Slow Posting

We're not gone yet. The posts on this blog come from reader submissions, and from bloggers that I reach out to because I respect their work. Real life has slowed down my blogger outreach these last couple of weeks, so you haven't seen much around here. I'll go back to my regularly scheduled pleading shortly. In the meantime, I would love to see more reader submissions.

If you've been trying and failing to write about your own breastfeeding experience, remember you don't have to tell your whole story in one post. Try these prompts and see what you get:

What did you learn from breastfeeding?

What was the strangest thing that happened to you because you breastfed?

Tell us about someone whose support helped you breastfeed.

What was it like the very first time you nursed?

Was your pediatrician supportive?

Remember, you can chose what name your piece posts with. You don't have to give your real name, or any name at all.

Stephanie, Noel, and Darrah

My name is Stephanie. Right now, I have two children- my son, Noel, who is three, and my daughter, Darrah, who is 15 months old. Before, though, before I was a mom-to-two, I was just trying to have a baby. I had lots of plans of how it was going to be- and my husband and I had been trying to have a baby for almost five years before I got pregnant via IVF, so I had plenty of time to make plans.
I was going to have my baby in a birth center, with a midwife. I was going to breastfeed immediately, I was going to have a blissful pregnancy and everything was going to be easy and perfect.

Well, I got pregnant. I was really good at it. I measured exactly right at all my appointments, I felt awesome, I had a perfect little baby belly once I started to show. I opted to do the triple screen- a blood test to check for chromosomal anomalies, and got back a result of 'increased risk'. Eh, my midwife assured me that there were a lot of people that got that result, and all was well. Because I was seeing a midwife, though, state law required me to follow up with a perinatologist, where my options were a thorough ultrasound to check for what they call 'soft markers', or an amnio. My husband and I felt that the amnio was too risky after the difficulty of getting pregnant, so we did the targeted ultrasound and went on our way. Well, we finally did the amnio at 30 weeks, when the risk of losing the baby was minimal, after three targeted ultrasounds that showed two markers of a possible problem.

The next day we found out that our baby had Down syndrome. We were devastated- I had PLANS. This was not my plan. I got a title of 'high risk', and couldn't stay with my midwife or birth center. I had to transfer to an OB/GYN at 32 weeks. I had to have a hospital birth, and because the baby was perpetually breech, we started talking about a c-section. It took me about two weeks. Two of the hardest weeks of my life, honestly. It was two weeks of me coming to terms with what I thought I was getting into, and what I was actually getting. It got better. I tried to wrap my head around our new circumstances by reading . I researched turning breech babies. I researched Down syndrome. I researched breastfeeding. I read and read and read. I remembered that the baby inside me, the one that I was so afraid of- was still the one that I had wished for and dreamed of for years and years. That just because things were going to be different didn't meant they were going to be bad.

The baby stayed breech, I had a c section. My husband followed the baby into the nursery to make sure that nothing was given to him by mouth, that no one gave him a pacifier until he was brought to me once I was out of recovery. I read the La Leche League's paper on breastfeeding babies with Down syndrome. It wasn't much to go on, but I knew it could be done. I put him to breast, and we fumbled. It was going, but it wasn't easy. We kept trying. He got to room-in with me from the start, so that was in our favor.

I called in the hospital's lactation consultant. With her help, we latched and relatched until he was on right. We stripped him down and woke him up because he kept falling asleep. We got a hospital grade pump on the scene to evert flat nipples. This was like work. I felt like I was doing it all wrong, but I hoped that if I kept at it, if I kept trying, maybe it would get better. I was going to do everything in my power to try until I couldn't do it anymore. We kept plugging along, and it was always an hours long process to get him awake, correctly latched, and eating. And then it was time to do it all over again. We got released from the hospital. At home, we kept up the wake up, latch-relatch, eat, fall asleep routine. I needed a hand to hold his head (in the dancer hold), and one to hold his body, and a third to hold my boob, which was bigger than the poor baby's head.

Fortunately, we had a pediatrician who is incredibly supportive of breastfeeding, and helped us, even while my son was not gaining his birthweight back very quickly. Instead of pushing us to supplement, he gave me some advise on positioning, and was available to help whenever I needed it.

We both learned how to do it better. As my son grew, he was able to manage better. As I got more comfortable with nursing, I was able to just go through the actions and not have to think about every step in detail. There was most definitely a learning curve- it wasn't just "open mouth, insert nipple", although we got there relatively quickly. By the time my son was four weeks old, we were doing just fine.

We did just fine straight through until he was about 16 months old, and I was pregnant with our second child. He weaned himself suddenly at that point.

It can be done. People told me not to get my hopes up, that babies with Down syndrome were unlikely to nurse. It's harder, maybe. But if we did it, others can, too.

(and with my second child I got my midwife assisted homebirth. My daughter nursed in her first minutes, and did it perfectly from the start. Easy as pie, without even a second thought)

Hedra, Part Two

I only wish I actually did ask for help every time I struggled.

Last reason I don't like the Super-Mom thing - I've been there. I bought into the Super-Mom title just a little. First time mom equals insecure, much of the time. From that first-time perspective, everyone else knows what they're doing. Everyone else looks like they have it together. I felt like I was just kind of making it up, and hoping it was close enough, and hoping more that nobody looked too closely and noticed that I was faking my confidence half the time, and the other half I just got lucky.

My competitive streak combined with that made it harder for me to ask for help. I wanted to be a better mother than my own mom - who is a decent mom, all in all, so that was a high bar. She never had help. She never had books, or resources. She didn't have a spouse who thought this was a core job for her. She never had medical reassurance, social backup, or La Leche League. She was doing this in the 50's and it Just Wasn't Done. Me? To compete, I had to do it equally alone. Sorta. At least I shouldn't ask for help, you know? Because to be a Real Mom, I had to be a Super-Mom. I had to do it alone, prove I was worthy. Prove I was better. Bad combination with the insecurity, there.

