I've thought about telling our story but never really felt like I could find the words. Now, I'm desperate to overcome my heartbreak and I feel like the only way that's possible is to write.
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| I wanted this to last, but I'll always have this moment |
I was apprehensive about breastfeeding from the moment I found out I was pregnant. I've mentioned this before, but nursing was a struggle with both Brody and Lola, not becoming smooth sailing until about four months in. There were tears, anger, frustration...you name it, I probably felt it at some point. I'd experienced sore, cracked, bleeding nipples, plugged ducts. Luckily not mastitis. I used the nipple shield with all three at some point, and I was pretty chummy with the lactation consultants. I was determined to make nursing happen and my determination paid off, regardless of the effect it had on my emotional well-being. Babies first. That was it. I breast-fed Brody for a little over a year. Our honeymoon was the major player in ending that journey. I was ready and I wasn't overly sad about it being over. I mean, yes, I missed that bond, but the freedom was a welcome relief. I knew I would have more babies; another shot at nursing. Nursing Lola was different, not the struggle part, that was the same, but the connection with her. Maybe because she was my girl, maybe not, but I felt like I never wanted to stop. I loved our time together when she'd nurse. It was as much a comfort for her as it was for me. I thought I would stop at a year but as her first birthday rolled around I knew I wouldn't. Each passing month I would tell myself "next month". When I did finally stop I felt all the emotions. I was ready to be done, but I wasn't. A third child wasn't a for sure thing at the time and I hadn't really prepared myself for her last time until it was already done. You can read more about that here.
Fast forward to Dashel's arrival. I thought things were going great! I mean honestly, nursing him started out so much smoother than I had anticipated that I was kind of waiting for the shoe to drop. In the hospital, when the lactation consultant came in to check on us, she said his latch was great, he had a good suckle and we should be fine. I remember still being apprehensive to go home and not have someone at a phone call away to come check on us, but I also thought, this is my third time, surely I know what I am doing. I nursed him on demand and I would let him nurse until he wanted to be done. Eat, sleep, poop, repeat. Yes, I had sore nipples, but not as bad as I remember. Not at first, at least. I was amazed at how easy he was. I kind of feared he wouldn't be, since Brody and Lola were. Like maybe I was pushing it having a third baby and now I'd really learn what a challenge a newborn could be.
So, at around 2 1/2 weeks, you can imagine my panic when he started to become extremely fussy unless he was eating or sleeping. I was nursing him and letting him eat as long as he wanted so I couldn't understand why he was so upset! I thought I was doing everything right. Jeff and I asked each other "is this what a colicky baby is like?". There were a lot of tears. No one likes seeing their baby cry inconsolably. What was I doing wrong? How could I be this bad at taking care of a newborn when I'd done it twice before?! At his 3 week well-baby check my heart dropped when the scale showed he lost weight instead of gained. This was completely new to me as the other two were quick to gain weight, always above average on that DAMN baby growth chart. I'd never experienced the complete opposite. It took everything I had to not start sobbing at the doctors office. He recommended I see the lactation specialist again. I called the minute we left.
The next morning, with all 3 kids in tow, we arrived LATE to my appointment. It was a matter of minutes before she informed me Dashel had tongue tie. What?! I didn't even know what that was! He had posterior tongue tie and upper lip tie. So, all the while I thought he was nursing and getting plenty of milk he wasn't! Because of the tongue and lip tie he couldn't properly latch and massage my nipple so he was barely getting any, hence why never seemed satiated. I know this is not how I should have looked at it, but I felt like I had essentially been starving my baby! It's an extreme way to look at it, but I was so emotional and so exhausted I felt like I had been failing me sweet boy. Not only was he not getting enough, but since he couldn't nurse properly my milk supply plummeted! Something else that was completely foreign to me. I was quickly put on a new nursing regime to increase my supply and hopefully get some weight on Dash. It consisted of nursing on each breast for 15 minutes, then pumping on each side for 15 minutes and then bottle feeding dash whatever I pumped out. Oh and I had to do this every three hours around the clock. Essentially I had no life outside of my boobs. And depending on how much I was able to pump, I had to supplement.
