It’s really late. I should be getting to the list of items in my queue that need to be written because, you know, I like getting a paycheck, but I’m slightly over emotional right now in a bittersweet way.
So, that post on feeding? It’s about to happen. I’m a little raw, so pardon the rawness contained herein, but I’m a little sad ducky.
See, the thing is I never really produced any milk after I gave birth to the Nerdlet. I’m pretty sure he got some colostrum, although how much is a mystery. We couldn’t leave the hospital because his diapers showed some crystals in his urine. Essentially, he was dehydrated.
I know that c-sections can lead to a late start on milk production and heck, even a low supply, but it can happen and it does. For me, there was no low supply. There wasn’t even a late start. There was a little leaking, but try as I might, I made him latch, I pumped, latch, pump, latch, pump, latch – nothing.
I cried. I was tired. I hadn’t slept in days. He was hungry. So was I. I was in pain.
It was here I had to make the decision that every mom who wishes to breastfeed doesn’t want to make: go formula or go home.
I know there is a lot of excitement over the fact that hospitals are doling out less samples of the free food of doom, but you guys, had I not had something in the house at that moment, my kid would be really hungry and no, in my state I wouldn’t know what to buy. I thank Similac now for sending me that stuff because that stuff that everyone thinks is evil? Fed my kid. And he was satisfied. And I didn’t have to sit in a grocery store crying over which brand to get because I felt like a failure, that he was hungry, that I was tired and in pain.
I’m not asking for boob sympathy over here, but it really hurts me to see article after article chastising mothers who formula feed because some of us do not have a choice in the matter. It hurts me to the core in a way that mothers who successfully breastfeed won’t ever know. You know what? I am ELATED for breastfeeding moms. I’m envious, in fact. Because in those really few moments I did have a latch from my kid, I felt that bond. It is awesome. But it was short lived. I didn’t have the letdown he needed and he shortly thereafter refused me.
I spent weeks crying over that fact. Weeks. I kept thinking that hey, maybe I can re-lactate like some articles suggest (although, who was I kidding? RE-lactate? That indicates there was lactation to begin with, and for me there was not.) I took fenugreek. I pumped. Nary a drop came from my girls. All I was doing was pouring salt on a wound that couldn’t heal because I couldn’t let go. And I cried some more.
It’s hard to cry, however, when you see your baby so happy and thriving. Nerdlet was gaining weight like a champ. He was extremely alert at just 2 weeks. He was on a schedule by then, too. He was a happy baby. It’s hard to cry when your baby is healthy and happy, no?
But I still cried. I cried for me. I cried because I wanted something and I couldn’t give that something to my baby. But, again, he was happy. I cried just for me.
Tonight, I felt a tear in that wound that mostly healed.
My li’l guy has his first round of the sniffles, so he’s not sleeping too great. Despite the fact that it’s super late and I have to work (work I seem to get done after he goes to bed), my guy needed me. I won’t ever put work before his needs, ever. I don’t care if that means pulling an all-nighter. For him, I’d do it.
Just now, I took him out of his bassinet and swaddled him. He was really feeling crappy, I could tell, so I just put him on the bed with me for a bit and snuggled him. A few moments in, he turned towards my body, his face nestled against my bosom, suckled on his pacifier and put his hand on my chest.
It was reminiscent of those first few days where I had him latching and, honestly, it was a beautiful moment and a sad one for me. It brought back the heart-wrenching guilt of not being able to nurse him, but at the same time, it was so nice seeing him so comfortable against me like that. Clearly, for him it was a soothing moment, as he went right to sleep without so much as a whimper and yet there I was, stroking his baby fine hair, shedding a few quiet tears because I was reminded that those lumps on my chest were broken.
It’s an odd feeling, looking at these things my husband seems to find great joy in and yet I’m absolutely loathing them for failing my kid. Rock, hard place. Scylla, Charibides. It’s a stuck-in-the-middle feeling I can’t quite describe, but these things are stuck on me, so I have to live with them and pray that they don’t remind me for an eternity that they failed to do their biological purpose and, you know, feed my baby.
I suppose I should just shut up and enjoy the fact that, while they didn’t do their duty as a food source, they sure as hell put my li’l man at ease in some way. I at least have that to rely on.
And that moment I just had with him? It was precious. I just wish it didn’t remind me of what was so painful to begin with.
(OH I am so a mother, I am now feeling guilty for feeling sad over a moment that should have been beautiful. WHY DO WE DO THIS TO OURSELVES, MOMS?)
At least my Nerdlet is tucked in and sleeping. I guess I could go work. Maybe I’ll just go steal a few more moments with my guy. Sometimes I need them just as much as he does.
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