I have four kids, two older than the twins, so you'd think that I'd have figured out by the time I had the twins that if I struggle, I need to get help. Call me a slow learner.

With my eldest, I struggled - cried through feedings for five and a half weeks until he figured out how to not clamp down too hard on my breast. I asked my friends to check his latch. I asked the midwife (who was also a friend) to check his latch. But I was deep-down terrified of calling a lactation consultant. If I asked a Professional, that was admission of failure. I could ask peers or non-specialists without trouble, but calling in qualified support? That would be proof that I was not a Real Mom, and certainly not a Super-Mom. I couldn't fail, and asking for help equaled failure.

I still shake my head over my stupidity on that. Not only did I pay for my stubborn insistance that I needed to do this All By Myself, but my son did, too. It turned out that he had an oral aversion with devensive behavior from being suctioned roughly at birth, which was why he was clamping down. If that had been managed and addressed as an infant, he might not have ended up in a feeding clinic with aversive feeding at five years old. He will always have a different relationship to food than the natural and welcoming relationship he could have had, because I was determined to be better than my mom. That's a painful admission. I may be smart, but being stubborn about earning my label was dumb.

Skip forward four years, and I did it again. I suffered through bad latches and blisters for four months. See, I'd earned my badges of 'breastfeeding mama' and 'Super-Mom' by nursing my eldest for more than three years. I knew how to do this, and I was NOT going to give up my hard-won label by calling for help! Instead, I poked around the internet until I ran across a method for allowing an infant to set their own latch instead of helping too much. I tried it with him, and ta-DA! It worked. He just got confused when I helped too much. By choosing to not hold his hands out of his own way, and not shove his face into his food, I got good latches from then on. He needed to be in charge of the process. Great! See, I really am a Super-Mom.

Sheesh. I want to go back in time and smack myself in the forehead. I know some of the need for the label was driven by that deep-down flicker of insecurity. First, over being a first-timer, and second, over the first time parenting siblings. But isn't everything a first when it comes to parenting? The learning is constant, so clearly the new experiences are, too. Having the label of Super-Mom was salve for all the times that I struggled and blew it. The label gave me something to cling to.

And then I started learning about labels, as I learned about siblings. Hmm. Maybe this label wasn't such a good thing. I learned not to apply labels to my kids (mostly - I still struggle with that), and I learned how damaging and limiting they can be.

But it took another three years to figure out that they were just as bad applied to me. Eventually, even 'Breastfeeding Mama' started to feel uncomfortable. It put a line between me and anyone who had tried and struggled and had to stop. It put a line between me and those who were afraid to even try. It put a line between me and every woman who had not had enough supply. It stole common ground from all of us.

At that three year point, I had the twins. I didn't have time, energy, or the luxury of holding onto a label. I called in reinforcements. I called in my family for help, I joined the multiples club, I called on friends - I'm going to need help, I can't do this alone. I can't even do it with my usual support system. The excuse of multiples made that a little easier, but it was only an excuse. Being a mom is hard. We all need support. We evolved to parent in community, not alone or in pairs. Support for breastfeeding is part of that.

At least this time, when I reached the point where my pumping supply (I was working) was not keeping pace with the needs of two babies, I only hesitated for three days before I called the lactation consultant. She had some good advice for me, which I really already knew, but which I did actually need to hear from someone else to be willing to follow it. I didn't want to add another pumping session in the morning. But with the allergy history in my family, adding solid foods to fill the gap at 4 1/2 months was not the best plan.

In the end, I was laid off from work and got to stop pumping entirely. That helped, but that actually wasn't what made the difference. What made the difference was that I got over the label, so I could just be a mom. A mom like every woman who has ever had a child is a mom. I'm a particularly lucky mom in some ways, and a completely blundering and dense mom in other ways. I have some talents, and some blind spots, like everyone. By just being a mom, I could ask for help without waiting for it to be too late.

So please don't call me a Super-Mom. I'm a mom. Just like you.

Hedra, Part One

This post was written by Hedra, who blogs at Hands Full of Rocks.

I successfully breastfed all my kids, including the twins. While I didn't do completely child-led weaning, I did nurse past the two-year mark for each of them. I met the WHO guidelines, as well as the minimum weaning-age preference of the American Academy of Family Physicians. All that is satisfying, but it can also be misleading.

Some people have called me Super-Mom because they couldn't imagine succeeding with breastfeeding twins, or they know someone who couldn't. Or they can't imagine nursing past a year, or they know someone who couldn't or didn't. Or they couldn't imagine breastfeeding at all, or they know someone who didn't even get a fair shot at trying.

I don't like being called Super-Mom. It puts me in a one-up position, which means it also places whoever said it one-down. I am uncomfortable with people putting me above them. It is fundamentally untrue. Worse, it makes life harder for everyone.

There is no such thing as a Super-Mom. We're all just moms, just humans. We differ in skills and resources, training, temperament, style, and intentions. Our histories differ, our lives differ, our networks differ, our values differ, even our goals may differ. But we're all in this together. We really are all human, with no super-powers and no skills that are outside the human range. I'm not genetically modified, and I'm not digitally edited.

When it comes to breastfeeding - whether that's a singleton, twins, or more - it isn't too hard to understand why we use the term. Breastfeeding isn't all that easy, and there are so many challenges that get in the way beyond the physical stuff. Many women do not meet their own goals, fall short of their dream. We may try to make these entirely normal moms feel better by calling the succeeders "extraordinary". I understand the effort to pad the painful parts by distancing the success stories. My successes were never smooth or easy, even if they sometimes look that way from a distance.

