find a private doctor to sort it, luckily our mums were on the case and found a fantastic woman who came to our house just a few days after B was born and cut it for us. Thank god we were able to afford this as she had dropped in weight quite dramatically in her first week.

Anyway let’s go back a few days and let me tell you about my first attempts at feeding. I felt nervous and really had no idea what I was doing. I had watched videos (including the one of the baby magically climbing up their mother to get to her boob straight after being born) but in the moment I had no idea so looked to the midwives for help. As I sat in the ward, in a hospital bed, feeling delicate and venerable, a midwife came over to show me what to do. She took little Bronwyn’s head and shoved it at my boob, roughly near the nipple. “She will latch, just give it time”… umm excuse me but my barely can’t breathe with her head in their! They just did not get it! I have larger boobs so making sure her nose was free was tricky at first and my nipple wasn’t just sat at the perfect height. But did they know how to assist, what advice to give… they did not! If it didn’t work their way then they panicked and found someone else to suggest the same thing. As Bronwyn wasn’t feeding she became very sleepy (a lack of energy) so waking her to feed to another stressful challenge that came with more useless advice! I was having to pump to make sure we could get some ‘easy’ milk in her when she was awake. I was sat there, with a pump on each boob feeling like Daisy the cow! It was both hilarious and undignified at the same time! It was around this point I started getting extremely frustrated. I didn’t want to leave the hospital until I had cracked her feeding but at the same time being in hospital seemed to be adding to the stress and sleep deprivation! In the end, we left! We decided we would be better off getting out of there, getting the tongue tie sorted and chatting to a specialist. Thank you to the nurse who saw us struggling and told us that home would be better as we could relax and do things our way… it had taken 2 days and multiple nurses/midwives to hear that advice. As soon as we got home things started to make sense and B was latching… badly but better than nothing.

The first few days at home were rough in terms of feeding. We knew the tongue tie lady was coming however we had to suffer for a few days first. By suffering I mean horribly painful nipples, we are talking toe curling, eye watering pain! I knew I wanted to do this but it wasn’t easy… that is until a magical woman entered our lives! Turns out the tongue tie lady was also a lactation specialist (queue happy dance)! She just got it! Once the tie was cut she got B to latch straight away to help it heal and it went so smoothly. She positioned us so that breathing was no longer an issue. I was taught about the burger hold (squeezing my boob like you would squeeze a burger to fit it into your mouth) and I was told to roll a small towel under my boob to elevate it so the nipple was more easily accessible. It was like day and night, the difference was honestly incredible! B started gaining weight and was happy feeding at last. Don’t get me wrong, the nipple pain hung around, those toes still curled for a long time afterwards. Nipple cream became my best friend. I also still struggled a little with getting comfortable to hold B in position on my right side so her latch was poor and the pain took longer to disappear.

Let’s fast forward to when my milk really started to come in. The buzz words for this section are ‘engorged’ ‘over-supply’ and ‘drowning’! That’s right, this mumma was a milking machine! There I was, worried I wouldn’t have the milk to feed my baby when in reality, I had too much. I spoke to the visiting midwife and she suggested I donate it however mum warned against this as constant pumping would just encourage more and more milk and it would get painful (she had the same when she had me). Instead I just continued to feed as normal and eventually my milk settled down. I remember waking up one morning, before my supply had settled with the most engorged boobs. They felt rock solid, lumpy, and quite intimidating. I didn’t really know what to do so went to feed B… bless that poor baby, she nearly drowned. Milk was squirting everywhere! In the end I had to pump some off! I would like to say this hasn’t happened since but if she has a low feeding night I still wake up full! I offer her my nipple, she takes 10 seconds to contemplating and then the fire hydrant explodes. She pulls away in fear as my milk squirts 3 feet across the room, hitting the floor, the dog and all over me and her! I’m not going to lie, a felt quite proud of the power! It does make it difficult sometimes, when she gets upset and then won’t feed but it’s all part of the journey!

Despite smoothing my baby with my engorged boobs, squirting milk out of nipple pretending to be a shower head that needs descaling and crying in agony if we have a few badly latched feeds… I still love breast feeding! It was a decision I have questioned multiple times but I wouldn’t change.

Now… Breastfeeding comes with many challenges but something I hadn’t considered was the impact it would have on my freedom! As I come out of the newborn trenches and want to explore the world again, I am realising I can’t disappear for more than a few hours. We have tried the bottle but it is more hassle than it’s worth at the moment so currently my boobs are requested every 2(ish) hours. This lack of freedom can be so tough at times. I want to go to a dance class or a spa for the afternoon. I want to go out for dinner with friends or go to the cinema. But I can’t do these things without time restrictions, military planning or having a baby with me at all times. I have cried as regret over my choices crept over me. ‘Breast is Best’ apparently… but best for who… is sacrificing any freedom and my mental health really best for me and if I’m not at my best then is it really best for Bronwyn! It is a mental journey that I am very much still on and still learning to adapt to. This experience won’t last forever so I am doing my best to enjoy the cosy closeness (except in a heatwave)!