I miss breastfeeding

It's been over 6 months since I last breastfed my youngest. I was ready to stop. I'd convinced myself that he wasn't that bothered either way. But tonight, I find myself missing it.

I miss the closeness. The enforced downtime. The cuddles that only we shared. I miss looking down at his sweet head, hearing him guzzling greedily and then the lovely, drunk effect my milk would have on him, as his beautiful long eyelashes fluttered, struggling to stay apart. Nothing beats a baby drunk on milk.

I miss the stolen kisses, stroking his cheek as he fed while he gazed up at me with big, blue adoring eyes. Those eyes could see right into my soul. They could read every expression on my face and behind my eyes.

Breastfeeding was nutrition, it was a panacea for all ills. It did more than simply transfer calories. It was comfort, it was joy, it was reassurance. It dried away tears and magically healed bumped heads. It was the last thing he did before he fell asleep and the first thing he did when he woke up.

I miss the weight of his sleeping body in my arms, the knowledge that my body had filled his tummy to satisfaction. I miss the look that would pass between us when he knew, just knew, I was about to give in to his demands for more milk. The cheeky smile he would give, while still latched on after the first let down had satisfied his hunger.

But near the end, it was also my prison. It kept me up all night and condemned me to ugly bras during the day. It meant I didn't feel free to enjoy a night away (chance would be a fine thing!) or too much wine. I felt trapped.

But now I miss it.

The feeling will pass. My youngest is no longer a baby. No longer dependent on me alone. He's fiercely independent but at the same time, still ferociously attached to me emotionally.

But I don't miss the biting. Or the recurrent thrush that plagued both my stints at breastfeeding. Or the finishing feeding, desperate to see what older brother is up to on the other side of the room and trying to take my nipple with him. I don't miss the hands unceremoniously thrust down my top. I don't miss ugly nursing bras. But at the same time, in a weird way, I almost do (except from the thrush, I'll never miss that *shudder*).

He still loves his milk. But now, it comes from any old cow. Not just this old cow*.

*I don't really think I'm a old cow. This just alway used to make me smile.

Hello old friend...

Huh.

Now it all makes sense.

Sore boobs. Painful nipples. Craving sugar. Littler wanting to feed feed feed, mainly for comfort.

Hello thrush you old bastard friend.

Guess that's the price we pay for that massive dose of antibiotics Littler had last week.

Break out the probiotics boys. This yeast infection is about to dance it's last tango.

And so continues our adventures in breastfeeding.

How not to quit breastfeeding

So stopping breastfeeding isn't going as smoothly as I had hoped.

I knew it wasn't going to be an overnight thing. Littler is far too keen on breastfeeding for it to be a quick process. But I had totally underestimated how much he was still feeding. Or maybe it's more that I'd underestimated how efficient a feeder he is. Let me tell you, Pamela Anderson had nothing on my girls come Sunday morning.

And then Sunday evening's dinner of roast chicken was refused point-blank, probably because I'd let him feed at 4pm having avoided breastfeeding since first thing that morning. So of course he wasn't hungry for dinner. But was hungry at 11pm. And 2am. And 5am.

So much for cutting out those night feeds.

Ah well.

At least I now know NOT to:

:: go cold turkey on breastfeeding

:: spoil an appetite for solid food in order to relieve the pressure of my overstuffed boobs

:: underestimate the efficiency of a 14 month old professional breastfeeder

I now have one bruised and battered boob (or so it feels) from a narrowly avoided blocked duct situation. But am slightly wiser for the experience.

So tonight, we'll go for round 3 of Trying Not to Breastfeed at night. Something tells me, we're in this for the long haul. I also have a niggling fear that it might just be easier to keep on breastfeeding...

(Fickle? Moi?)

It's all gone a bit Spice Girls round here

Stop right now thank you very much...

This is another breastfeeding post, so if it's not your bag, click away now...

Still here? Seriously, it's about breastfeeding. I'll give you one more chance...

Ok, I warned you.

I want to stop. I really, really do. Littler is teething again. Which means his latch has changed again and it's just not nice. His bedtime feed was actually painful tonight and I really don't want my lasting memory of feeding him to be a painful one.

