The past three weeks have been the most difficult three weeks of my adult life. I don’t think I’ve ever cried this much about so much in such a short period of time since I was 17 years old. Why was I crying? Well, yes, sleep deprivation was part of it but the real reason was the dangerous mixture of breast feeding and mother guilt.
Breast feeding is not working for PJ and I. We had a rough start: he wasn’t getting enough food and I was in almost constant pain even when the feedings were over. Then things got a little bit better just in time for us to realize that PJ is having a hard time drinking and has started to play with his tongue against my nipple when he is tired from the stress of trying to breast feed. If you cannot imagine how much that hurts, consider any wound you’ve ever had in your mouth, take away all pain relief, and then talk non-stop for four hours. Really painful, right?
The result was PJ shrieking for what seemed to be hours on end, sleeping irregularly, and being generally restless. Even after 90 minutes of breast feeding, PJ would flip out 10 minutes later. We couldn’t believe it was hunger - he has just been ‘eating’ for 90 minutes! But it was because although he had been at my breast for a long time, he has spent more of that time exhausted. All we knew at the time was that something wasn’t right and every single bloody person that walked through the door looked right at me and said, “He’s hungry.”
Which added to my inability to be kind to myself and my high expectations around breast feeding - I never even considered that it might not work, never ever - I began struggling with incredible guilt that I was (and am) unable to feed my child - something that I have been told and something that I have believed to be normal, easy, and, most dangerously of all, natural. As a result, I have spent hours tense with pain while my son desperately tried to get enough milk without exhausting himself - saying things like “drink damnit” and weeping loudly - and then slumped over a breast pump weeping more quietly (it hurts less) and thinking “how can I already be a bad mom?”.
I have been angry at myself for not getting it right, for failing at something that is - like I said above - “natural”. I have been angry at PJ for doing it wrong. I have been angry at the Mr. for failing to understand how exhausting it is to breast feed, successfully or not. And then I feeling guilty for all of the above until my stomach hurts, my head hurts, my breast hurts, and in the end I couldn’t stand to be near my son out of sheer frustration, fear, anger and guilt.
Thank god for the ability to ask for help (which I wrote about in another post a while ago) and to ask for help loudly. This entire time I have been working with a midwife, now I’m also working with a breast feeding consultant and I might just get another involved as well, and of course I have been reaching out to other mother-friends. The problem isn’t solved but at least I don’t feel so alone (although all of the mother-friends that I spoke to were able to breast feed in the end).
Right now I’m still in too much pain to breast feed, so I’m pumping every two hours and then the Mr and I are giving PJ bottles of my breast milk. When that runs out, we are giving him formula. I’m working on taking a big step back from myself, from my expectations, and the expectations of others. Because my son isn’t going to go hungry, he isn’t going to be stressed out and screaming and unable to sleep for my ego or because breast feeding is “natural.” Yes, there are benefits but they sure as hell don’t overweigh the pain of hunger in a three week old child.
Honestly, I carry feelings of failure, feelings that come from external as well as internal pressure and expectations. I still hope that in a few days or a week PJ will be strong enough and I will be healed enough and relaxed enough to try again. I hope that when we try again we are successful. But if we aren’t I’m going to try my hardest not to blame myself and not to wallow in guilt. Instead I hope, regardless of outcome, I will make the decision that is right for my family and then concentrate on getting to know, spoiling with love, and enjoying this little man who has shaken up my life.
Because isn’t that what really matters in the end?
I’m trying to answer that question with a yes.
Breast feeding is not working for PJ and I. We had a rough start: he wasn’t getting enough food and I was in almost constant pain even when the feedings were over. Then things got a little bit better just in time for us to realize that PJ is having a hard time drinking and has started to play with his tongue against my nipple when he is tired from the stress of trying to breast feed. If you cannot imagine how much that hurts, consider any wound you’ve ever had in your mouth, take away all pain relief, and then talk non-stop for four hours. Really painful, right?
The result was PJ shrieking for what seemed to be hours on end, sleeping irregularly, and being generally restless. Even after 90 minutes of breast feeding, PJ would flip out 10 minutes later. We couldn’t believe it was hunger - he has just been ‘eating’ for 90 minutes! But it was because although he had been at my breast for a long time, he has spent more of that time exhausted. All we knew at the time was that something wasn’t right and every single bloody person that walked through the door looked right at me and said, “He’s hungry.”
Which added to my inability to be kind to myself and my high expectations around breast feeding - I never even considered that it might not work, never ever - I began struggling with incredible guilt that I was (and am) unable to feed my child - something that I have been told and something that I have believed to be normal, easy, and, most dangerously of all, natural. As a result, I have spent hours tense with pain while my son desperately tried to get enough milk without exhausting himself - saying things like “drink damnit” and weeping loudly - and then slumped over a breast pump weeping more quietly (it hurts less) and thinking “how can I already be a bad mom?”.
I have been angry at myself for not getting it right, for failing at something that is - like I said above - “natural”. I have been angry at PJ for doing it wrong. I have been angry at the Mr. for failing to understand how exhausting it is to breast feed, successfully or not. And then I feeling guilty for all of the above until my stomach hurts, my head hurts, my breast hurts, and in the end I couldn’t stand to be near my son out of sheer frustration, fear, anger and guilt.
Thank god for the ability to ask for help (which I wrote about in another post a while ago) and to ask for help loudly. This entire time I have been working with a midwife, now I’m also working with a breast feeding consultant and I might just get another involved as well, and of course I have been reaching out to other mother-friends. The problem isn’t solved but at least I don’t feel so alone (although all of the mother-friends that I spoke to were able to breast feed in the end).
Right now I’m still in too much pain to breast feed, so I’m pumping every two hours and then the Mr and I are giving PJ bottles of my breast milk. When that runs out, we are giving him formula. I’m working on taking a big step back from myself, from my expectations, and the expectations of others. Because my son isn’t going to go hungry, he isn’t going to be stressed out and screaming and unable to sleep for my ego or because breast feeding is “natural.” Yes, there are benefits but they sure as hell don’t overweigh the pain of hunger in a three week old child.
Honestly, I carry feelings of failure, feelings that come from external as well as internal pressure and expectations. I still hope that in a few days or a week PJ will be strong enough and I will be healed enough and relaxed enough to try again. I hope that when we try again we are successful. But if we aren’t I’m going to try my hardest not to blame myself and not to wallow in guilt. Instead I hope, regardless of outcome, I will make the decision that is right for my family and then concentrate on getting to know, spoiling with love, and enjoying this little man who has shaken up my life.
Because isn’t that what really matters in the end?
I’m trying to answer that question with a yes.
