Nursing. Everyone in my family did it (my sister practically breastfed 5 years in a row since her babies are all 18 months apart), so I felt a significant amount of pressure to do it myself. However, I had heard conflicting opinions about it (as a teacher, I get to have have lunch with a bunch of gals, many of them experienced mommies). Some of the women I consulted with were completely against it, and said they would never do it. Some of them swore by it, and some were just doing it for the health benefits. Needless to say, just days before I gave birth, I was still confused: torn between getting back to my normal self ASAP and doing what “was best for the baby.”
I gave birth in a particular circumstance; better said a really, really bad circumstance. It was five days PRIOR to hurricane Irma hitting South Florida. I was in an evacuation zone, and I felt that our state was doomed. It was chaotic— I’ll leave this story for another day. But the fact that I could potentially be stranded without access to formula solidified my decision to breastfeed. Not to mention, the hospital I delivered at REALLY pushed it. I had everyone’s hands on my boobs those days. Luckily, Achilles latched on right away. Although he lost 10% of his body weight while we were at the hospital, my fear of the potential disaster and famine that could come after Irma, pushed me to nurse fervently.
It was NOT easy.
I had older Cuban ladies telling me things like: “With those soft and deflated boobs you won’t have much milk.” Others said things like, “He’s hungry, just give him formula.” And so I was going through a hurricane, five days postpartum, not in my home, not with my mom or sister (although my sister-in-law was AMAZING!!!), just completely out of my element… and to top it all off, I was self conscious about my milk supply. I spent HOURS pumping partially to prove that I had milk and partially to save it for an emergency (since we were all going to die). I had 20 ounces of frozen milk within a week of my son’s arrival. And everyone had finally shut about about my crappy boobs. The kid was alive on just my breast milk, and I was feeling happy. Then, I got a plugged duct. I did everything I could to unplug it, terrified to death that I would get mastitis when no doctors were open (my son hadn’t even had his first visit to the pediatrician). I finally took some unconventional advice and had my husband help me out with a stronger-than-a-baby-suck suck. He almost threw up, but it worked! I know, TMI (but hey, maybe it helps a sista out) #yourewelcome!
Anyway, my nursing journey continued. Now, I was back home (15 days later), and I was with this kid all alone. He would cry all day, and I felt like a slave to breastfeeding. All day and night he sucked on me like a vampire—on demand. I felt like a cow being milked incessantly. I began to hate breastfeeding and wondered if I had made the correct choice for me. I just wanted to relax and be me! To have a glass of wine (or three) and take a break. But I felt I couldn’t do it. He was always hungry. And to top it off, I had pumped so much he wasn’t getting hindmilk (I’ll leave that google search right there for ya). I spent countless hours researching how to fix it. I ended up creating a schedule where I would alternate breasts, and he would feed from just one at a time. And it worked. But it was so much work.
Honestly, I almost gave up on breastfeeding.
But I am glad I didn’t.
Today, it’s one of the things I love the most in a very strange and unexplainable way. I am sure it’s one of the things that helped me connect with him, and I just love our special thing. It’s the one thing no one else can do for him. I also learned to deal with not taking it so seriously. I read so much about it that I came to terms with having a glass of wine here or there and being able to still nurse. There are these amazing test strips that let you know when it’s safe to nurse after having a drink. And there really is so much helpful information out there of you need to research for yourself. He eventually stopped nursing all day, and I was able to have a life. Now, he’s eating solids and it’s even easier. I’m actually sad that some day he won’t need me (my boob) anymore. But that’s life.
My point is: no matter what you choose, do it for you. I made so many decisions based on what other people did and would think. Now, I don’t really care. I do what I think is best and F*** it. Everyone has an opinion, but I have to live with my decisions. Bon Jovi really did say it best: IT’S MY LIFE.
And no matter what you choose, know that it will pass.
Love ya!