Hellobee

“Are you going to breastfeed?”

That was one of the first things people asked me shortly after they realized I was pregnant. There was more information on base (where I delivered my baby in Italy) about breastfeeding classes and breastfeeding support groups than there was on the actual pregnancy and labor. I couldn’t wrap my head around the breastfeeding classes (how hard could it be?) or the support groups (do they sit around and breastfeed together?), because I figured it’d just come naturally. That’s what I heard, after all, about how natural the act of breastfeeding is.

Even Italians asked me if I was going to breastfeed. They’d point to their own breasts and then say “latte?” My answer to everyone’s inevitable question above was that yes, of course I would breastfeed…I truly didn’t see what the big deal was.

And then my daughter was born.

She was born a perfectly healthy 9 lb, 2 oz, but by day three, when we left the hospital, she was down almost a whole pound. My milk slowly came in around four days after I gave birth, but I never really felt full, and the only time I leaked was when I took a nap and was smashing my left boob. We had to go back for a weight check when she was five days old (it was a standard “two-day” check up) and found that she was down another ounce, weighing in at 8 lb, 4 ounces. This caused some concern since my milk was already in. I met with a lactation consultant, who suggested we come in two days later for another weight check. On that Friday, Bunny was officially one week old and up two ounces to 8lb, 6 oz. I jumped for joy at the gain, but it wasn’t enough of a gain for them, so they asked us to go home, enjoy the weekend and come back on Monday. If she didn’t gain enough then, they said, we’d have to figure something out to get her weight up more.

Before she was born, everyone told me I’d be lucky if we got out of the house in the first month, but by day seven, we had only spent one full day at home. Exhausted doesn’t even come close to explaining those first couple weeks. I was also stressed. Actually, I was beyond stressed: my hormones were all over the place, I was sleep deprived, my breasts were sore from nursing non-stop, I was apparently having issues feeding my daughter, and on top of that, I had complications from labor, so I was in major pain down there almost constantly.

The lactation consultant, Molly, was an angel, and Jennifer, who was part of a New Parent Support Program was so helpful. Jennifer came to my house and watched how Julia ate in our own environment, and Molly was my advocate since I was in a new mom haze; she was actually the one who suggested that the doctor give me more time to work on nursing. She suggested I start pumping to try to increase my milk supply and told me about some herbal supplements I could take (fenugreek, goats rue, lactation cookies, etc.). I was feeding Julia around the clock. Our regime looked something like this: nurse (one side, then the other), pump, rest for a whole 3 minutes or so, and then repeat it all. It was tiring.

Molly, Jennifer, and the doctors weren’t sure why she wasn’t gaining enough weight, but my theory was (and still is) that I was too stressed. That, combined with not recovering well and constantly going to the clinic (30 minutes from home each way) every day, were just not good combinations when you have a new baby! Everyone told me I wouldn’t leave the house those first few weeks, but it was the complete opposite. I was past the point of exhaustion and my stress/worry levels were absolutely elevated.

Monday rolled around and I felt pretty positive about her weight check. My high hopes dropped when I saw the number on the scale: 8lb, 6oz. She didn’t gain a single thing. At that point, I was too tired to cry. The nurse didn’t say anything, but left the room to consult with the doctor. She came back in and told us we’d have to start supplementing. Without even thinking about it I said, “no,” and asked for some other options. They gave us two more days to get more of a significant gain and then, she said, we could talk options.

Two days later, after breastfeeding around the clock, she gained a whole ounce. Despite the fact that she was gaining weight, just slowly, they presented their options. I heard the words “formula” and “supplement” and felt so much guilt right at that very moment that I could hardly breathe.

I was beyond devastated, and the hot alligator tears I’d been holding back for the past two weeks broke free. They handed me a small travel-sized bottle of formula with two ounces in it and suggested I try giving it to her. I held my daughter as she gulped down food. She finished it so fast it was like she had never had food before in her tiny little life, which is why I immediately felt like a failure.

I felt like I failed at providing my daughter with the one thing she needed to survive. I could smother her with all the love in the world and protect her with all my might, but I had the one thing she actually needed to survive and I couldn’t provide enough of what she needed. My body carried her and did exactly what it needed to do for almost 10 months and produced a perfect nine-pound, two-ounce baby girl, and then it failed at the one additional thing it needed to do. I was sad, frustrated and felt so much freaking guilt that all I could do was cry, look her in her huge grey eyes, and tell her how sorry I was. Watching her drink that formula hurt so much, because I could see how much she needed it.