Or, someone might use the term Super-Mom as praise, as a way to laud or celebrate what we see as shining examples. We try to make those who did what we want to do understand that we know how hard it may have been to get there. But that's not super-human, either.

Calling breastfeeding success extraordinary, for whatever reason, is entirely the wrong perspective. What is more accurate is that breastfeeding can be hard, or can be easy, and can even be both at different times, even different days or hours. What is also correct is that our resources - personal, family, support, guidance - can also vary on as small or large a scale, can change, can hold us up or let us down. Putting those two patterns together means that normal women, every day, will meet their goals, and normal women, every day, will struggle, and normal women, every day, will not meet those same goals. There is no measure for this that can apply, and no label. It's life. We're human. It just feels worse because we're moms.

The second reason I don't like the term Super-Mom is that it forces women on both sides of the line to attune themselves to the label. Labels are traps, if we buy into them. The more detailed the label, the more a trap it becomes. Super-Mom is that kind of label. The woman who sees someone else as beyond human norm has placed the boundary between herself and that kind of success. The woman who accepts the warm feeling of pride when the label is applied to her also has placed a line between her current moment and the rest of her life - which I can guarantee is not going to be 100% shining moments. To hold onto that perfect label, she'll have to fake it and lie a lot, or work insanely hard some days to continue looking perfect, or will have to accept that she really isn't superhuman, which then might hurt even worse.

Back to my experience... Breastfeeding twins as a normal human woman was hard work. It took effort and planning and support and guidance, and it didn't hurt that I had previous breastfeeding experience. I had a lot of pluses on my side, making it not outside my personal human capability. Right at the edge of that capacity, fairly often. I walked back and forth over the line of 'able' - fortunately, humans evolved to be able to recover and rebound, as well.

The first and most important part of succeeding as a normal woman with breastfeeding twins was having reassurance that it was possible. Talking to twin-moms and lactation consultants who had seen it done allowed me to believe that it was possible. Just believing that at least some normal women can do this is huge. It stops feeling totally insurmountable, and lands instead at least no farther out than the edge of human capacity. I might slip one way or another over that edge, but it is within my grasp.

The second and maybe even more important for the 'on the ground' effort was having a partner (my husband) who felt the same way. He knew I was human, knew it would be hard, and was willing to help in any way he could. Having him tell me (when I was frustrated by another crushing moment) that my only job was lactating, and he would handle the rest... it's more than most women get, and some days more even than I needed. What I needed most was knowing that he believed in me, and trusted me to find my way - or ask for help. This was not blind worship from a distance. He doesn't consider me Super-Mom, either. It was just a faith in me as a person, that I will fight for what I want, and that I will ask for help when something is beyond me. We may not have been taught to do that as women, but having a child to fight for makes a difference.

Some difference, anyway.

Comment contest winner and horrible google ads

First of all, we have a winner of the comment contest! I made a list of everyone who commented between the 10th and the 17th, and then used the random.org random number generator to pick a number. Caramama, please send me an email to claim your gift certificate! It's been a real pleasure seeing this site slowly develop into a community, so I hope you'll stick around and keep offering support even without the incentive of a contest.

Second, I heard that some of you are seeing google ads for free formula on this site. I never see those myself - all I see are breastfeeding supplies, industrial manufacturing pumps, and some creepy ad about not training children like dogs. I don't have any way to choose what ads google gives me, and I have the ads because I'd like to move this site to its own server and I can't pay for that out of pocket right now. Please email me if you see formula ads, and what page you saw them on. I'm going to try and figure out if certain key words are triggering them so I can avoid the ads.

Anne and Lily

So this is the tale. I wanted to share this, if I can give even a glimmer of hope to any mom out there who is struggling like I was. I tried to condense it somewhat, but in order to really tell the whole story I had to, well, tell the whole story. Buckle your seatbelt and bear with me.

I’ll start at the end: Lily is 1 year old as of April 14th, and we have been fully and purely on the breast for 7 months now, which means we have finally been nursing for longer than we weren't nursing. It took us FIVE MONTHS to get her on the breast. We've gotten used to it now, but there are still days it doesn’t seem quite real. It’s a dream come true, and something I’ve worked for harder than I ever worked at anything in my life, hands-down. (And the most rewarding and important as well.)

Lily had what amounts to a Perfect Storm of elements stacked against her. They were:

• A posterior tongue tie. This is probably the most significant hindrance to her nursing. For those who don’t know, a tongue tie is a condition where the frenulum underneath the tongue is too restrictive for the baby to latch on properly. There are 4 different grades of tongue ties, too. Some care providers may mean well but are not familiar with anything but the most obvious tie – the anterior one that’s right up at the front & very obvious and stringy. Some babies are able to nurse with some kinds of tongue tie (though it’s often with the cost of pain to the mom), but this one was totally non-functional.
• Extreme molding to her skull from her otherwise wonderful home birth. All babies born vaginally have some degree of molding – the fontanels are designed to work that way – but this was really dramatic. This resulted in two things: first, there were some structural problems with her jaw function (think about how interconnected everything in that area is; a huge part of the problem is that she simply wasn't able to open her mouth wide enough), and second, may have contributed to a couple of neurological delays (nerves essential to coordination can be impinged due to molding and also the associated swelling).
• Being an early bird. She was born at between 36 and 37 weeks – she qualified as full-term according to her newborn exam, but was just an early bird. According to a lot of practitioners, the early ones can just have a harder time getting started sometimes. This caused some concern in the first few days even BEFORE we started to figure out that the two issues above were going to cause serious problems. She had no rooting reflex at first, and for the first 2 days would barely suck – I had to squeeze colostrum into her mouth, and out of concern that my milk wouldn’t come in without her actively, regularly suckling, I started pumping right away – and thank GOD I did (more on that later).
• My nipples being small and kinda flat. If there were no other issues, a normal baby would probably have done okay with me, but Lily’s challenges made this an added factor.
• And if the above weren’t enough, her tongue, even after being clipped, is a small one, and her palate is very high (this is common with tongue-tied babies) – making it very difficult for her to get my nipple in her mouth far enough to pump it against the roof of her mouth, the way an efficient nurser can.