So I've washed a number of different milk receptacles with various teats. If he wakes up through the night tonight, I'm going to offer him cows milk. But he's eaten really well today and even had toast and warm cows milk after his bath, so I live in hope he'll sleep through.*

We done 14 months of breastfeeding. I think we've given it a good old go.

I'll be sad and miss feeding him dreadfully of course. But I just can't deal with sore nipples. We had enough of that at the start with thrush thank you very much.

So wish me luck tonight.

Will I still be breastfeeding come morning? Probably.

Will I EVER stop breastfeeding? I bloody well hope so.**

*fat chance
**but I still think it's amazing. I'm just a bit over it after 14 months. So over it, I'm quoting Spice Girls lyrics. Sheesh. I thought we'd laid that girl crush to rest.

Is it time to stop? (or: I'll have a D please Bob)

I'm going through a real love/hate thing with breastfeeding right now. For 13 months, 2 weeks and 2 days I've been on call 24 hours a day for boob duty. And it's starting to get me down.

I now hate nursing bras with a passion. Saggy, sad, grey things, there's NOTHING else in my wardrobe as utterly un-sexy as my old nursing bras. It's time they were banished. But I don't want to buy new ones.

I want pretty little bras now please. Now more bolder holders. No more serious scaffolding. It's time for the udders to retire and just become boobs again. Can I just be a D cup once more please?

But Littler doesn't know how to fall asleep any other way except on the boob. He loves the boobs. They are his constant comfort. If he's hurt himself - a quick shot of breastmilk takes away the pain. When he's teething - a good long draft of breastmilk sorts that ache out good and proper. When he's tired - it's breastmilk all the way to the land of nod. When he had his immunisations - I breastfed him at the same time to significantly reduce the pain.

And all that is pretty damn cool. I mean, my breasts are AMAZING to be all those things to my gorgeous 13 month old. He was exclusively breastfed from about 15 minutes after he rushed headlong at lightning speed down the birth canal. I'd devoured Ina May and The Politics of Breastfeeding while pregnant, so I was pretty passionate about exclusive breastfeeding. Like his brother before him, the dreaded thrush tried to derail us a number of times. But we were far too stubborn a force for some common candida.

But now...I'm a bit less in love with the whole breastfeeding situation. I want to move on to the next stage. To shut down the all night boobie bar and let someone else take a turn at soothing the aches and pains.

But I'm actually terrified of stopping. Littler has the temper of a redhead, despite his angelic blond locks and I can't bear to hear him cry. I just don't know how he'd take it. Eventually he'd get over it, of course he would. But I'm just not sure I have the energy to cope with the fallout right now.

So if anyone has any words of wisdom as to how I can gently put the udders into retirement, they'd be gratefully received.

When does a friendly interest become meddling?

When we arrived home from holiday I received news from a very dear friend that she had given birth to her first baby, a lovely daughter.

Over the course of her pregnancy I had a couple of chats with my friend on the phone and via email about how much she wanted a natural, drug-free birth and fully intended to breastfeed. I even sent her a couple of books I really rated on breastfeeding and childbirth that I knew I wouldn't need anymore. She lives many miles away and we haven't actually seen each other in years, keeping in touch mainly via Facebook and email.

Then yesterday I learnt that my poor friend laboured for 15 hours only to be whipped in for an emergency c-section. Understandably, she's gutted her birth plan went out the window. But to make matters even worse, her lovely daughter is tongue tied and feeding is a struggle. She's been told that 'they' don't divide tongue ties anymore and to just carry on feeding until it stretches.

So of course I went into research overdrive last night and bombarded my friend with text messages and emails reassuring her that tongue tie is divided regularly with great success. I did struggle a bit to find a lactation consultant in Scotland (what's that all about?? Is there not the same need in Scotland for expert breastfeeding help?). But I eventually found her contact names and numbers of who to contact should she decide to get the tongue tie divided.

But now I fear I overstepped the mark. I fear I may have been meddling and sticking my nose in.

But I fed a baby with tongue tie (which admittedly did eventually stretch) and it was a long hard slog that made me miserable and placed considerable strain on everyone else in the family. I just wanted to save my friend from that pain and heartache and spare her a little of the guilt all mother's feel when things don't go exactly to plan.

