I had to start pumping to stimulate my supply, compliments of my cesarean, and supplement with formula for almost a week to keep the jaundice at bay. At home, we continued to attempt to latch. No luck. We saw two more lactation consultants, tried three different nipple shields, gave every feeding position suggested a go. No luck. It was quickly noted that my baby and I were not trained in the aforementioned art. The only suggestions I received at the time were to keep at it, despite my raw, bleeding hamburger nipples, and continue to pump to keep my supply up because the older he got the more likely he would learn how to latch. No luck.
It's a difficult, sensitive matter when you have preconceived notions on how you want your birth to go (what a joke) and how you want to nourish your child to reap all the benefits that society basically claims is the only way to keep your child alive. I remember attempting to go to a breastfeeding support group (that I had to pay for, by the way) and sitting down to a group full of women confidently feeding their babies skin-to-skin and listening to their tales of how they didn't know if they were going to be able to breastfeed in public while traveling through Europe. What the fuck? Are you leaving your breasts at home while on vacation? Last I checked, European countries are much further in acceptance of public breastfeeding. My point is that I couldn't relate to the issues being discussed. I didn't even feel like I deserved to be there as I couldn't help my baby to properly latch. Sure, he could clamp on to feed and get a couple ounces out... but not without me feeling like my breast was dying a slow death from fire and millions of glass shards ripping it open.
The ever determined perfectionist, I continued to pump and provide milk via a bottle. I would consume myself with worry (as if first time mommies don't have enough worry) that the bottles were the issue and I was making it too difficult for my baby to feed via boob. I would buy every bottle marketed towards making the transition from boob to bottle and back smooth. Money was shelled out to see another two lactation consultants, making the total five if you lost count. Full disclosure, our health insurance finally reimbursed us for these consultations about seven months and many arguments later. I was in a fortunate position that I was able to front this money; not everyone has this luxury. Somewhere down the line it was suggested that maybe his palate was shallow and I should continue to pump to keep my supply up so that when he's a bit older and his palate is rounded out he might be able to latch. Keep pumping, got it.
By this point I'm producing enough milk that I get to freeze some for later -- daily. This feels good. Damn good. I take a ridiculous amount of pride in my milk-stash. I begin to feel more comfortable knowing that even though he doesn't get it straight from the source he is still getting the benefits of breast milk. I almost feel like I'm winning a race where I'm the only ludicrous contestant to stock my freezer with milk before we finally figure out how to latch and I no longer have to pump.
Three months came and went and it didn't get any easier as the consultants said it would. I'm crazy angry about the pain (not a healthy mix with the exhaustion that comes from having a newborn) and sickly frustrated with myself and my baby even though my heart and brain KNOW it's neither of our faults and most certainly not for a lack of trying. I give up. I will not be able to breastfeed my miracle I created. I feel crushed and defeated. I deem myself an exclusive pumper and decide I will do it until my baby is six months-old.
Even after accepting this fate, I still feel a twinge of jealousy seeing other babies latch. People, everyone you meet, like to ask mothers if they're breastfeeding. My insides automatically became defensive and I would tense up and want to scream that it's nobody's business how I feed my child other than mine, my husband's and our pediatrician's every time someone asked -- even if it was a dear loved one. Instead, each and every time, I felt that as much as I wanted to I couldn't just say "yes" (technically I was, right?). No, I had to go into detail and explain what I would do. Then I would get mad for feeling that I needed to justify my exhausting actions. Now I'm mad at you for asking and I'm mad at myself. I'm just MAD... and tired. Talk about exhaustion. Exclusive pumpers do twice the work of breastfeeders and bottlefeeders. It has been the most draining experience of my life, literally. However, my stash continues to grow and I appreciate that my husband can bond with our son over a bottle of nutrient-rich goodness.
When my little is almost six months, I read an irresponsible post from an uneducated blogger on Huffington Post regarding the idea that babies of exclusive pumpers might be dis-serviced because they might not be getting the nutrient rich hind milk as a pump isn't as efficient as a baby at emptying the breast. Death threat scenarios fill my head as I want to bleed the author dry. As efficient? No. Efficient? Yes. My medical team, and the even-smarter internet, re-affirm that I'm doing what's best for my scenario. I've become such a knowledgeable pumper that I can tell you whether a session will be extra fatty or extra skim. I also come to realize that at the rate I'm freezing milk, I can provide my baby for the first year of life if I pump for nine months. I commit to this goal.
My little then turns seven months and we discover he is allergic to tree nuts and that rice gives him food protein induced enterocolitis. All the breast milk I have saved up until this point is deemed unsafe for my baby as I have been eating nuts (fatty nuts are one of the top recommended foods for lactating mothers) and rice the entire time. My gag reflex is induced to this day thinking about the TWO THOUSAND ounces of milk, the blood (honestly, my nipples bled daily), the sweat, the tears and the hours I put into pumping it. I had literally been pumping every two hours around the clock during the day and once in the middle of the night (more sessions at night in the beginning) for seven months. It was heartbreaking. People with the best intentions suggest that I can donate my milk to babies in need. "Bitch, shut up, I know this" goes through my head every time a do-gooder wants to inform me of this. I need time to mourn the stockpile I had created for baby E that is now useless for him.
I manage to find the strength (mothers are very good at this) to remove rice and tree nuts from my diet and start a new stockpile of milk that is safe for my little. I begin to donate milk to my friends with low breast milk supply and it does feel good to help. I begin to reach out online and donate to strangers in need of breast milk for their babies as well. I won't lie, I begin feeling like a public hero. I secretly wonder what their stories are and if they tried as hard as I did to get their milk supply up. I have manners though so I don't grill them about how frequently they pump, what their diets are like and if they're drowning themselves in water daily. I desperately want them to know how hard I worked for it and that I wasn't just, "naturally gifted with a great supply." I want them to be thankful, ridiculously thankful. Send flowers to my house thankful. This doesn't happen. I don't even receive an offer to replace the milk bags that my milk has been stored in. I realize that these mothers must be dealing with their own emotions, similar to what I felt in the beginning when I couldn't get my son to latch, and acknowledge how strong they are for publicly reaching out for help.
By the time my son reached ten months, I stopped pumping in the middle of the night as my beloved husband insisted on sleep training baby E (despite my strong opinions against it) and he no longer wakes us at night. My supply thus started to drop and I was no longer producing enough to freeze. I decided it was time to start weaning. I no longer wanted to sneak brewers yeast into every food product I could think of. I didn't want to swallow any more horse-pill fenugreek supplements. I didn't want to have to bring my Ugly Baby (as I affectionately referred to my pump) every where I went and time my entire life around it anymore.
A month and a half later I am down to two sessions a day and will be done pumping very soon with enough stored milk to have provided my little with enough breast milk for his entire first year and beyond. I am very proud of this. I also realize that I had some not so pretty thoughts, that's why I've titled this Confessions of an Exclusive Pumper, but I own those thoughts. They are selfish and mine. I am grateful that my body has fueled my son's life. I recognize that even though I had my hardships, I am lucky to have been able to do what I've done. Some women have had a mastectomy, have glandular issues or take medications that poison their milk (all scenarios of mothers I have donated to by unprompted submission). I'm fortunate and so is my boy.
I feel the need to give a shout out to my husband for all of the support he gave me surrounding my emotional feelings of failure and guilt and the confidence he gave me to continue pumping. Thank you to my friends and family as well for helping me to feel normal while I continued this ritual in your presence and at your house. I appreciate it.
