One lump or two?
In honour of world breastfeeding week, I have decided to talk about my own journey. It’s not something I’ve been particularly vocal about; I haven’t promoted or protested ‘breast is best’, nor have I jumped on any bandwagons when other mothers have spoken strongly about the benefits or had firm beliefs on the rights or wrongs. I’ve never experienced any negativity towards me when I’ve fed in public. Maybe if I had, I would have been more of an advocate for breastfeeding mothers. Maybe I’d have joined support groups or participated in public awareness? All I know is that my experience has been wonderful; to me, it has been the most normal thing in the world. I had no expectations to begin with and I am lucky that it just came naturally to me and my children. I have been breastfeeding on and off (mostly on) for almost eight years.
When I was pregnant with my first, I attended just one breastfeeding class at around seven months gone. Sitting in a circle of bumps, and practicing feeding positions on a doll, could, I guess, only mentally prepare you for your pending nursing journey. Let me tell you, and I’m sorry to burst the bubble, that nothing can prepare you for the toe-curling torture of having your nipples sucked off in the first few weeks. It’s deceiving you see: in the beginning it’s not bad at all, if a little uncomfortable, good job really! Because after a newborn has powerfully sucked the life out of your already tender teats for a week or so, the discomfort really kicks in. I’ll never forget the eye-watering wince upon every latch, and telling myself over and over that it will pass: That I am providing a meal for my child. I remember my midwife telling me to stick at it, this is the time when so many women ‘give in to the sting’ but it never crossed my mind to quit: I was determined to power through and so I did.
A vivid memory I’ll never forget is when my own mum witnessed me breastfeeding for the first time. She welled up, with pride and pure love...I’ll never forget that moment. And I hope to share that same feeling with my daughters one day.
Between all of my four children, I think we’ve only given formula a handful of times. Our choice was Aptamil as it boasts ‘a breast-milk substitute’ so made sense to us. About a week before I was due to give birth we purchased a few last minute items, should I have trouble feeding naturally. Before then we hadn’t really thought to buy bottles, but this panic buy saw us bring home the Aptimal starter pack and a microwave steriliser just in case. Well that ‘just in case’ got ripped open and prepared in just the first few hours of our first newborn being home. Having spent almost three days in labour, hubby and I were both totally shattered (him more... clearly!) and despite latching and feeding well, she just wouldn’t settle. Of course we did the usual nappy changing, winding, rocking and swaying and in the end we found ourselves in the kitchen at 3am trying to read heating instructions through tired eyes. My emotions took over as I cried with exhaustion and feelings of failure and within minutes I realised this wasn’t what I wanted, abandoned the plan and persevered. The second time I was forced to feed formula against my will was when I simply was too ill to feed. A severe chest infection saw me physically unable to function. I couldn’t eat, let alone produce enough milk for my twelve week old. I cried and cried as she gulped the bottle down, but she needed it and my husband looked amazing feeding her.
I’ve had many comparative conversations with fellow mums about leaving the house with a newborn, and my approach seemed so swift compared to others, who’d likened it to a military operation; for me, it’s just been, well....easy. I’m not saying this to show off, or shame those who have struggled for one reason or another. The benefits however of exclusively breastfeeding is that I’d just grab the changing bag and go. No bottles to prepare, no formula to pack or hot water to consider. A few changes of clothes, and my boobs and we were out with no trouble at all. Fast forward seven years and today is a very different story; trying to leave the house with four children IS like a military operation, and usually results in us just avoiding it altogether and staying at home in favour of the garden, unless it’s utterly necessary!
It hasn’t come without its downsides. I’ve fallen victim to repeated bouts of Mastitis, with all of my children. I average around 4-5 infections per child. I don’t know why, I guess I’m just prone to a blocked duct or two! As you can expect I’ve become an expert at detecting the signs early on. The familiar flu-like symptoms seem to affect me first, and these wipe me out big time; followed by the extreme tenderness, which is so painful to touch and localised where the blockage is. ‘Feeding through’ is unbearably but is most defiantly the best thing to do. The heat of the infected area and the red tracking confirms another course of antibiotics and guarantees gross nappies for the following few days!
_
I remember the first time I left the baby with her dad to attend the hen night of my sister-in-law to be. We had planned a swanky meal and booked an even swankier club to hang out in afterwards in the heart of London. As a first time mum, this was my debut outing and I was keen hit the town, and let my hair down. Keeping it real, my number one item on the packing list was of course the breast pump. My daughter was just five months old, and although I’d loaded her dad with frozen milk, and a load more luck, I still needed to express the excess milk I’d produce in the twenty-four hours away from her. The plan was to do this after dinner and before we hit the dance floor. Only when I returned to the hotel room to do the deed, I decided that as I wasn’t particularly in much discomfort, and the fact that I looked amazing up top, that I’d skip the ‘pump and dump’ and instead, head out with a bona fide boost in confidence and a bust I’d only ever dreamed of having!
So… that was a stupid idea. The club was heaving, and four hours in, so were my bosoms. I must have looked a right idiot walking around the place with my arms crossed, each hand cradling a boob. I was in agony, and desperately trying to shield from those who might shove into me as we wove through the crowds. Needless to say I had to cut the night short and get back to the hotel quickly. I guess breastfeeding has alternative perks too... I’m not sure though, I’d like to feel that ‘perky’ again!