Are you exhausted yet?

So. Man, I’m not sure where to begin with explaining what our approach was. The first few weeks were so terrifying, which made way for a prolonged period of stressed-out, anxious grief, and then settled into just months upon months of hard, hard work. All day, every day, every feeding, and with all the work that surrounded every feeding. I should also note that due to a complicated if temporary long-distance situation with separate residences 8 hours apart, her father was only with us about ¼ of the time, so the rest of the time I was also doing this as, essentially, a single mom. He was a supportive as he could be under the circumstances, but I was still just plain alone the majority of the time,

I think I can best illustrate it with a list, in order, of the techniques and treatments we used.

1. Finger feeding with a syringe. The story of our first two weeks is a saga in itself, and as this is already verging on epic, I won’t recount the entire thing. Here’s a thread I started at MDC when she was two weeks old describing the situation at that point, if you want the details. Suffice it to say that it became clear that she simply was not latching on. Syringe feeding was recommended by the first LC that helped us, and it did the trick to get food into her (always priority one), but did nothing to help her learn to latch on. I kept trying at every feeding, but had no real skills or game plan – and I think we had come to the end of this LC’s ability to help us. She was very kind and did have some information, but we were just beyond her. This went on for a ridiculous 5 weeks.

2. During this time, I started taking her to get craniosacral/chiropractic work, starting at about 3 weeks. She has gotten regular work done ever since, though decreasing in frequency after the first 4 months. This was very important, despite our fairly severe financial hardship, and helped tremendously in ways that extend even beyond breastfeeding, but during that first 5 weeks, I was hoping that finger feeding and craniosacral would cause her to magically be able to latch on all of a sudden, as it was helping to correct her jaw finction and open her mouth wide enough to latch. This was not to be – there was no way this could happen without . . .

3. Getting her tongue clipped. Her tongue tie was finally identified by the 2nd LC we went to, Jennifer, an IBCLC that came highly recommended by several different people who had had difficulties similar to ours. There are 4 different grades of tongue tie, actually, and hers was a posterior one, probably the hardest to identify to a non-expert. Here’s a great article about tongue tie, written by the doctor who performed Lily’s clipping. [Note: that acronym above, "IBCLC", is the gold standard you're looking for in a lactation consultant. Many so-called "lactation consultants" are just L&D nurses who did a weekend workshop - and some of them are lovely people, but if you have serious issues, you must get someone board-certified. All LCs aare NOT created equal.]

4. My mom was visiting from out of town when I went to get this clipping at 5 weeks, requiring a drive to Long Island with our 5 week old babe. After that was taken care of, Jennifer had us switch to finger feeding without the syringe – simply putting one end of the tube into a container and requiring Lily to much more actively suck it out. This didn’t last long, as it was staking her about and hour and a half to finish a feeding of about 2 ounces, giving me only an hour or so relief in between each feeding, in which time I had to pump on top of doing everything else involved with caring for a baby, as well as, ya know, eat and pee and maybe even sleep occasionally.

Note: Speaking of pumping, this was, despite the work and time involved, an extremely lucky break. Attempting to mimic my baby’s feeding pattern, I pumped for 15 minutes after every feeding of hers (so on top of at least a total of four hours of that a day, there was the associated cleaning of equipment and maintenance of the milk). I was blessed (though it’s a mixed blessing) with an oversupply, and by the time I went to see Jennifer, my freezer was overflowing and I was producing enough milk for three babies. Fortunately, she had a few clients who needed donor milk, so I was able to make use of my oversupply and help other moms and babies – this felt really good. I’m grateful beyond words for this, as it meant that despite our extreme challenges, Lily has only ever had my milk. This is not something to take for granted - as I learned through Jenn’s weekly support group, there were plenty of moms struggling with very similar situations who also had to deal with low supply on top of everything else. I continued to donate for months after Lily began nursing normally.

5. As I was saying, that new method of finger feeding was totally nonfunctional, she just was not strong enough to do this yet, and we dropped it after less than a week. Finger feeding really is not meant to be anything more than a temporary means, anyway, and at 6 weeks it was getting ridiculous. So at that point it became appropriate to switch to a very specific bottle-feeding technique, sometimes known as “paced” feeding. It’s true that introducing bottles carelessly can result in nipple confusion, but Jenn explained that nipple confusion is really more accurately described as flow confusion. If you hold a baby at a reclined angle and basically dump the bottle into his mouth, the difference in flow between that and breastfeeding is the difference between drawing liquid out of a straw and doing a 'beer bong' (which is why so many bottlefed babies can be overfed, but I digress). In paced feeding, the baby is held upright in a seated position, and the bottle is at a 90 degree angle, so the baby really has to actively draw milk out. I also used a type of bottle called Breastflow to do this, which is designed to encourage babies to use similar action to that of breastfeeding.

6. But as you can imagine, just doing this alone wasn’t going to get her back on the breast. I did this for several weeks just to try and get her strength and weight up (she was doing okay, but just felt she needed the extra safety net), but knew Jenn would have me trying something different soon. So, we tried using the SNS with a nipple shield. The Supplemental Nursing System uses the same kind of tube used for finger feeding, connected to a tube of milk you attach to your clothes, and you tape the tube next to your nipple (lots of adoptive moms use this to induce lactation, training their babies to nurse without having to pump). Because of my flat-ish nipples, we also had to thread the tub through a nipple shield, since she was nowhere near able to latch on to my naked nipple.

