A few weeks ago, we sent out a call for Breastfeeding/Chestfeeding/Pumping memoirs. Our desire was to flood the Internet with beautiful breast/chestfeeding and pumping stories of triumph, overcoming challenges and struggles, and positive outcomes, regardless of the total amount of milk a parent was producing. We are thrilled to share these stories with you, our readers, and hope that they offer support and inspiration for you, wherever you are in your breast/chestfeeding or pumping journey.
Thank you to all of the parents who submitted their stories! If after you read these memoirs you are inspired to submit your story, feel free to send it to RobinKaplan@sdbfc.com.
This memoir is from Becky.
We were in Cambodia. Part business, part travel. I was seven months pregnant with our first baby and loving every bit of what first time mamahood brings. The flutters, the kicks, the dreaming of what would be.
We had fought for this baby — with years of infertility and trying and going through the system and finally attempting IVF, as our last effort — and there she was…a little heart beating on the first ultrasound. We did it. And we were ready for all she had for us.
As we rode wide-eyed through the streets of Cambodia, I saw her. A mama, holding a toddler, nursing an infant…all while balancing on the back of the moped her husband was steering.
That would be me someday. I was sure of it. It was all so natural and freeing. I was ready and excited to breastfeed.
January 2011, our baby came at rocket speed. We were in front of the hospital as she made her entrance into the world. It was freezing outside. She was tiny and shivering her ounces away.
We were on cloud nine. First time parents. I was high on endorphins and oxytocin and the thrill of a fast labor. I was walking around hours later. Things could not be going better. (I had no idea these things were not normal).
She seemed to latch well. The nurse told me I had the perfect breasts for breastfeeding. I had read all the books. I was feeling confident.
Too confident.
The next day, they said she was losing weight too quickly. I couldn’t understand it. I almost didn’t believe it. They almost didn’t send us home, but we were resolute. We thought we just needed to get out of the hospital, to get home and comfortable.
What I didn’t know is how hard it could be. From everything I had heard, it would be natural, and it would just work.
But it didn’t. Our sweet baby girl was not gaining weight. The pediatrician threatened to label her with ‘failure to thrive.’
In the post-baby haze, I didn’t capture the gravity and seriousness of it all. I was caught in the trap of first time motherhood that takes every input from every direction and confuses it with intuition. I was lost. There was no support.
I cried myself to sleep clutching our new baby, nearly every night.
We have five kids now. And every single one of them has a breastfeeding story of their own. We always tried and it never went exactly as I wanted. Yet, every baby, every child ended up thriving.
With our first, I used a supplemental nursing system with formula until she could also use table food, at which point I nursed her until she was 14 months old and we were ready for our next embryo transfer.
With our second, he got off to an amazing start. I thought “ah, THIS is a different story.” He gained weight well in the first several weeks, and he began sleeping more. I couldn’t have been more thrilled. Then, at his 8 week appointment, he hardly gained an ounce…in FOUR weeks. It was like a punch to the gut. All the self-doubt and trauma returned. We supplemented with formula until we moved nearer to a dear friend who provided her breastmilk for him. At 9 months my supply was gone, and he plumped up on my friend’s luscious, gracious milk.
With our third, we were ready. We met with San Diego Breastfeeding Center while he was still in utero. I had a midwife and a doula and an acupuncturist and an LC, and I was ready. He was a spitfire from birth. He rarely slept easily but nursed well, I thought. At three weeks, I sobbed as I left SDBFC group meeting. He had hardly transferred any milk. He wasn’t thriving. All the terror and sadness returned…yet, somehow, with help, we pushed through. I pumped, and supplemented from the meager ounces I could squeeze out. It was trying. But he made it to self weaning at 11.5 months.
Our fourth, our only non-IVF baby, was born at home. We were getting more and more natural as time went on. Maybe, I thought, that would help with breastfeeding. And he did well. I held onto every encouraging word from my LC. I remembered the diligence my body required. I was exhausted, but it didn’t matter...he made it. My supply was JUST enough, so I didn’t pump, and I didn’t supplement. It felt like a breath of fresh air. He weaned himself at 11 months, much to my heart’s sadness…yet I had to also rejoice. We made it.
Our fifth and final baby was a champ. Born at home and co-sleeping, she was the best weight-gainer-sleeper of them all. It felt like smooth sailing. Then, suddenly when she was 7 months old, my hormones went haywire, I had a crazy migraine, my period returned and my supply tanked. Where she used to be gulping, there was nothing but air. Once again, my LC walked me through with encouragement and a solid, educated plan. We used donor milk, and soon she’ll be transitioning to 100% table food.
I still think about that nursing mama on the back of the moped in Cambodia. I’m glad that is her story. I’m glad that for many women in the world who chose to breastfeed, their babies thrive.
But for those of us whose babies don’t thrive, whose dreams of breastfeeding are altered or jolted or completely shattered, we know that every ounce of effort is part of our souls. Every compromise is for the good of our babies’ health, and every bit of love we show by adjusting our dreams is what will set them on the thriving course to someday make their own dreams come true.