Milking My Patience

Not long after our 6 month milestone victory, my daughter’s first tooth sprouted from her swollen little lower gums. She nipped once while nursing. I adjusted her and we were fine. I thought that was it. Smooth sailing!!

Uh huh.

A week later, when the 2nd tooth popped through, we were sitting quietly in the living room and that’s when it happened. Searing pain radiated throughout my body and blood spewed from the epicenter of the demolition site. My sweet precious baby turned vampire and bit me. I cried. My husband, sweet man, ran to get ice in a cold wash cloth. The baby was screaming, I was bawling, my son asked if I died (where do kids come up with this stuff??). A kind hand gave me the wash cloth and took our girl and calmed her down. We were able to finish nursing that evening, but not without a few more tears.

A week later, the same thing happened. I was done. I went to bed that night sore and defeated. Apparently I spoke too soon when I wrote out my previous post. I decided to exclusively pump from then on out.

I spent the next several days just pumping and feeding her with bottles. I struggled to keep my supply up. Several times, I tried desperately to nurse her again. She either wouldn’t latch or would bite. She made it clear that she was done as well. She liked the bottle better. Although, nursing was the easiest and best way to get milk from me to her tiny belly, it was also the most frustrating and painful at this point. I was beginning to dread it. That’s not a good thing.

I tried, in one last vain attempt to nurse my daughter one night at midnight when she was sleepy and I thought she couldn’t really struggle, but I knew she was hungry. She bit me. We’re done.

Pumping exclusively is hard. Let me tell you that right off the bat. Luckily, my body responded well to the pump. I was able to keep up with my daughter’s needs and have a little extra. Slowly, however, the “little extra” began to dwindle. I started pumping more often. Every 3-4 hours I was by myself in the kitchen trying to get more milk for my baby. I held steady for a few weeks.

Then things started to happen that made me think I was being told to quit and I wasn’t taking the hint or I need to continue and this was some twisted test I was taking and failing miserably. One night during a storm I needed to pump. I got everything set up and was just about to turn it on and the power went out. Luckily we found the battery pack and I was able to pump. A few days later, I sat down and got everything set up, plugged in the pump and nothing happened! I turned it off, checked the plug in and it was very very hot. I managed it get it out and turn it over. Then I saw the frayed cord. Darn it! My husband suggested I call my cousin (who had a pump) to see if her plug in matched mine. It did and she let me borrow it. Then there were several days at work where everything was so chaotic that I couldn’t leave my desk to pump when I needed to. It was just one thing after another. My supply plummeted.

I talked to and went to lactation consultants, our doctor, many friends and family members. None had any advice that could help me get her to quit biting. I took the maximum dosage of Fenugreek every day for 2 weeks, ate oatmeal for breakfast, snacked on honey nut cheerios, drank water to replenish the tears, exercised, and generally tried to stay positive. I didn’t see any improvement in supply. It actually went down.

I wanted to badly to make it to the coveted 1 year mark for breast feeding my baby. I tried and tried and did my best, but I still wasn’t good enough. I couldn’t do it. I failed. I suck.

One night last week, I was hugging my daughter, crying, and apologizing to her for failing her. Then, out of nowhere, the deep, kind, caring voice of an angel spoke to me and said, “You didn’t fail. You gave her 8 months of milk. Be proud of yourself.” Ok, it wasn’t an angel, it was my husband. He was right though. From what I’ve read online, most women don’t breastfeed at all after 6 months. I guess I should be proud of myself. In 3 short years, I went from thinking that breastfeeding is disgusting to actually mourning its loss. I’ll continue to pump and give her what I can get until I can’t get any more. Formula is not the enemy. It kept my son alive. My daughter will be just fine as well.

I’m proud of myself.