This was an utter nightmare, honestly. Every feeding became a wretched ordeal, trying to thread the tube and get the shield on while she cried, then either one turn of her head knocked the shield out of place or one flail of her hand yanked the tube out, and we had to start it all over again. After a few days of this bullshit, I decided that we HAD to try something else or I would soon be giving up & EPing for her with bottles.

7. So I basically went back to paced bottlefeeding for a while, and then we decided to try and work with the nipple shield before and after each feeding, getting her to latch on before switching over to the bottle. Because it was a big interruption to her to sit her back up each time, I figured out a way to hold the bottle so she could lay on her side, like in a cradle hold, while still keeping the bottle horizontal & at a right angle to her. She got better and better at this switcheroo, especially as her mouth and tongue were getting bigger (Jenn and her craniosacral therapist both agreed that a lot of this was just a matter of time, letting her grow, and finding a way to keep her active at the breast in the meantime, until she was able to get entire feedings that way). She started to induce letdowns and would actually nurse off the shield for a few minutes before I switched her over to the bottle.

This actually led to one of my sort of premature breakthroughs (which happened about three times – I’d get my hopes up and think we were further along than we were, and then have to take a step back a few days later). At about three months, she was doing so well with the shield that I tried, for about 2 days, to go off the bottles entirely – hoping to just nurse with the shield until she can latch on without it – but it was too much too soon.

Digression: There was a point at about 3 ½ months when I was so close to giving up. SO close. I was so wrung out and demoralized and tired of struggling through every single moment. I felt like an absolute failure, and had never wanted anything so badly in my life, or worked as hard for anything. It was all I did all day long. Even her baths were geared towards helping her nurse - Jennifer had recommended co-bathing as a practice that would support Lily's process. I was savagely envious of other mothers who could nurse. I bargained, I begged, I prayed (and I’m not usually the praying kind), I sobbed – it’s no exaggeration to say that I cried more than she did. I thought I could keep working at this as long as needed - IF I could somehow know that she was going to make it eventually, and there was just no guarantee of this. At that crucial point I really feared that it was just not going to happen. This didn’t just make me feel like a bad mother, it made me feel like I was simply not really her mother at all. It’s hard to describe this kind of hell to someone who hasn’t been there. Not being able to feed your own baby, it is utter despair.

The real breakthrough moment was a sign of hope for the future that came about almost impulsively. I had been working with the shield, sometimes on the tip of my finger just to get her used to it and to encourage her to open her mouth wider, as well as at the beginning and end of each feeding, as described in step 8. In between feeds I also tried to occasionally offer the breast, with shield, for comfort, to try and get her associating the breast with comfort as well as food (she couldn’t physically take a pacifier, which was fine by me in principle anyway).

One night in about mid-June, we were lying in bed and she was almost out for the night, but started to fuss a bit. I had been in the habit of offering her my pinky occasionally when this happened, but I wanted to try comfort nursing her. Alas, the shield was all the way n the other room, and I didn’t want to get out of bed if I could help it. So almost impulsively, I positioned her and moved my breast in the direction of her mouth. It wasn’t even all that precise, as I was doing it in the dark – but she latched on. SHE LATCHED ON. And “nursed” (not really swallowing, just comfort-sucking) herself to sleep. I lay there in shock, my mouth wide open, afraid to move or even breathe, wanting this moment to go on forever, with tears of joy streaming down my face. It felt like nothing short of a miracle.

So that proved it – there was hope. The next day things we were right where we had been, technically, but still, there was proof that it was possible. That was the difference. I had to continue, but it was still a brutal struggle. I started to wonder how I could try to find some peace with it – I knew of a few mothers who had exclusively pumped for their babies for a year or more. That way, even though she would be “bottle-fed” technically, she would still be getting breast milk (as far as I’m concerned, as long as I was able to lactate, this was the absolute minimum I could do; formula would never be an option as long as I had the ability to produce milk). And that would be the most important thing, of course. But by that point she had given me a glimmer of hope in her occasional bareback comfort nursing. She was nowhere near efficient enough in her latch to get a full feeding that way, but she WAS getting on to the breast in her own way.

So I was torn – should I just pump and bottle-feed - known as EPing (exclusively pumping) - for nourishment, and also get the bonding of the comfort nursing? Could we be satisfied with that? It “wouldn’t be the end of the word”, as some pointed out, trying to be supportive. And they were right. But the thing that nagged at me, as I tried to see if I could accept this, was that she had come so far JUST to get onto the breast for moments at a time. How could I give up now? It would be unfair to her – it wouldn’t just be giving up, it would be giving up ON her. Her progress had been slow, agonizingly so, but she was progressing. Baby steps, two forward, 1.5 back, true, but it was still progress.

I decided that if I was going to give up, I had to make absolutely sure that I had done absolutely everything that I possibly could. And there was one more thing, the thing that I had been so reluctant to try because my first experience with a similar device (the SNS) was such a nightmare. The Lact-Aid.

Jennifer insisted that this really would improve her latch and train her to be at the breast for entire feedings, and that it wouldn’t be as bad as the SNS, since the device itself is more user-friendly (utilizing a bag that is worn around the neck instead of a tube clipped to the clothes, for example), and since I would not have to use a shield at the same time anymore. I was reluctant, and put it off for a few weeks, because my experience with that SNS was just so godawful.

But finally, after treading water for awhile with the shield-n-switch, I decided that if I wasn’t going to ‘make it” with Lily, if we truly were unable to nurse and I had to EP for her, I could live with and make peace that – but only if I had really tried everything. Including this. If I gave up before I tried the LactAid, I’d always wonder if that would have been what helped us finally succeed, and I’d never forgive myself for not being willing to try.

