The Silence of the Boobs.
February 27th, 2011
Forgive me for any grammar/spelling errors in advance. I’m writing this quickly as I am paying a woman decent money to come over, look at my boobs and help me figure out how to make them feel better. How I will get through this awkward meeting without booze? No clue. But getting drunk and working on one’s latch in order to feed a newborn doesn’t seem like such a great idea. So, I’m going to sit through this meeting sober.
This post may include information that will gross out the childless and/or those who are (for some stupid reason) freaked out about the idea that a boob is sometimes used to feed someone. So: stop reading right now if you’re not interested.
I’m trying to breastfeed again. And this time the little booger is super interested. He latched on immediately. We were breastfeeding within an hour of his birth. I was floored, excited. Yeah, things were good.
And we continued this way for the two days we were in the hospital. I fed him literally around the clock. I have what they referred to as a “cluster feeder” or something like that. He feeds every half hour, sometimes more, all night long. We got little sleep but I didn’t care.
He lost weight but nothing too bad. He was peeing a lot. The nurses were pleased. Things seemed fine. And they were. Mostly.
By day three he’d lost 10% of his bodyweight. He was also jaundiced, dehydrated, and just really fucking hungry. His pediatrician said, Enough already! Start feeding him from the breast and then give him 2 ounces (or more) of pumped milk or formula. We took him home and immediately gave him a bottle of formula. He ate up that bottle so damned fast, it was kinda sad. He was a new baby—active, awake, happy.
The problem is, again, my breasts just don’t produce enough milk to sustain this child. Em was the same way. I pumped with Em exclusively because we never got a latch down. I tried. It just didn’t work. So I pumped. I wasn’t ever able to sustain him this way alone. I always supplemented. He was happy.
This time the kid is interested, but he’s just not getting enough. Not yet.
But here’s why I’m hiring someone: it’s not because I don’t have enough milk. I’m OK with giving him what I can and then supplementing whatever I need. This time it’s because I must have gotten the latch wrong. Because the pain I’m experiencing is some of the worst pain I’ve ever felt. I won’t go into too many glorious and therefore disgusting details, but my nipples are absolutely falling apart. A piece of cotton—shit! AIR hurts them. And they are so beat up and scabbed over, milk can no longer get out. So the milk I do have in there is actually stuck.
My boobs are screaming. Someone needs to make the boobs stop screaming.
I have read that it’s not supposed to hurt THIS bad, so I hired someone to show me what I’m doing wrong. And I’m hoping for the best. I would like to make this work to some degree. If it doesn’t, I won’t beat myself up again like last time. I refuse to. But I’d like to make it work.
I know. Many of you are probably thoroughly grossed out. But I warned you to stop reading at the beginning. I guess what I’m saying is it’s your fault. :]
So, that’s where I am this time around regarding the whole boob thing. Any insight you might have is greatly appreciated. Hell, I’d love to hear about your battle wounds because misery DOES love company. And my boobs are miserable.
It rubs the Lanolin on the skin…
(Yeah, this joke is getting old, am I right?)
OK! I’m off. I need to mentally prepare myself for this very awkward meeting.
53 Comments »
Recent Comments