Throughout my pregnancy I was certain of one thing, I wanted to breastfeed. If I was able to produce and if our daughter latched, I was committed to making it work. My mom breastfed my three sisters and I, my aunt was a La Leche leader consultant, and my sister and cousins all nursed their children. I have always been surrounded by breastfeeding mothers. However, I questioned if it was going to work out for me. The pain was unbearable at the beginning, and it felt like someone was tattooing my nipples over, and over, and over again. At the hospital, recovering from giving birth, I worried that it would never feel natural. I had read that it wouldn't hurt, the lactation consultant assured me that the pain would eventually subside, but I had my doubts. After watching my precious infant daughter cling to my body, softly suckling with all her might, I knew I had to continue.
During the beginning stages of breastfeeding, I was told to nurse her every two to three hours for thirty to forty-five minutes, switching sides halfway through. While this worked initially, as she needed to get back to birth weight, my breasts were constantly in pain. My body was overproducing milk. At her first doctor appointment, I explained the pain I was having and the doctor suggested I cut down on the amount of time I was nursing. This, however, caused another issue; lack of milk. In hindsight, I wish I had just continued longer nursing sessions, because not producing enough caused more stress than the pain of engorgement. Within a few weeks after that appointment, one of my breasts was nearly dried up. I remember holding my daughter trying to relax for the letdown and calling my husband panicking. After talking with him, I called the local Breastfeeding Resource Center and holding back tears, I explained my problem. The woman on the other line was understanding and gave me some advice on how to increase milk in my dehydrating breast. For the next month or so I began nursing on that side first before switching. This issue stuck with me for some time, it made me feel insecure about my ability to feed my daughter, that my breastfeeding goals were unrealistic, and ate away at my self-confidence, as one breast was noticeably larger than the other.
As the weeks went on, it became easier. We had a routine, the aches lessened, and I began to enjoy the process of nursing. It was a relief actually, to have her latch, to feel the letdown, to see her tiny body gaining weight, but then the school year started. I was teaching as an adjunct professor two days a week and my mom began babysitting. This transition brought on a whole other set of concerns. I had finally increased my supply, but with going back to work I had to start pumping. I had planned to pump all summer to build a supply of frozen milk, but with my lack of production, I needed to make sure my daughter was getting enough to sustain her body; I couldn't spare any. This made the transition back to work incredibly stressful. On top of being away from her for extended periods of time, I wasn't sure if I would have enough milk to last her the hours we were apart. This meant I was pumping while nursing her, pumping in the middle of the night, pumping in the morning, and pumping during breaks at work. It was exhausting. On one of the first weeks back at work, my mom desperately bought formula to give to her. I felt defeated, by my own body nonetheless.
Breastfeeding is time-consuming, one of the most labor intensive actions of being a mother thus far. As the months went on, our daughter transitioned to her crib and was sleeping through the night. I, on the other hand, was not able to. I had to wake up about every four hours to pump because if I didn't, my breasts would turn to stone. I desperately wanted, needed sleep. What sucked the most during this phase was knowing if I made too much noise she would wake and want to nurse, making it nearly impossible to build a supply of frozen milk.
This is fucking hard work. I didn't expect this. I thought it would be easy, thought my body would be able to produce the way my sister's and mother's did. But, it was worth it, every second, every ache, every worry. My baby is chunky, she is healthy, she is happy, and let me tell you, she is not hungry. We made it work, we cried together, we spent endless hours latched on to one another, and eight months in we are still sharing my body. Throughout this learning curve, I have documented myself breastfeeding her, which has become an important part of that time. These images are for me, they are for her, and they are for you. I want to help normalize breastfeeding, to be part of the conversation, and to do so in a public manner. I was recently asked if I felt weird nursing in public and explained that as soon as I was able to nurse in public, I did. I wanted to own my experience, I didn't want to hide, and as bitchy as it sounds, if someone stares of me with disapproval while I'm feeding my child, I stare right back.
I am now working full-time, at a job I feel was made for me I must add, and with women who have also experienced the joys and pressures of breastfeeding. Every few hours I take time to nourish my body and express what I have worked so hard to keep. I sit quietly, listening to the humming of my pump, feeling thankful for that time to continue feeding my daughter how I see fit. Breastfeeding became significantly easier when we began introducing solids to her diet, and while she still primarily nurses when we are together, it has been a relief to know that she doesn't solely need my body. That being said, I also miss her solely needing my body. In all my moments of frustration, the love, sympathy, and care I have developed for my body are much greater because of this.