8. So, of course, this is what I eventually did. I went for the Lact-Aid. I had my doubts, but my last one evaporated when I was having trouble coming up with the $65 for the device –and we found out within a day that another mom in our nursing support group just happened to have an extra one (missing one minor part, hence the replacement that she got). It seemed like as clear a sign as any. So I threw myself into it.

This was a LOT of work, setting up the apparatus each time, cleaning after, plus I was still pumping 8-9 times a day right after each feeding, and the feeds could be grueling. So often she’d have a decent latch but the tube wasn’t all the way in her mouth, or the tube would be good but she’d barely have the tip of my nipple, so I’d have to start over. Then of course there were the times that she’d catch the tube with her hand or turn her head, and again I’d have to reconnect everything. I also had my doubts about how this would improve her latch mechanics. But I decided to just throw myself into it and trust the process and try not to overthink everything too much.

Well, it took over a full month of working with the LactAid, but slowly and surely it did the trick. We started out using the tube throughout each feeding, and after a while, it started to seem like she was getting overwhelmed with milk – because she was getting so much from my nipple AND the tube. At that point I would begin some feeds with the tube pinched off, and then release the supplemental milk only when she started to slow down. Long LONG story slightly shorter, this paved the way to start doing some feeds only at the breast, and after about 2 weeks of her only getting about 1 to 11/2 oz from the Lact-Aid each day, we decided it was time to go all out.

From there, I continued to pump for another month, even though it was no longer to create milk for supplementing, it was to make sure my supply didn’t drop too quickly. If you’re too abrupt, you can end up with plugged ducts, mastitis, or even risk your supply dropping TOO much despite having had an oversupply (if your breasts are suddenly never being emptied, this can happen). I gradually started to eliminate pumpings, dropping one about every 4 to 5 days. I continued to pump once a day until she was 8 months old to make sure I have reserves, and just to be on the safe side (though if you saw the motherload in the freezer you’d laugh at my concern about the reserves).

So there you have it. She did it. It took five months, but she did it. And frankly, as far as I'm concerned, she can go just as long as she likes – my goal is for a minimum of two years. If she really insists on weaning after that, I’ll follow her lead, but no way I’m kicking her off myself.

If you made it through all that, I’m impressed, and also grateful. It’s been good for me to write it out – I haven’t been able to get it all out before now, both because I literally didn’t have the time, and also because I didn’t want to start talking about it unless – or until - we ‘made it’. There are still times when I fear that it’s all going to fall apart, every time we have a crappy feed, especially since we only got started at an age when they’re extremely distractible (nursing in public is almost impossible). But I have a bit more faith every day. NEVER take it for granted if you are able to nurse, and thank your lucky stars even further if it comes relatively easy to you. There are women out there who would give anything – everything - to be able to do what you’re doing.

I give thanks every day for what we’ve been able to do, and for the many helpers we’ve had along the way, from the fundraiser some friends helped me organize to pay for Jen & her craniosacral therapist, to the woman who gave me her Lact-Aid, to the phone calls that came in when I needed to be talked off the ledge but was feeling too down to even ask for help. They are all answered prayers – and that’s also a surprising thing; this experience has (don’t laugh) restored my faith in some form of God. I’m not exactly sure what form this will take, but it’s there.

The end . . . though it's really just the beginning.

Erika

From Erika:

I was so happy to come upon your blog. I think it serves such an important purpose -- and one I didn't know existed before I had a baby of my own. I grew up in a very large family where breastfeeding was the norm. I was around babies being breastfed by aunts, cousins, my mom, etc. all through my childhood. So when I was expecting my first child, I didn't even think of formula as an option. Not only was it the feeding experience I was most familiar with, but as an engineer it seemed like the natural choice. Why do humans have breasts except to feed their young? Aren't we mammals, after all? Unfortunately, that thinking almost did me in!

My daughter was born about 9 months ago. I didn't do any preparation for breastfeeding prior to her birth. It seemed that if it was the natural choice, it should come naturally. Wow was I in for a surprise! Those first few days in the hospital, it hurt a lot when she latched on. Toe-curling pain. Several of the hospital's lactation consultants stopped by to help. With the pain I was experiencing, I was sure that we were doing something wrong. Every time an LC visited, however, I was assured that her latch looked great. I called my sister for advice, since she'd had a baby one year earlier. But she told me she hadn't had any pain. I shouldered on, unwilling to quit. As the days and weeks went by, the pain eased a bit and wasn't lasting quite so long. Success! Apparently I was one of those people with extra-sensitive nipples. Who knew? After about 5 weeks we were doing great. No pain, C. was gaining weight and nursing eagerly.

Then we hit the 6-week growth spurt. I had no idea why my daughter who used to eat so eagerly was pulling off my breast every minute or two and crying. Did I eat something and the milk tastes bad? Was she sick? Did I run out of milk? What was it? After struggling for 2 days, I remember it was a Sunday evening. I took the crying baby from my breast, walked to my husband and handed the baby to him. "She's yours," was all I said. I cried for a few minutes, feeling like a complete failure. I was thinking about where I should go to buy her some formula. And on a hunch I decided to call a local LC. On a Sunday evening. Thank goodness she answered. I explained my struggles and she told me about the 6-week growth spurt. So this was normal! She told me to grin and bear it and it would be over in a few days. She was right. We have never looked back.

I'm so happy I struggled through those first few months when breastfeeding was painful and lasted 45 minutes at each feeding. I used to be jealous of the formula-fed babies because Dad could take some nighttime feedings. At this stage though, breastfeeding is so easy! I can't imagine having to function enough at 3 am to prep a bottle. With breastfeeding, she is fed and I'm back in bed in less than 10 minutes.

I tell all of my new-mom friends my experience because I think it is important not to confuse natural with easy.

Michelle and J

This post is from Michelle, who is also the second-prize winner of the launch contest. The comment contest and third prize are still open, so stick around and send your stories.

