When Breastfeeding is a Struggle

Breastfeeding can be a challenge for new mothers - an additional sore to an already exhausted body. During pregnancy, the mothers body prepares to deliver and feed the infant. While the birth of a healthy baby is celebrated the mothers, body can potentially take a while to get the memo of the child's arrival. It's a moment of reckoning when the baby is hungry and a cup of juice and a cookie will not suffice because guess what?! The little bundle doesn't have the stomach to handle refined foods. Only milk will do and preferably the mother’s milk. If the mother doesn't produce colostrum or the baby is unable to suckle, there's a mad dash for glucose and a syringe. But that is only a temporary solution because cute and wrinkly as that little bundle is, when hunger strikes and it will strike often - no amount of "shh" ing will settle it down. These are moments fathers sweat in helpless frustration. Mother has to learn to breastfeed and sometimes it's not as easy as it looks. The art has to be learnt.

After grating me sore I near gave up. It was a wonder that this little bundle of a baby had so much suction power to make a grown woman cry. Perhaps this was not meant to be. Growing up I watched mothers mindlessly breastfeed their babies. They held conversations and even performed some chores while the babies clasped on for life. It looked easy. I on the other hand performed an entire ritual. I couldn't talk let alone look up, I was afraid for my life. My entire being was focused on the task.

At the slightest whimper, I'd sit up and clutch the chair arm "oh my! Baby is awake". My heart raced. I cupped my bust to confirm which side had more milk - that was usually the sorest. Baby was a ferocious little animal that had been sent to eat me up, piece by little piece.  With a mug of water, I mean juice, I mean porridge at my side, I clenched my teeth, reached for all the resolve I could find at the bottom of my flabby tummy and willed myself to breastfeed. I held baby in position and slowly, ever so slowly unlatched the feeding bra, and gently, ever so gently removed the padding. I looked intently to ensure I was still intact from previous battles.

Baby would have none of these long procedures, he turned his head this way and that as he searched and screamed at the top of his lungs. His epiglottis flattered with urgency. It was a life and death situation for the both of us. I shut my eyes tight as he latched on to my sore nipple and gripped even tighter as if afraid it would disappear. I was near death from the pain, he was near life as all the nutrients that make for a good start on this planet were called forth. Baby suckled with all his might and the milk was summoned from the core of every vein in my body and out the fountain spout into his toothless little mouth. As his tummy filled up, his eyes closed in satisfaction, he loosened the grip and turned - there was no need for "this" at least not immediately - perhaps for another two hours. I prayed for grace while I administered a soothing ointment.

By the end of the third month, there was hope I'd live to see another day. Words of advice from mothers and sisters, words that seemed hateful at the time - "Just keep at it" "It will get better" "This is best for baby" begun to ring true. We got into a routine baby and me. I even looked forward. He'd settle in the nook of my arm and make sounds of anticipation. The gentle rub of his nose and the cool breeze from his breath triggered a mighty flow. Our bond sealed.

Baby grew healthy and strong and hardly suffered any illness.

And I? I grew too. I grew round as pumpkin keeping the reserves stocked.

The task became a delight.

Happy #breastfeeding week!