I made it two days before I had a complete meltdown. It took so much time. I felt like I'd just get done washing everything only to start back up again. I began to dread trying to latch him, constantly checking to see how open his mouth was, which resulted in me accidentally unlatching him, which basically made my nipples a raw, bloody mess. My body would tense when he'd cry, dreading having to feed him. I was beginning to resent him for needing to nurse, which made me feel like an awful mother. I went through the motions, not feeling much of anything. I was neglecting my older two because there was no free time. I was becoming angry and short with anyone who interacted with me. I never wanted to leave the house. I'd never felt so low. I wanted so badly to have the experience I had envisioned and nothing was going right. Nothing was coming easily. I couldn't keep sacrificing my well being all for the sake of an expectation I was holding myself too. I feel like I was waiting for someone to tell me it was O.K. to stop, that I didn't have to nurse and pump and feed and supplement and run myself ragged. Not that I needed permission, but somewhere deep inside of me I wanted that acknowledgment that I was doing everything I possibly could and it was costing me my connection with Dashel. I was so convinced that if I quit nursing I would lose my bond with him; that there would be some sort of cosmic shift and he'd always look at me like I'd given up and let him down.
Through tears, I told Jeff I didn't want to do it anymore. Unfortunately for him, there was no right way he could have answered. I gave him my reasons, thinking if I justified it to him, it would make it easier for me. I got angry, I cried some more, and I hated myself for being so weak. It was not an easy choice. Just writing about it makes my heart hurt all over again. I thought, maybe once we got his tongue tie and lip tie laser cut, I would revisit nursing. It was a week away, which would give my nipples time to heal. I could start over. In the meantime I would pump and bottle feed. I would build my supply back up. I truly did feel a weight lift once I stopped nursing. I no longer dreaded having to feed my baby. He still curled his body into mine when he ate. He still looked into my eyes and he still fell asleep against me. He knew too. My body was no longer tense around him. We settled into a rhythm. It was also a relief knowing Jeff could help more this way. We alternated late night feedings so we were getting more sleep. When he was home he'd bottle feed while I pumped, freeing up more time. I enjoyed my baby again. I laughed, I smiled. I spent one on one time with Brody and Lola.
At that point we were going into the doctor for weekly weigh ins. I have never dreaded doctor appointments more. It was never good news. One week he'd gain a little, which felt so positive then the next he'd plateau. I continually felt like I couldn't get it right. I was basically failing my 3rd baby. His appointment to correct his tongue tie and lip tie came and went with success. They asked me if I wanted to try nursing him in the office right after they did it to see how different his latch was but I said no. I told them I'd wait until I could meet with my lactation consultant. Another week came and went and I had excuses lined up for not making an appointment to start nursing again. I couldn't bring myself to do it. I lost all desire to nurse him, which gave me very mixed feelings. I had built my supply back up and had a nice stash going in the freezer. We had established a routine and I wasn't interested in messing that up. I was afraid if I tried nursing him, I would be starting over. Sore nipples, latch issues. I just couldn't bring myself to revisit it. To this day I chide myself for not trying; for giving up to easily. I know I should let it go but I don't know that that will happen anytime soon.
His constant weight issue was another sore subject. I know that our doctor had Dashel's best interest at heart, but it was beginning to eat at me that they never thought he was gaining enough. Yeah, he was definitely smaller than Brody and Lola and a lot of other babies his age. But was that so bad? Who decides that he needs to be a chunky baby? The constant comparison was driving me nuts. Some days I would be defensive that they were so nit picky, other days I'd go down the rabbit hole of what if something is seriously wrong with him and we keep missing it? They eventually ordered blood tests and urine samples, which sent me into a tailspin of emotions. He was fine. It was me. It was my milk. He wasn't getting enough calories from it so we had to start fortifying my breast milk with formula. It was just another peg in my board of failures. Why wasn't I enough this time? What is wrong with me?
It wasn't long before I started to hate pumping. Yes, I loved that he was getting my breast milk, but then I felt like, it's not even enough for him why do I bother? I made small goals. Pump until 3 months, then 4 and finally I settled on 6. I wasn't even sure I would quit at 6 months but then a weekend away and a forgotten piece to my pump plummeted my supply. I decided to quit because I was barely pumping enough for one bottle every two days. There has been about a hundred times I've almost picked up my pump, regretting my decision. I've regretted a lot of my decisions with Dashel. It's been so hard. I wanted to be better for him. I wanted my milk alone to be enough for him. I wanted to be stronger and fight through all the misery to nurse him. I keep thinking he's my last, why didn't I try harder? I know the decisions I made were for my own emotional well being. I was dipping pretty low into postpartum depression and I chose myself. I needed to be happy, to be able to breathe easy, if I wanted to be a good mother to all three of my babies.
Dash is almost 7 months now. He's putting on the chub in all the right places. He's so incredibly smart and strong. He's sitting up, getting on all fours, rolling everywhere, and sharing our meals. He doesn't care that he is bottle fed. He doesn't care that it's formula now and not my breast milk. If his tummy is full he is happy. He's got big love eyes for me. He doesn't see my failures. Someday, I hope I don't see them either.
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