I knew from the moment I found out I was pregnant that I would breastfeed my son, J. I read all the books and even wore breast shells for months before delivery to correct my inverted nipples.

But after an unplanned C-section, I began my breastfeeding experience with the frustration of being numb from the ribs down. Because I was barely able to hold J, a nurse helped us with our first feeding, positioning my breast with one hand and cradling J's head with her other while I just stared in amazement.

I wish the hospital's other staff members had been so gentle and understanding. The postpartum room where I spent the next five days was a constant parade of doctors, nurses, cleaning people, food service workers, not to mention family and friends. Just as I would get J to my breast, someone else would come in to check my blood pressure, replace a dressing, take J's temperature, or just generally disturb our efforts with their presence. When my husband would post a "please do not disturb" note on the door, we'd get even more intruders -- well-meaning but oblivious nurses and family who came in with a cheerful but tear-inducing "Just making sure everything is OK."

If there is one thing I wish I'd known about breastfeeding ahead of time, it is the persistence and toughness needed to defend the learning space a mother and infant need to get used to each other's bodies. My greatest advice would be: Don't assume that your hospital and its staff, nor your family and friends, will be aware or tolerant of the special requirements of learning to nurse.

Even though we birthed at a hospital regionally known for its lactation support services and received plenty of technical information on nursing, I was surprised and frustrated at the lack of emotional support or at least understanding I was given. Family and friends just wanted to see and hold J, not realizing that sometimes it could take 45 minutes to get a feeding right, and that it would be much easier to get that feeding right without a set of impatient relatives huddled around the TV obviously waiting for us to finish.

Even the lactation consultants in the hospital drove me into utter frustration, giving me opposing advice from one shift to the next and criticizing improvements I felt we were making. One LC recommended that I rub J's jawline to keep him awake and sucking; the next day a different LC told me "babies don't like that" and pulled my fingers away from his face, even as the trick appeared to be working. After the third day I just began nodding at them and telling them we were fine -- even though we were far from adept and I was full of questions -- just so they would go away. And, although I made it clear in writing and verbally that J was not to be given a pacifier, the one night I allowed him to be taken to the nursery for a couple hours so I could sleep (I lay awake the entire time waiting desperately for them to bring him back to me), he came back with a pacifier in his mouth.

Once we were home, things improved as we fell into a more natural rhythm. I still faced guilt and pressure from family who I could tell were annoyed at the amount of time I spent huddled away with J learning how to nurse. We were probably practicing nursing 50 percent of the day and night. This was unpleasant for family members who had traveled to see us, but I kept at it through the guilt, unwilling to compromise anything related to J's needs.

At two weeks, J started screaming and turning away from me as I tried to nurse him. My confidence was completely shaken. Terrified he would be malnourished, I started pumping and giving him an occasional bottle each day. This was a mistake as he then came to expect the bottle. At my doctor's advice I stopped all bottles and just kept on trying to get him to eat. This was the most critical and frightening period of our nursing experience. But, with persistence, we made it through. Trial and error and a great deal of patience paid off in the end, and now at four months we run together like a finely-tuned machine.

Today, I work full time, pumping for J during my shifts and nursing him when we are together. I am fortunate to have a private office with a locking door, which makes pumping easier. I simply put a "do not disturb" note over the keyhole (in case the cleaning staff should think I am not in my office and enter with the master key) and pump while I work on the computer.

For working moms, breastfeeding is not at all convenient. I have to schedule pumping around meetings (or vice versa) and sometimes pump in my car or other awkward spaces. Despite this, I know that giving J my milk is the best thing for him. Pumping also allows me to continue to nurse him in the evenings and on weekends, which is time together I absolutely cherish.

Cara Mama

This post was contributed by Cara, of Cara Mama. She is also the winner of the launch contest, and a $50 gift certificate to Restaurant.com. Second and third prize are still available, and the comment contest is still open, so get your stories in!

My breastfeeding story actually begins with my sister's story. My sister had her daughter during the time I was having enough trouble trying to conceive that I thought I'd just be lucky to have a child and didn't worry about how I'd feed the child. My mom gave us frmula (which was what was recommended at that time), and we turned out fine so I didn't see the need to worrying about how my child was feed or the need to struggle if breastfeeding didn't happen easily. But after watching my sister, the first person I really knew who breastfed her child, my feelings changed.

My sister approached breastfeeding as she does everything else she sets her mind to--with a single-minded determinedness, backed up with research and finding support systems. Prior to giving birth, she and her husband went to the hospital's breastfeeding class, read countless books, and noted the times of the hospital's breastfeeding support group and the local La Leche League meetings. Once her daughter was born, they took advantage of all these supports, as well as finally having a lactation consultant come to their house to help figure out what was wrong.

After a very difficult first few weeks of breastfeeding, my sister learned that the latch which looked right wasn't really right. With help, she figured out how to get the latch completely correct, which allowed her cracked nipples to heal. Continuing to follow the LC's advice, she went to her doctor to get medication to truly treat the systemic thrush that had developed in her milk ducts. Finally, the breastfeeding improved dramatically, becoming a painless process in which they were able to share a very special relationship.

At one point, when my sister broke down (once again) in sobs about how hard and painful it was, I had suggested that it would be okay if she wanted to stop trying. I only made the suggestion lightly and otherwise supported her as best I could. And as I said, my sister is a determined person. She felt she could succeed--she knew she could succeed. And she found the right support and kept at it until she did. She also told me the importance of believing she could do it and having a husband who supported her completely. I quickly learned that other people who were urging her to stop only made it harder to overcome her troubles.

A year later when I had my own daughter, I realized my attitude had changed after watching my sister's struggles and successes, and simply watching her while she breastfed. I wanted that. I could make that happen. There was no reason to doubt that I could, so I was going to be determined do it like my sister had been. My husband and I read the books, went to the class, noted the times of support meetings. And I had my sister five minutes away and an even quicker phone call away.

