Saturday, December 4, 2010

Guest Blog: A Tale of Two Titties

My name is Arielle and my breastfeeding journey began on September 6th, 2008 at 3:50am when my son was taken out of me via c-section.










I started having labor contractions 2 days before he was born. I went in and they sent me home because I hadn’t progressed from 1cm. Before bed that night I was laying down and all of a sudden my stomach just went nuts. He was tossing and turning and doing all sorts of crazy maneuvers. It is now my thought that this is when he turned breech and therefore my OB had no idea because when she checked me 3 days prior he was still head down. But I really don’t know for sure, just speculating. After laboring all day and evening at home on Friday at around 11:30 pm I decided I should call the maternity center again just to be sure it was still just false labor. Well I couldn’t even tell her because I had to keep stopping with the contractions. That was all she needed to hear. She told me to hang up and get to the hospital ASAP. By the time I got there I was 6 cm and I barely got my gown on and my water broke. I lay down and they checked me again and I was 8. I got an epidural and lay down to rest and they checked again and there was a pause and the nurse called for a doctor who checked and then they wheeled in an ultrasound machine. At this point I knew something was wrong. Sure enough, the doctor tells me they need to prep me for an emergency c-section because he was frank breech. Well at this point I am starting to feel a slight urge to push and let me tell ya, fighting that urge was TOUGH.

The surgery was ok, minor pulling a tugging sensation. The drugs made me feel awful though. I got the shakes and I was so out of it in recovery I didn’t even really want to hold him. More like I couldn’t hold him. I kept falling asleep. It was awful. I tried to get him to latch but I was so groggy I couldn’t stay focused long enough to keep him on. I remember thinking I don’t want this, I don’t want to be here, I can’t handle all of this. I felt mentally and emotional drained. The next day was a bit better. They finally turned off my morphine and I was just on Percocet. I was able to try breastfeeding but it seemed like each nurse had a new way of teaching me, and no matter what I did I was always doing it “wrong”. Ugh. Finally I just said screw them all and did what I thought felt best, which worked wonderful for both of us and my milk came in big time within about 2 days of birth. I kept him with me the whole time. I was scared they were going to give him formula because I was young and immature and they thought breastfeeding wasn’t working for us. I remember I had Weston on my chest skin to skin and we had 2 blankets on us. A nurse came in to check us and ripped me a new one because I didn’t have any clothes on him and he would get cold and yada yada. Man was I pissed. She then proceeded to take him to the nursery. I said why and she said she needed to check some other things. Well I asked what other things and she just TOOK HIM!! I told my husband to go get him and never let that wench of a woman come back in our room.

Weston was an excellent breastfeeder from the get-go. All he wanted was boob, all the time. I know I am very lucky, that not all babies are like this. I had a horrible recovery from the c-section and it was hard for me to walk and sit up and even harder to nurse him. I got bloody cracked nipples, severe engorgement (my veins popped so far out you could feel them) and I would try to feed him and he would get so much so fast he would throw it all up. I guess they call this an over active let-down. Luckily all these things only lasted a few weeks. By the time Weston was a month old we had established a very good breastfeeding relationship. Aside from a clogged milk duct or 2, a brief encounter with thrush and a baby that just wanted to have my nipple in his mouth ALL THE TIME, we really didn’t have any issues.

Weston started to self-wean around 15 months. I had gotten a few snide remarks from certain friends or family members such as “you are STILL breastfeeding him?” and “”do you really think he needs that anymore?”, but honestly my family and friends were all pretty supportive. My husband was a god send . I seriously contribute a lot of our success to having such a supportive partner. If I ever so much as hinted at giving him a bottle he would remind me how good my milk was for our son and how important it was for us to keep it up.

It was New Years Eve and Weston was 16 months old and I was putting him to bed. He always nursed right before bed, which was the last session he gave up. Well I was nursing him that particular evening and he just randomly, out of the blue, bit me. And it was not just a little nibble. It was a full on chomp. He drew blood and everything. I pulled him off and said OW! No Bite! That hurts mommy! And I started to cry and called for my husband. All the while Weston is smiling and laughing. I know he didn’t have any clue that he caused me pain but I also knew that the time had come and we were done. After all, he never “asked" for boob, I always just offered and he would accept. Honestly I think that if I had stopped offering a while back he wouldn’t have even noticed. I was holding on to it more than he was. So that was our last night of breastfeeding. It was hard but I was still very happy we were able to make it as far as we did.

I am due this January with my little baby girl. I just can’t wait to begin a whole new breastfeeding adventure.

2 comments:

  1. Thanks so much for sharing your story! :)

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  2. I love hearing different breastfeeding stories!!

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