What No One Told Me About Breastfeeding

From the second I found out I was pregnant, I started piecing together what kind of mom I wanted to be. I would make sure my kids ate right, and they would never have soda. I'd get them educational toys only, and of course I would read a bedtime story EVERY night. Formula wasn't good enough for my baby; I would follow the World Health Organization (WHO) recommendation of two years of breastfeeding. My hootsie tootsie ass had no idea what I was signing up for.

My kids do eat better than most kids, and they have never had soda. But that's about where my dream ended. Of course my kids have Barbies and other miscellaneous toys. I absolutely detest reading every single night. By the end of the night, I'm so exhausted and ready for a moment alone, that I zoom past the words in the shortest story book in the room. While I didn't breastfeed for two years, I'm proud to to say each of my children got in over a year. For someone who never has breastfed that may not seem like much, but trust me, that shit deserves an achievement unlocked medal.

Breastfeeding is HARD. Like, rob a bank hard. It might be easier to download and trade an organ on the black market. When I finally did breastfeed, I was wondering why absolutely no one in the forums I became part of had mentioned that it was going to feel like instead of milk, I was producing razor blades. My mother hadn't breastfed long at all, and she pumped. I had no other real life women to pull from. In short, I was shocked, disappointed, and the thought of doing this for two years sent me crying into a corner hating my life.

My first shower at home post birth, I had the shower head pointed straight at my chest, as per usual, ready to let that hot water spread over my body and rain on all my achy parts. Instead, the water shot out, caught my nipple, and it felt like I had been shot. I swear it almost ripped my nipple clean off. They were all cut up from Adrianna's multiple attempts to feed; I had flat inverted nipples, which were about the worst thing to have if you wanted to breastfeed. I'm sure Adrianna drank more blood than milk.

It took WEEEEEEEEEEEKS for us to find a groove that didn't feel like actual cancer on my breasts. Then she hit the cluster feeding stage, and I wanted to throw her against a wall. For those who are unaware, your baby will hit the cluster-feeding stage at about 4 days, 10 days, 2 weeks, 4 weeks, and 6 weeks. Clusterfeeding means they feed every couple of minutes for HOURS, and this can last for days. Yes, multiple days. It's their way of kick starting your body to make the milk they need to accommodate them. Yup, babies are evil geniuses.

Worst of all was how long it took for my milk to come in. While I waited impatiently, I was told I had to be diligent and keep having her latch and attempting to feed her, if I wanted to continue of course, no pressure. I wanted nothing more than to stay home with my baby and learn to love her because I was struggling with the horrible grip postpartum depression had on me. So I sat there and I kept offering my breast to her. And eventually she did take it. Then she took and ran with it. I didn't stop feeding Adrianna until she was almost 15 months.

I tried desperately to pump milk in a vain attempt to get my breasts back. I pumped until my nipples bled. Tried different machines, sections, speeds, and none let drag out more than an oz or two TOTAL. It was brutal. Then, suddenly, I had nipples like the bottom of Frodo Baggins feet and they were tough and durable and breastfeeding, for a brief fleeting moment, became something I could enjoy. Until I realized what a SACRIFICE it was. Adrianna hated bottles, and would refuse formula. My breasts were constantly exploding with milk because even though I couldn't pump, I had such an over supply of milk, my breasts were leaking every time I went more than 2 hours without feeding her, which rarely happened. I was wearing a bra 24/7, exclusively nursing bras, for support in carrying the swinging pendulums that were now my breasts. My bra size exploded to a 36G after I had Adrianna, and while plenty of women complain of shrinkage, I feel like that's for women who stop abruptly and earlier in their breastfeeding journey. I tapered my feeding with Adrianna as she got older and it was a gradual stop. So my breasts stayed that big and didn't shrink at all. To be honest, we only stopped because I returned to work and my breasts ached so bad after I got pregnant with Jamila. I had to be primed and ready to feed my child at all times. Couldn't drink, couldn't vibe. Had to always pay attention to what I consumed because I was breastfeeding. Less so because it would be transferred to her, more so because I couldn't be so fucked up that I would drop her while feeding her, or smother her or anything else stupid.

As my mental health declined steadily, my therapist and I considered medication for my PTSD. That was off the table as long as I chose to breastfeed. A year had come and gone and even though I could stop now and transition to cows milk, Adrianna was happy feeding off me and no one was going to tell her otherwise. During my journey, I had gotten thrush twice from her, I had gotten mastitis, and I found out the hard way what a blocked duct felt like. I was fighting postpartum depression for about 5 to 6 months after she was born, and breastfeeding made me cry because I couldn't feel a connection to her. A happiness. And I hated everytime she opened her mouth to eat at the beginning. It was painful, and I was miserable.

I remember clear as day the last day she fed. I was almost 6 months pregnant with Jamila and were sitting in the emergency room of Bronx Lebanon, because Adrianna had busted her eyebrow open on a decorative point in the pews of her great grandmother's funeral (a story for another day, I promise). I was trying to feed her so she would still long enough for the doctor to put the butterfly strips on her eyebrow. She gave one suckle and then refused. It wasn't enough to distract her, which it usually was. After that, we went home and I held my little girl close, expecting her to want to nurse for comfort, or to feel close to mom. Instead she snuggled her face against me and we just sat in comfortable silence, watching Moana for the zillionth time. I felt it. I felt in my chest that she was done. Tears pricked the corners of my eye. I swallowed over a lump that was in my throat. I was crying because a new relationship could now exist between me and her. One that didn't make me second guess if my daughter only loved me because I was a source of food. Relief washed over me like a cleansing rain. I snuggled her closer and threw the blanket over us, feeling just a bit lighter than I had the day before.