Not All Babies Are the Same - Christy Gunter

This post was contributed by Christy Gunter, who blogs at My Super Kaduper Life.

This is the story of a very stubborn woman who doesn’t like to change things once she has made her mind up and the story of a little baby who was given razor sharp shark gums and grizzly bear jaws. This woman’s boobs and this baby’s mouth collided and brought forth one of the most harrowing tales ever played out in like, real life and stuff. (Continue reading at your own risk. Boobs are mentioned a bunch but not in the good sort of way.)

To start Keaton’s Breastfeeding saga we must go back in time and start with Rowan. Oh, sweet Rowan. Deceiver of mothers. Giver of false hopes. I wasn’t really sure if I wanted to breastfeed Rowan- in fact I hadn’t given it much thought until later in my pregnancy when a bunch of Hens kept asking me what my feeding plan was. Derrrrr… Huh. I’m gonna have to feed this thing aren’t I? Crap. After doing a quick poll of my family members I decided I better give breastfeeding a shot. My mom and my 2 older sisters breastfed in some form for 3 months. In fact almost every woman I knew, young or old, had given me the same answer; they did a combination of breast and frmula feeding until the 3 month mark, then dropped the boob like a bad habit. Fine. Sounds good to me. I did a little research, all of which detailed the awesome power of boob milk and glossed over the rough start most women have with breastfeeding. I told everyone who asked that I was going to try to breastfeed but wasn’t going to hold myself to anything, should it prove too difficult.

Minutes after Rowan’s birth, the L&D nurse whipped open my hospital gown, puckered Rowan’s mouth over my nipple and smashed her face onto my boob. She was very “This is how ya do it, OK” instead of slowly walking me through the process, but Rowan just went with it and turned out to be a great latcher on-er (technical term!). The first 2 weeks were ungodly painful. Your nipples get chapped and hard and oh my god I did not think it was possible for them to get that big and red. My milk came down on the 3rd day and my boobs became so engorged Bill and I went out and bought a very expensive (and worth every damn penny!) breast pump. Although Rowan was a great nurser, she never took much at a time so my boobs were always in some form of pain in those early weeks. I remember crying every time she latched on because of the pain, but it never occurred to me that I should quit. Then it just got better. My body adjusted to being assaulted by a baby’s mouth every 2-4 hours, my supply regulated and I started to absolutely love nursing my daughter. I swear rainbows shot out of her butt and singing birds gathered around my head when it was nursing time. By the time she was a month old I had already forgotten how painful the first weeks had been and I went on to nurse her exclusively for 6 months. Because I worked, I had to pump 3 times a day which was great because the company provided a lactation room, but soon my milk supply started to wane because I was pumping more than I was actually nursing. Then I started to get questioned. Those same Hens who were so interested in my baby feeding habits while I was pregnant started asking me again- “You’re STILL breastfeeding?” they would reply. Like 6 months was way too old for a baby to still be given breast milk and oh my god yuck, they made little pinched faces. I was young and stupid so this made me feel really bad. I thought since my supply was dropping anyway, I should probably introduce frmula to Rowan. So for the next two months she was given a combination of frmula and breast milk in a bottle along with being nursed. At the 8 month mark my milk had completely dried up and I was sad, but proud that I had given what I did and happy for the experience of breastfeeding my daughter.

Now. The 27 months between Rowan and Keaton were largely spent researching baby crap. Oh god the hours I spent on Babycenter.com, Parents.com and reading parenting magazines. I was obsessed. I couldn’t wait to breastfeed my son and though I was not going to set any parameters- I wanted to do a minimum of 8 months and hoped to make it to the 1 year mark. Then, as his due date grew closer, I thought I ABSOLUTELY HAD to do 8 months because that was how long Rowan got breast milk. Then I started thinking that if he didn’t get it for the same amount of time, that would mean I loved her more and then he would grow up into some disgruntled asshole who blamed everything wrong in his life on my inability to give him breast milk for the EXACT same duration as his sister, who would no doubt be some sort of super space rocket genius because she got breast fed for the perfect amount of time and YOU RUINED MY LIFE MOM WAHHHHH!!! In conclusion he would give me some sort of drug that would make it look like I was dead but really I wasn’t and they would bury me alive and I would spend 2 weeks clawing at the coffin’s hood before I died and… See where this is going? Christy = CRAZY.

So poor Keaton was born to this crazy lady and his L&D nurse did much the same thing as Rowan’s. Only it was worse because nurses can get really over-worked and tired and they kind of assume if you already have a baby that you know what you are doing and they don’t offer a lot of support. Keaton latched on OK at first and went right to town with feedings. This time my milk let down even faster and harder. I knew that it would hurt and was somewhat prepared but pain is pain and when something really fucking hurts it doesn’t matter how prepared you are. The first two weeks were awful- so bad, that when it was time to feed him my body would involuntarily start shaking.