After a long labor, an unplanned C-section and 1.5 hours in a recovery room alone, I was finally reunited with my daughter in the room where we'd stay for the next three days. I couldn't wait to get her in my arms. Within seconds of when my husband gave her to me, I didn't even think about what I was doing. I just opened my gown and put her to my breast. There was no conscious thought, no "oh, I better try breastfeeding," no gentle reminder from anyone. I did this purely on instinct. And she started suckling immediately, purely on instinct.

Later I would joke with friends and family that I was glad one of us knew what we were doing--my daughter who seemed to be a natural. We had no latch issues, no problem finding the right position, nothing that hindered our instant breastfeeding. I knew I was lucky and that it wasn't always this easy for others, especially since I'd seen my sister's troubles. Even though my nipples were sore from this new experience for the first 4 weeks (when I was told they would be sore only 1-2 weeks), it was still wonderful and pretty easy. When the discomfort went away, it was beautiful.

And then, less that 2 months into breastfeeding, I started having shooting pains each time my daughter would start nursing. Fortunately, I had my sister's experience to learn from, and with similar symptoms I quickly realized (and had the doctor confirm) I had thrush. After trying the medications my doctor first prescribed, it did not clear up for me. After a few weeks of dealing with thrush that wouldn't clear up, I was full of doubts and in a great deal of pain. I cried to my husband that I wasn't sure I could continue. Knowing how important it was to me, my husband suggested I use the support networks I had and keep trying to find the right treatment. Most importantly, he said I should give it one more day and see how I felt the next day. He told me that every day, for over a week. He told me that until things got better.

I went to my sister, who told me what her LC said to do. I spoke up at an LLL meeting and listended to the knowledgeable women there. I called my doctor back and insisted on the same, aggressive treatment my sister used. My doctor wasn't sure, until I confidently told him that LLL recommended this treatment, and I could hear the respect in his voice when said, "La Leche League recommended this? Well, let's give it a try." Within two weeks of being on the medication, it finally cleared up. Breastfeeding became a beautiful experience once again.

I also had a great deal of difficulty with pumping when I went back to work after 3 months of leave. But at this point, we had a well-established breastfeeding relationship and I knew I could keep trying ways to make the pumping better and take it one day at a time. The pump and my nipples never did get along, but I found ways to make it better. I was able to pump until my daughter was 12 months old. After that, we gave her cow's milk while I was at work. But when I was at home, I continued to breastfeed easily and painlessly until my daughter was about 18 months old.

I know not everyone is able to breastfeed at all or for that long. There are some problems that are simply insurmountable or too much for a person to handle. Some women even simply choose not to breastfeed because, for whatever reason, it's not right for them. Formula is a great invention that keeps babies and families healthy and happy. I would never look down on another mother for using formula. I know other mothers have had it much tougher than I have, and I'm not in their shoes. Each mother and family has to decide what is best for them and their family.

I learned from my sister's and my own experiences that breastfeeding isn't easy. But in many cases, the right attitude, the right support and determination really can make it happen. I now believe that when deciding how to feed a baby, breastfeeding should be the natural starting point. It is what a mother's body is designed to do, even if it's not always a smooth path. I believe that everyone should realize that breastfeeding is the normal, natural way to feed a baby.

If we all start with that attitude, we are more likely to see it through and overcome the obstacles. We are more likely to watch other women and learn from them. We are more likely to seek out help and networks of support to help us through. We are more likely to succeed with breastfeeding overall. We are more likely to take it one day at a time until we've seen it through.

The Launch Contest

This site isn’t about me; it’s about you. The amazing things you have to say, and the lessons you’ve learned. I think we can do something amazing here. Our first ten stories came from women I reached out to and asked to share their experiences. But I can’t keep this site rolling if I have to research and personally request every story we publish (among other things, I have too much fun reading the parent blogs and I get distracted). I need your contributions.

It’s hard to write about breastfeeding. You’re writing an emotional story about your boobs during a time when you were severely sleep-deprived. Believe me, I know. I tried six or seven times to write my whole story about nursing, until I gave up and chose just one facet to share – pumping. But telling your story can help someone else. Just read the comments we’ve gotten already.

To help you get over your writer’s block, I’ve got a contest. The first person to send me their story after this post goes up will get a $50 gift certificate to restaurant.com. The second and third people will get a $25 certificates. (What do you do with 25 bucks? Maybe you can order some take-out?). I will also enter everyone who comments on the site between May 10 and May 17 into a contest for another $50 certificate.

Does that help with your shyness?

Here we go!

Here we go! We’re out of beta, and The Breastfeeding Experience is ready to be your place to learn about breastfeeding and share your own stories. To get us started, we’ve got ten amazing stories from some amazing moms:

Our mother’s day entry, a beautiful tribute to breastfeeding and maternal love. Sometimes you don’t understand it until you’re a mother yourself.

Cloud went back to work quite early, and mastered the art of pumping. It comes down to scheduling and lots of spare parts.

Erin talks about how she helped other mothers and babies by donating her oversupply to a mothers milk bank.

Meg was allergic to lanolin, which nearly derailed her nursing until she figured out exactly her breasts were all red and swollen.

Redhead says, “Look mom, I’m Breastfeeding!”

Having a support system in place made all the difference for this mom.

Christy had two very different breastfeeding experiences with two very different babies. It’s a long entry, and a fascinating story of a very stubborn lady.

Christina wrote about being unable to breastfeed, and how that made her feel.

Amanda had a hard time getting started. A very hard time; her son lost weight and turned yellow. With a supportive doctor and timely assistance from her best friend, she was able to breastfeed anyway.

And, lastly, I shared my own story of pumping in weird places with skuzzy equipment.