I’ve never let the fact that I breastfeed dictate my decisions for dressing. I’d say I’ve been quite an unconventional mother-to-be when it comes to my dress sense. Four times over, I’ve never bought a single item of maternity wear, and never owned a nursing bra. My choice not to wear suitable and boob accessible attire, has of course seen me on numerous occasions having to seek alternative seating to breastfeed. At every one of my children’s christenings, you can guarantee I’ve been sat in a room in the back of the church, starkers from the waste up as I’ve literally have to strip off to feed! My sister in law and I, have had many a giggle and a natter in these situations (she happens to always end up with me and has most definitely seen my boobs a million times more than she probably cares to) She always tactfully lent against the latched door to save any embarrassing encounters with the Priest! Many-a-time I’ve had to to sit in an abandoned room. Or storage cupboard. Or worse, a toilet! Mostly though, I have left the venue, be it a family christening or a big fat Greek wedding and resorted to sitting in the back of the car. My fault entirely. My vanity (rather, the poor choice in suitable outfits for nursing) encouraged me to want to look and feel good, as opposed to free but frumpy!
Don’t get me wrong, it has also limited my clothing choice and purchases too. Vests are the one; the one shoulder removal for easy access is key. A baggy top is also a staple in my wardrobe, teamed with tight jeans, this is my most common public wear, and great for discrete feeding. Sometimes you’ll even see me fully able to use my shirt as an airy disguise for baby to comfortably feed beneath. I may be all for breastfeeding among the people, but you’ll never see me ‘wap out a bap’ and expose bare chest with nothing but a babies head for cover. No way!
-
Breastfeeding can be both a blessing and a curse in my opinion. It is the perfect opportunity to take a well deserved and much needed break from manic mum-life and a fine excuse not to do anything else! I cannot possible wipe another ones bum or fetch a snack for the millionth time whilst trapped under a tiny one. My sole focus; the baby; and my goal, to give her a good meal! Simple. You see this also allowed me to peacefully browse social media or catch up on a little group text. Of course, mostly, this allowed me to bond with my child; watch them gulp, listen to those adorable little noises, breathe in their beauty and stroke their fine hair. These days it’s not as restful as it used to be. I can no longer rely on a breastfeeding break to check Facebook or text a friend. These rogue arms and legs wave around everywhere; Standard slapping in the face, grabbing and stretching of the bottom lip and hair pulling for ‘comfort’ is expected behaviour. Managing to precisely swipe away an article you are reading on you phone or liking a random post on Instagram (usually the type of post you have set out to scan and stork and most defiantly NOT reward with a double tap!) is most certainly some sort of ninja power they either develop in a short amount of time or are simply born with. At the moment, number four has an obsession with two moles on my left arm. No matter what side she feeds on, she’ll find them and continually pick at them for comfort; it’s annoying and quite frankly, it bloody well hurts.
It most certainly does become a bit of an issue the more children you have, especially when the husband is at work. It’s a given, that as soon as I’ve sorted the brood and sat down to feed the baby, another would need assistance and I’d have to detach the latch to contend to a crisis. This results in a poor screaming baby who has been ripped from the nips, and rudely interrupted mid flow, and among the madness, I’ve often resembled a water gun, also mid flow - glamorous!
The longer you feed, the more confident your child becomes. I simple cannot sit down now without my toddler climbing upon my lap and demanding self service. Before I know it she’s grabbed at my top, pulled at my bra and helped herself. Standard. Laying down is the same. She’ll crawl on top of me, and perform ‘gym-nurstics’ on my stomach. This includes twerking her tooshie as she flexes her toes, balancing on one leg to practice her pirouettes (whilst still attached - ouch! ) all whilst she secretly stamps all over my insides, just fabulous!
Let’s talk teeth.... actually, I don’t think there is any need to talk about the teeth. I’m sure you can imagine? Let’s just leave that there!
I’ve always been told I must have really good milk. I’d read about women who fed for hours and hours, chatted to other mums who mentioned that one feed took a good 45 minutes, and I had begun to feel a bit concerned about the way ‘we’ did it. Apart from the obvious cluster feeds amidst a growth spurt, mine have had a good drink after ten minutes or so, sometimes after just a few. Either they are milk drunk or I’ve drowned them? But they’ve always seemed satisfied after a fairly swift feed. I chatted about my concerns with my midwife and health visitor on a couple of occasions, worried that not enough hind milk was being consumed, but they convinced me that I was doing just fine, and judging by the steady weight gain, they certainly weren’t going hungry! I’ve learned that each mother and baby is different. That you can share experiences, but you certainly shouldn’t compare them.
So this my my story, and just a few memories I’ve had along the way. It has worked for me and for my children. I have never been dictated by the clock and only fed ‘every four hours’. I have never truly known how much any of my children have had to drink, I’ve never had to measure ounces, or worry about correct temperatures. I’ve always fed on demand, which means whenever, wherever. I wouldn’t say I have done everything right, I might still be doing some things wrong. But I am pleased and proud that I have been able to provide milk for my children for as long as I have. Number four has been feeding for eighteen months now, and there are no signs of her stopping yet. She is happy, I am happy, albeit a little debilitated when she decides it’s time for a snack! I can’t say that she’s always hungry. Sometimes she’s just thirsty. Sometimes she uses me for comfort. Sometimes I crave for my own body back. The only thing I’d quite like back really is my sleep, but hey, I’m a mum now... I have to face facts... that’s never going to happen!