When my daughter was born they helped me latch her to my nipple (as they do) and she bit down on the ol’ girl like it was a piece of gum. I scream, the nurse sticks her finger in my daughter’s mouth to pry her off me, my daughter bites her finger, she screams, my daughter screams, we’re all screaming. Congratulations: it’s a beautiful baby girl.
Then my daughter, clearly traumatized, did not want to breastfeed. So they made me use this awful pump (allegedly the best that money can buy) in the hospital to get the colostrum out but my battered nipples were too small for the flanges. Waste of time, and hurt like shit. I was like, fuck this. It’s a sign. I’m not gonna breastfeed.
The thing about this decision is obviously it was a bad one because I made it on a dime and didn’t realize that with breastfeeding you have to white-knuckle through the first stages until it gets better and easier. OBVIOUSLY I regret it, but what was I going to do?! I’d just pushed a baby out of my cooch! I was under duress! I was hopped up on fentanyl or whatever the fuck it is they put in that epidural! Give me some fucking grace! Everyone stop yelling!
I changed my mind when my tits became rock hard and my sister had convinced me that “nothing is more beautiful than when your child looks into your eyes as they drink the nourishment from your bosom“. Yeah
By this time my daughter was addicted to formula and was refusing not only nursing but also bottled breastmilk, The pediatrician said it’s because formula is sweeter (Total bullshit. My husband and I tasted that shit and it was like sucking on pennies covered in dirt) and she was just lazy because I guess breastfeeding is harder than the good ol’ bottle. After a few weeks of pretty much shoving her face on my boob she finally got the latch right. But then she wouldn’t take the other breast. And another few weeks when she finally got used to that and all seemed well and good, she got an allergic reaction to something in my fucking milk around one month.
How it started was around bedtime she’d just go totally berserk. I helped take care of my fourteen-year-old niece when she was a baby and she was constantly colic, and it was bad colic. Blood-curdling screams for hours and nothing helped, you just had to wait for her to tucker herself out. So because of that experience I am generally unfazed by the shrieks of children and infants and keep my cool pretty well. It’s kind of a different rodeo when it’s your own kid because maybe this is me being all woo-woo, but I could tell she was in pain. Then she broke out in a rash and long story short after a week or so of trial and error trying to figure out what her fucking problem was, we determine it’s me. Wow. Cool. You kind of want to kill yourself when you learn something like that but whatever.
Anyway, after like two more weeks of more trial and error, (all while exclusively formula feeding and pumping barely enough to not get mastitis) I figured out it’s a fucking supplement I take.
I stop taking that, wait ANOTHER week to let it leave my system, now she’s two months old and is all good. Yay!
But like, this really is kind of a long winded preamble to me saying that I am an under-supplier because of my own hubris and also circumstance. Even though I can nurse again, I still don’t make near enough to satisfy her. She empties me in like ten minutes and then just gets pissed because she’s still hungry.
Enter: pumping. You gotta pump your boobs to trick them into making more.
The world of pumping is a dark place. Kind of reminds me of middle school where I envied other girls and it just turned into me getting angry and hating them. I’m over here with my half ounce per boob pump session telling myself, “okay this will get better, just keep at it. Just stick to the itinerary.” Then I see Mommy Milker Gazonga McGee on TikTok with her huge milk pitcher like, “I only pumped forty ounces today. Ugh! My supply is so low!” and it totally discourages me. I want a fucking huge pitcher of breast milk! Where is my pitcher!?
This was my own fault though, not Ms. Gazonga’s. I didn’t pump near enough because I wasn’t drinking enough water, or doing it enough. Blah blah blah. I’m lazy. I can’t commit to anything unless im getting paid for it.
Then my husband made some kind of annoying comment to me, asking why I’m even pumping when we have her on the formula anyway and breastmilk is fatty and it’ll make her gassy and spit up. I reiterate the stupid shit my sister said about the mid-nourishment eye contact and he backs off. He thinks I’m on some fool’s errand! Like I’m wasting my fucking time! This won’t stand in my own house.
So now I’m eating the oatmeal and drinking the water. I have the correct flanges, I bought a more expensive pump (which really does make a difference, unfortunately), my nipples have officially lost all feeling and I will report back when I have the pitcher.
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