I went to see a lactation consultant in the hospital 3 weeks after his birth. At this point my nipples were not just chapped and sore, they had open wounds on them. Both boobs were rock hard and bright red, no matter how many times I fed him or pumped I wasn’t getting any relief. The lactation consultant, who clearly had been to maybe 2 classes 20 years ago for this title, told me Keaton’s latch was good, my boobs didn’t look that bad to her and it would get better soon if I soaked them in a pan of warm water 8 times a day. Yeah, lady- I’m gonna give my hooters a sitz bath 8 times a day-see this little bundle of screaminess over here? I’m kinda busy. Thank God a midwife walked in and caught a glimpse of the cherry red rocks, formerly known as my boobs, because she prescribed a cream that was specifically formulated for this kind of breast feeding damage.

I went home with the nipple goop and some hope that I would get relief. The cream helped between feedings but every time Keaton fed he ripped the scabs off the lacerations. I was shaking so badly before every feeding that I was scared I would drop him. I cried every time this kid ate for over three weeks. My husband told me to stop. My family members told me to stop. I couldn’t though- how could I explain to them that I would be buried alive if I did that? WithOUT sounding crazy. (Answer: I couldn’t.) Then the fever came and I got so sick. Bill had to physically drag me to Urgent Care where they diagnosed me with double mastitis (breast infection) and gave me antibiotics. Then my OB called me because he had heard I’d been treated for it and wanted to see me. He gave me a better antibiotic to clear up the infection, of which I had to take two rounds because the lacerations on my breasts were not letting the infection heal properly.

By the time Keaton was just over a month old my nipples looked like they’d been through a grinder. With the infection cleared up, my doctor came up with a regimen where I breast fed Keaton only on my left side and pumped only on my right side- hoping the worse laceration could heal if bandaged and not gnawed on by baby shark breath. This was exhausting because I had to breast feed for part of his feeding, then give him a bottle of breast milk and then pump my right side. By the time I was done with one feeding it was time to start the next and I had to take care of a two year old and a baby who didn’t consent to being put down very often (read: AT ALL), so many of those pumping sessions were accompanied by his screaming, which started Rowan in on HER own brand of screaming. After 2 weeks of this my doctor told me to seriously consider calling it quits. (Yep-keep scrolling, there is even MORE to this awesome story. Or don’t. Probably better to make up your own happy ending at this point.)

I couldn’t do it though. NOW it was getting really effing personal. I could not give up after going through 6 weeks of absolute hell. Then he will have WON, people. (Yes, I am now in a deadlocked battle of wills with a 6 week old child. WINNER!). All of my effort would have been for nothing if I gave up now. I worked so hard through the first tough weeks and then through the mastitis and now the lacerations which really can only be described as chunks missing from my nipple. (Point of reference: Mad-Eye Moody’s nose.) I couldn’t quit now. I knew I was being illogical but I had done this before and wanted so very much to have a good experience of nursing Keaton.

Somewhere around the 2 month mark, things started to get better. I still had pain from the lacerations but they were no longer open wounds. Keaton’s floppy head was getting stronger so I didn’t have to prop him up as much and he was getting better at life, too. I put my head down and pushed through and by the time he was 4 months we had reached the magical land of rainbow butts and tweeting birds. We learned the absolutely fantastic art of nursing while laying down and this was life-alteringly beautiful. When he woke up early in the morning this position bought me anywhere from 45 minutes to an hour and a half of more sleep. Anyone with one or more kids will tell you how awesome sleep is. They’ll talk about it like sex. “Oh my god I had the most amazing nap today- it totally blew my mind” etc. etc. Even though things in the household were still pretty rough due to Keaton’s never ending screaminess, breast feeding was no longer another thing pulling us down. It was giving my son and I some much needed bonding time and PLUS! babies can’t scream when there is a boob in their mouth.

So there it is. I won. But not in the bratty I told you so kind of way. I won because I worked really damn hard and it thankfully worked into something beautiful in the end. I nursed Keaton exclusively until he started taking solid food at 4.5 months and between my boobs and the hundreds (literally) of bags of breast milk I expressed I never had a need for frmula. Last week, at 15 months, we shared our last nursing session. He has graduated to whole milk and no longer has the patience to feed from me, a cue my body took well and I, quite simply, quit producing milk. It was the right time for us to end it and I took away so much from our nursing time together.

So now all I have to worry about is Rowan trying to kill me because Keaton got 15 months and she only got a measly 8 and how on earth could I be such a terrible mother…

PS- One major lesson I took away from this, was to not judge anyone on how they choose to feed their baby. I don’t care if you choose to skip breastfeeding all together as long as you have your kid’s best interest at heart and I don’t care if you decide to breast feed your 3 year old as long as you have solid boundaries in place and it’s working for your family. It’s a personal choice that is specific to each mom and baby. My story wasn’t the ideal outcome I’d wished for but in the end it was the right choice for my family.