Feeding Frenzy

I've been wanting to write a long-winded post on the topic of breastfeeding, but every time I get started, I'm immediately exhausted.

Where to begin?

I could start first with all the people who think it's gross.  Or creepy.  Or shameful. There are a lot of folks, men and women, who think our breasts are meant for many things, but feeding isn't one.

Or there are the people who think it's all well and good, but please hide yourself because perverts are going to think it's attractive.  Or perhaps people who aren't perverts will feel like perverts because they might see the edge of, gasp, a nipple.

Or, like, can you do it in the bathroom?  Or a storage closet?  Maybe in your car, if your windows are tinted? I mean clearly that's where any other child would eat.

There's the age debate too.  How old is too old?  Does it matter if the child is in the US or in a less developed country without adequate nutritious options?  What about that three year old on the cover of Time?

Then there's the other side.  Those who choose to breastfeed and go about all holier than thou judging others who choose (or have) to use formula.  I mean, look around, can you tell which of your friends were formula fed?  Are their moms bad people?

Goodness gracious, so much to debate.  So much condescension.

Personally, I decided to breastfeed and give it my best shot.  I had heard that it hurt some, but either I wasn't told explicitly, or I just didn't listen, that it hurts like H-E-double-hockey-sticks.

If I'd known, yes, I would've still done it, but I probably wouldn't have felt so alone through it all.  I would've approached it like labor.  I would've learned what my options would be, and what back-up plans I might want to consider.  I wouldn't have felt guilty when I needed the ibuprofen more for my top half than my bottom half those first days.  Er, weeks.

The darn lactation consultants make you think that if it hurts, you're clearly doing something wrong.  Maybe I did at the beginning.  But either way, my kid was gaining weight like a champ, clearly born with a more consistent appetite than his parents, and every time he turned to me, mouth wide, slamming his head into my arm or chest, I cringed at the thought of giving him his necessary sustenance.

I wouldn't have admitted that aloud a few weeks ago.

I remember telling myself to wait until the milk came in.  Then wait until two weeks.  Then wait a month.  Thank heavens somewhere between one month and two, everything started to click.

Yes.

Between weeks four and eight.

That is a long, long time when he eats every two hours during the day like clockwork, and each time feels like a swarm of bees stinging one of the most sensitive surfaces of your body.

Those weeks were an eternity.

Why stick with it?  Why not switch to formula?  I mean, I did say I have zero judgment for those who choose that very path.  I wish I knew.  I guess, for me, it was something instinctual.  It was the feeling of satisfaction of feeding him.  It was the fulfillment knowing my body was leading to his successful growth.  And, on a totally unrelated note, I just plain didn't want to quit.  Call it pride, I guess.

Now, three months in, we've got this eating thing down.  And while I don't plan on being the mom with a preschooler still nursing, I'm not in any rush for the day when he won't need me at all.  In fact, in the way that I'm often preemptively nostalgic for experiences not yet past, I know I'll miss it.

So to anyone who wants to nurse, here's what I say: give it a go.  Know it might be super painful and that that pain might last a while.  Know you might absolutely love it. Know that if it doesn't work, you aren't a failure.  And know that a ridiculous number of people are going to judge you regardless, so trust your mom gut, and feed that kid the best way you can.