At almost nine months pregnant, I decided I would give breastfeeding a shot. Breast is best after all, right? And I mean, the pictures in magazines looked so cute and snuggly and squishy and natural. I got this.
Most of my friends raved about it. “It’s soooo easy,” they said. “It’s free, FREE, FREEEEEE,” they screamed. “No bottles to make at 3 a.m. when you’re bleary-eyed and cross-eyed and have an eight-pound nugget screaming bloody murder because they’re so damn hungry even though they just ate two hours ago so you’re not sure how they could possibly be hungry again,” they mumbled under their breath.
And then my daughter was born. And a nurse looked at me and nodded, “Baby needs to nurse.” OK… here goes nothing. The baby latched on, and I literally screamed. I turned back to the still-nodding nurse. “Um, are you sure she’s hungry? She looks sleepy to me. And full. Real full. I think she was snacking a lot in there.” The nurse continued nodding and walked away. So I just sat there and nursed. I had just given natural birth and this was ten times worse.
Days turned into weeks. The pain never subsided.
I tried Lanolin, gel pads, heating pads, cooling pads, ice packs, cabbage leaves. I called my OB and got a prescription for APNO, a fancy $50 cream they only make at compounding pharmacies. I read breastfeeding articles, watched YouTube videos, and enlisted the help of my husband. “It’s her latch. I know it.”
I cried, I sighed, I screamed, I called my mom 2,340 times a day. “I’m gonna QUIT! I can’t do this!” I resented feeding times. But my mama guilt kicked in, and I trudged through. Breast is best.
A few more weeks passed, the pain still searing. I met with a lactation consultant, sweating and on the verge of tears, hoping for some help. She watched me nurse, took notes, asked questions. “Everything looks great! Latch is great! You’re doing fine!” She patted me on the back, and I actually felt OK. A few days later, I was back in her office. “Things are great! Keep on nursing, mama!” I got up and left.
I called the hospital’s nursing line. I called the pediatrician. I called my mom 600 more times. I read every article. I called La Leche League. I called two nurse friends. “You need to see a lactation consultant,” they all said. Um, yeah. Got it. Thanks.
Another week passed. I called another lactation consultant. This was my last-ditch effort. She immediately diagnosed my daughter with a lip and tongue tie. “You poor thing. You must’ve been in so much pain.” I literally slumped into her arms and cried. I cursed every single health care professional I had seen before her. Why had no one else caught this?!
We got laser treatment to correct the tongue and lip tie. The surgeon said this was one of the worst lip ties she had seen on an infant. The pain slowly subsided. Nursing became easier. Quicker. Almost natural. Almost. I went on to nurse successfully for nine months.
My breastfeeding experience started horribly. And it turned out to be just OK. I could never say it was great, amazing, or wonderful. The road was much too difficult to get to that point.
