Breastfeeding Woes

Nursing Emma is my favorite thing to do with her from day one.  Nursing her provided an instant bond between the two of us.  I could feel the immense love pouring out of her as she drank my milk.  In her first few days of life, I was all she needed and I loved that.  When I was pregnant, I didn’t set very high expectations for breast feeding.  Yes, I signed up for the class and made Wes go with me.  But, I didn’t want to set a time frame because I didn’t want to set myself up for disappointment.

That all changed when Emma arrived and I nursed her for the first time.   After that, I knew I would breastfeed her for six months exclusively.  I knew I would never give her formula.  Wes has mentioned before that I act like giving Emma formula is the same thing as poisoning her- and to some extent I do.  I want what’s best for her- and I strongly believe that is breast milk and breast milk alone.

That being said, nursing her is also one of the most frustrating experiences.  Emma spits up my milk like nobody’s business.  My body works so hard to produce this good milk for her and she just spits it up.  Now that I am back to work, I have to pump.  Pumping is annoying.  Every day, I have to walk five minutes to the mothers room, get my pump all set up, pump, clean up and walk five minutes back to my desk.  I have been doing this three times a day for almost two months now.  I have no extras in the freezer to show for it. 

My baby is tiny.  I hate hearing that, but I know it’s the truth.  This was confirmed during her 4 month old well visit.  She weighs just 12 pounds 8.5 ounces.  She still fits into her 0 – 3 month clothes.  I don’t know why I have been beating myself up about it, but I have.  The doctor seems to think she is ok for the most part, but I was instructed to feed her 4 oz every feeding (from a bottle).  This morning, I opened up the freezer and I immediately felt defeated.  The bottles upon bottles I had stocked up while on maternity leave were gone.  I had depleted my supply.  I was devastated.  And tired.  And sick of pumping.  Wes comes into the kitchen a few minutes later and I asked him if he had had to get bottles out of the freezer the day before, and yes, he had.  I wanted to cry.  I am not making enough milk for my baby.  For the first time in motherhood, I felt that I wasn’t good enough.  I pouted about it the whole way to work.  I wanted to give up.  I wanted to tell Wes just give her some formula.  But I snapped out of it.

I went on Amazon at lunch and I bought six boxes of Mother’s Milk tea and 200 Fenugreek vitamins that are both supposed to increase my milk supply.  I bought in bulk to prove to myself that I believed I could do it.  I am determined that this is going to work.  I am going to produce enough milk for my baby without having to wake up between 1am and 5am to pump (Wes tells me that’s the trick J). 

Breastfeeding has been a whirl of emotions.  It is joyful, exciting and amazing.  At the same time it is hard, annoying, time consuming and sometimes disappointing.  But that flushed face and drunk milk look she gives me after a feeding session is priceless.  It makes it all worth it.