I feel so proud that I get the chance to breastfeed my baby. I love it so much.
I remember walking into my hospital room the night of my induction and looking at the mother preferences board. One of the first things I told Jacob was that there was absolutely no way I was going to breastfeed. All I could think of was how weird it would be to put my breast in my child’s face. What an awkward and uncomfortable situation! I was willing to exclusively pump, but definitely not breastfeed.
However, when Amara was born, I was again asked if I planned to breastfeed, and shockingly, I offered to try. From that moment on, breastfeeding became a duty. My daughter deserved to have antibodies and whatever protection and comfort I could provide her with.
But it was the most painful thing I had ever endured. This was from someone who literally just gave birth.
Amara was having trouble latching and only had luck a handful of times with a nipple shield. When she was successful, it was toe-curlingly painful. By that I mean I actually curled my toes and held my breath in hopes of easing the pain, because “if it hurts, you won’t release any milk”. Which is exactly what happened; I could only hand express a few drops of colostrum, but that was all.
By that night, or morning, or I honestly don’t know which at this point, I resigned. Amara was losing weight, I wasn’t producing anything (I tried hand expressing again several times with no luck) and we asked for some formula to supplement with.
It was devastating.
Not that I had to give her formula, but that my body was failing me.
In hindsight, several studies suggest low-supply and a delayed milk production for moms taking Fluoxetine (Prozac). Shockingly, no one asked what medications I was taking as a breastfeeding mother. The pediatrician at my delivery said I may need to discontinue my Fluoxetine, but that was the only thing I heard on the topic.
When I left the hospital, slightly more than 24 hours after my delivery, I nearly stopped nursing. I was having extreme postpartum OCD and depression, and breastfeeding was the last thing on my mind. I was fluctuating between getting 2 hours of sleep or over 12 hours. I was in a terrible place mentally. I took every chance I could to sleep, and I couldn’t sufficiently increase my supply.
A couple of days before we left for a pre-planned road trip, I developed extreme chills, fatigue, and worsening breast pain; mastitis.
It was absolutely miserable. I was taking 800 mg of Ibuprofen just to be able to stand and get around the apartment. There was no way I would miss this trip (or my mom’s wedding), so I nursed as much as I possibly could per the recommended treatment. After my mastitis subsided, I spent several hours a day pumping to prevent recurrence, and to increase my supply. I began producing around 8-10 oz a day, which was significant progress from where I had started. Since I was spending so much time pumping, I pretty much abandoned breastfeeding at that point. Until I caught something (probably COVID) from a relative.
As much as we all tried to isolate, Amara caught the virus anyway. She seemed so miserable and sniffly, all I wanted to do was comfort her and give her as many antibodies as possible. I did more research on breastfeeding positions and ended up nursing her on and off for nearly ten hours. I went a full 12 hours exclusively breastfeeding until I (again) encountered supply issues. It was still one of my proudest moments, that despite being sick and practically bedridden, I could still provide the support Amara needed most.
After that day, my body became more accustomed to nursing. It has turned into an incredible bonding experience and cuddle time. I still struggle with supply, and time, now that I’m working, but I’m grateful that I have continued to breastfeed when I can.