Molly, the God-send that she was, knew how much I wanted to breastfeed and knew I didn’t want to give up that easily. She suggested that instead of giving Julia formula in a bottle, we could use a supplemental nursing system (SNS) that would help increase my supply while giving the baby what she needs. An SNS is a bottle that you wear around your neck and is attached with an itty-bitty tube. The tube is placed right up against the mom’s nipple, and when the baby sucks, she gets milk along with a little formula at the same time. My baby was getting her first mixed drink at just two weeks old!

After I saw her respond to the formula I was game to try this approach. The doctor and lactation consultant sent me home with a bag full of goodies and I got to work feeding her. Using an SNS is extremely tricky (and that’s putting it nicely) and there were more than a handful of times that I wanted to throw it against the wall (or at someone) or ditch it all together, but it worked. I liked knowing that she was at least getting two ounces (or however much I put in the bottle) at each feeding, along with whatever my body produced.

Little Bunny’s a smart cookie, though, and after a few weeks of using the SNS, she started to catch on and would pull the tube out—she didn’t want anything getting in the way of her and her boob. We struggled back and forth to get her to take it, but it got to the point where I stopped using the SNS and would just feed her formula from a bottle after she nursed at the breast.

Left: a common sight those early weeks/months: me half asleep in a nursing bra with her on me  |  Right: Salud! (She’s totally “milk” drunk right here)

During those weeks my nursing regime went from crazy to ridiculous: Every three hours (beginning from when she first started eating) I would nurse on one side, burp her, set up the SNS, nurse her with the SNS, burp her, give up on the SNS, feed her the rest with a bottle, then I’d pump (and the pump I had was broken so I had to pump each side individually). The whole regime easily took more than an hour if not more.  By the time I finished, it was time to start all over again. Cue more exhaustion.

I longed to just hold my baby and felt myself being envious of my husband and mom, since they got to hang out with her when she wasn’t literally attached to me. My husband tried feeding her the bottle, but no matter how many times we tried that route, she just refused it from him—I was literally the only one who could feed her. Luckily after a few weeks, she started taking less and less from the bottle. It was a huge victory in my book, and the best part is that she actually started gaining more weight, which made the doctor happy.

The lactation consultant told me to stop pumping around this time. Despite the constant pumping, I wasn’t producing more than an ounce or two a day (total) from pumping, so she suggested I stop so I could relax a little more. (Whenever I’d get an an ounce I’d feed it to her in her SNS or bottle instead of the formula so she could have more breast milk). We also determined that Julia had a poor suck, so she wasn’t getting as much milk as I had to give, and I also had a low supply, triggered by hypoplasia. The combination of the two wasn’t helpful. Around this time I also started taking a small dose of Domperidone—a medicine sold over the counter in Europe with a side effect that helps increase breast milk—and Goat’s Rue to help rebuild breast tissue.

After I started the Domperidone and Goat’s Rue I saw a dramatic increase in my milk supply. I felt somewhat engorged and I also started pumping more during each session (around 2-3 ounces). After a while, I started feeding my daughter less and less formula since I could supplement with more breast milk. At each weight check (it was weekly at this point), she kept gaining enough weight to satisfy everyone. Slowly but surely, she also started getting a tiny bit of fat on her little bones. She reached every milestone for her age group (even during those early days) and she has always been one of the most alert babies I’ve ever been around.

Finally, around three and a half months, I started to exclusively breastfeed Julia. I was pumping enough to stop supplementing with formula, and would give her extra breast milk in a bottle instead. She would still only take a bottle from me, but that was a small price to pay after such a long battle.

While I was pregnant, people asked me if I planned on breastfeeding. It was a no-brainer in my book… of course I would breastfeed her. I knew I’d do it, and even though I heard it could be hard, I didn’t think it could be that hard. But now I get it, because it is hard—so much harder than I ever expected, and if I didn’t have people supporting me (my husband, my mom, Molly, Jennifer, etc.) I never, ever would’ve made it.

I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to throw in the towel. I was beaten down and literally shed blood, sweat, and tears, working at it. As dramatic as this sounds, I truly didn’t think I could go on, but I’m glad I pushed through it. Breastfeeding was one of my absolute favorite things to do in the entire world, but it also taught me that there’s nothing wrong with formula. I wish I learned that earlier on. Formula is out there for a reason and I’m so thankful for it. I hate that there’s so much pressure to only breastfeed your baby and that women feel guilty for giving their child formula. You should never feel guilty for feeding your child!

If someone would have told me during those early days that I’d be breastfeeding my daughter well past the time she turned one, I would have laughed in their face. Actually, I would have cried, thinking they were playing a joke on me.  My advice to new moms (and to myself for our next child) is to trust your gut, relax, have a good support system in place, and if you really want to breastfeed, work at it and don’t give up (and to know that the advice I just gave is much easier said than done)!