Anyone who says breastfeeding doesn't hurt is a rotten liar. Or they've never done it. One or the other. My lactation consultant (after Nat was first born) tried telling me that it didn't hurt. "It will only hurt if your baby's not latched on correctly." WRONG! Look! His latch is just like the picture in this book, but it feels like my virgin nipple is being drawn and quartered! Anyway, he was a guy...how would he know?
Colostrum is fairly thick and there’s not much of it to start. The baby has to work really hard to get it out. Nat's suck was so strong, that if you put your finger in his mouth, it felt like your nail was being pulled off! Even after my milk came in, his suck remained strong. For the first two weeks or so, I would wake in the mornings and lay there close to tears, not just because my nipples were so sore, but because I knew that another day of feedings awaited me.
At that time, I saw no light at the end of the lactation tunnel. All my pre-delivery ideals of breastfeeding for the first two years were fading, and my goal was quickly being whittled down to 9mos, no, maybe 6mos. Before Nat was born, I had never understood why so many women gave up nursing. In the US, less than 15% of infants are breastfed up to 6mos of age. Reasons like inconvenience and discomfort had seemed selfish and trite, and I had sworn that I would not fall victim to such shortcomings. What a different outlook I had as I nursed with gritted teeth that entire first month.
By the time I hit six weeks post-delivery, the pain had dissipated and left in its place a gnawing discomfort. Pardon the pun. At my postpartum check-up, my OB asked if I was nursing, and I remember her saying: “Isn’t it wonderful?” I said “yes” because the dreamy look on her face told me it was the only acceptable answer. But secretly I thought: “Are you NUTS?” Then she said: “There are some times during the night, when it’s just you and him, and it brings tears to your eyes.” Yes, tears. But, of course, those weren’t the tears she was talking about… I went away feeling frustrated and guilty. Even though breastfeeding wasn't hurting as much, my first adjective for it would've been far from "wonderful."
Her words haunted me. Later that night, and for the following few nights, I tried to find that feeling she'd described, that opium of nursing. No luck. My mind and body still only registered discomfort and fatigue. I’d lay back on the couch in his nursery and rest my head against the wall, willing him to eat faster. Sometimes I’d drift off, and eventually he would too, on top of me. We’d lay there in a heap, until I woke up and would put him back in his swing. This routine, twice a night like clockwork, carried us through his first two months.
By the start of his third month of life, Nat was starting to gain some serious weight. Fortunately, I had discovered the forgiving nature of nursing while laying down. I would nurse this way during the day, and the comparative comfort gave me a needed break. When Nat was first born, I couldn't bring myself to co-sleep because he was so small. I worried that he would be rolled over, pushed off, or smothered in blankets and sheets. But he was bigger now, a fairly still sleeper, and had thus far shown no intentions of sleeping through the night anytime soon. I decided to give co-sleeping a try.
He has been in our bed for two months now. Some nights he starts out there. Me, sitting up and working on my laptop; him, laying on his back and watching the ceiling fan, eventually falling asleep to its monotony. Other nights, he falls asleep early, before I am in the bedroom, and is put down in his nursery, until he wakes for that 2am meal. At that point, I go in and gather him up, cuddly and warm, and bring him back to bed with me; a small child nestled in the crook of my arm, drinking, dozing, drinking, and so happy to be tucked in next to mommy. It took me four months to get to this point, but I have half a mind to call my OB and say: “Yes. Yes, it is wonderful.”
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