I can vividly remember the anguish and uncertainty of those early week when feeding is not going well, your boobs hurt, your hormones are going crazy and no-one seems to be able to help. I wanted my friend to know that there is help if she wants it. She doesn't have to suffer in silence, or suffer at all.

I just hope my passion for breastfeeding and helping other people breastfeed didn't repel my friend or cause her any heartache. It's tough knowing where the line is and whether you've crossed it or not...


Did I meddle? I really hope not :-(

Passion...or obsession?

A little while ago, Spud at Chez Spud asked 'What is your passion?' and I've sorta been pondering about it ever since.


Where does passion end and obsession take over? Do you need to be a little bit obsessed to be passionate about something or does the act of becoming obsessed mean that your passion has taken over? (deep thoughts for a Tuesday night, I know).


Because I'm not sure if my passion is *just* a passion. I fear I may have strayed into obsession territory. Which I don't think is necessarily a bad thing, but I'm not sure I want to be totally obsessed by it. You see, my passion is breastfeeding.


Now, a large part of that passion is probably due to still being in the throes of breastfeeding a very avid breastfeeder. My 11 month old is very much a boob man. Refuses a bottle point blank and will only tolerate a cup of cows milk if I'm a good 12 miles away in London town.


So my life, at the moment, still revolves around breastfeeding. He feeds at least 3 times a night (making up for feeds he's missed while I'm at work) and whenever he can during the day. But the reason why I fear we've strayed into obsession territory is because I found myself having a tense discussion on twitter last night with a TV celebrity doctor (of all people) about poor breastfeeding advice that had been given on his show.


Now, I know that sounds like a weird way to spend your evening, but it just made me so cross. There are so many harmful myths out there about breastfeeding and often the media fail to check facts or consult an expert. Instead, the same old tripe is spouted about 'don't feel guilty', 'breastfeeding IS tough', 'it's not the end of the world if you give a bottle'. Well, frankly I'm sick of it. 

*rant alert: if you've made it this far, get out now while you still can!*


Yes, breastfeeding CAN be tough, for many many reasons. But telling women that it is tough before they've even given birth really isn't very constructive. It just sets them up to fail: so you give birth (which in itself is fraught with opportunities to 'fail' unless you 'achieve' a totally natural, drug-free birth at sunrise on an auspicious date), tensions are running high, you're probably exhausted and an emotional wreck and now you HAVE to get this tiny little naked (read slippery) baby, who probably isn't that hungry (myth: babies are born hungry) to open it's mouth and latch on to your nipple. Yes, your nipple.  A part of your body that is usually kept safely tucked away from the cold, cruel world. And now you must expose it to every passing midwife and her dog AND get your newborn baby to latch onto it. Yip. Piece of cake.


Now, the thing is. Sometimes it truly is a piece of cake. With my second baby it was*. I knew to just chill out. I knew to turn the harsh lights of the delivery room off. I knew about skin-to-skin. I knew The Politics of Breastfeeding inside out and I knew where to find expert help. 

So surely, instead of running around telling everyone not to feel guilty and it's too bloody hard for the average Jo to do anyway. Would our efforts not be better spent helping woman understand how to make breastfeeding easy?

Not having support, or knowing anyone who breastfeeding or where to find help when it's not going well makes breastfeeding tough (I'd never seen anyone breastfeed before having my boys). And bad advice just makes it 10 times, no, 100 times worse. It perpetuates the myth that exclusive breastfeeding is some perfect mothering nirvana that very few women are capable of achieving. It just makes me so sad. 


Women need to know that breastfeeding is normal. (not the dizzy heights of mothering perfection)


Women need to know where to find help if breastfeeding isn't going to plan.


They need to know what to expect when breastfeeding a newborn baby.


They need to know that breastfeeding babies tend to work on a strict schedule of "I'm hungry. Feed me now" that often has no discernible pattern in terms of hours or minutes.


They don't need to be judged. Or patronised. Or placated. Or told breastfeeding is tough. Or made to feel guilty.


Now, if anyone is still reading, can you please pass me a ladder so I can get down off this bloody soapbox? I'm getting vertigo.

Now that's multitasking!

So. Passion or obsession? It's a close call I reckon. A close call.


*at first it was easy, then it all went tits up (boom boom), then we sorted it out and are still at it. Just wanted to clarify that. But that sorry tale is a whole other post.