My hard-learned truth about breastfeeding.

Breast is best.  That's the motto drilled into all expectant mothers by health professionals, midwives and the teachers at their antenatal classes.  It is the perfect food for this beautiful new life that you have strived and strained to bring into the world.  Not only is it rich in nutrition, it also provides antibodies to kick-start the little one's immune system and of course promotes bonding between mother and infant.

But no one ever tells you just how hard breastfeeding actually is.  Unlike lower mammals such as cats and dogs, nursing and breastfeeding are not innate and instinctive.  It is something both mother and baby have to learn together.  And sometimes, something just doesn't click on either end and leads to a huge morass of problems.

When my daughter was first born, I brought her to my breast and allowed her to suckle.  Because she is my first child, I could not tell you if her latch was good or if it was a good quality feed.  All I know is that she sucked and sucked and eventually fell asleep.  I then handed her to her daddy for cuddles so I could get cleaned up.

It was only when I got to the maternity ward and she wanted her next feed that I figured out that something wasn't quite right.  She wasn't latching well and I was beginning to experience pain.  A nurse tried to help me get her to latch - didn't work.  A lactation consultant was called in - all she did was show me a poster on correct latching technique - like I hadn't seen the exact same thing in my antenatal class.  Things just got worse and eventually I wound up hand-expressing my colostrum into a small plastic cup before going onto a pump to ensure my supply stayed up.  When it came to feeding time, I used a syringe.

Cue a huge meltdown in hospital because breastfeeding is so heavily emphasized that to a new mother it becomes synonymous with your success (or failure) as a mother.  Or at least that's how it felt to me in my own head.  Most of the nurses were wonderfully supportive and told me that things would probably improve once I got home and once my actual milk came in to push out my flat nipples.  But due to fatigue and hormones, I just felt awful and spent three or four hours in tears.

Things didn't improve at home.  Despite my best efforts, latching was still hard and when she DID latch, I was in pain.

And then at her 2-week check it was discovered that my daughter had lost 15% of her birth weight instead of putting weight on.  She was pink and healthy though which meant she was only just getting enough milk to sustain her and keep her hydrated.  Cue another meltdown at this implied failure at being a mum.  Another lactation consultant was brought in and she diagnosed a tongue-tie as the problem with my daughter's latch.  Her tongue was so tightly attached to the floor of her mouth that she couldn't stick her tongue out past her lips.  Fortunately we were able to have it clipped that same day and while I noticed an immediate improvement in her latch, the damage to my nipples was extensive - they were both cracked and bleeding.  In order to heal them, I had to feed my daughter on the least-worst side and pump the other side, applying lanolin to them after each feed.

I was optimistic and thought that things would improve from there.  My daughter was finally gaining weight and seemed to be happier overall.

But then things took a really big backward step.  At her 6 week check it was found that she wasn't losing weight, but neither was she gaining.  And she wasn't sleeping.  She would feed at the breast and fall asleep and then I'd put her down to sleep and 10-20 minutes later she would be awake again and screaming for more food.

Emotionally I was at the end of my rope.  I had no time for myself, was barely eating and at that point I couldn't even remember the last time I had showered, let alone washed my hair.  Simply because I no longer had the time to do those things as my baby was simply taking up every second of my time.

It was at this point that my midwife suggested I supplement with formula.  After yet another crying jag at my failure, I tearfully agreed to let my husband go out and get a tin of formula.  Upon his return we made up a bottle according to the instructions and feeding guide and gave it to her.  She had no problems taking the bottle and gulped it down like she was starving.  She finished the entire bottle, burped, and then went to sleep.  For 3 whole hours.  Because she finally had a full belly and felt sated and content.  And I got to go and soak in my bathtub.  The first bath I'd had since she'd been born.

It was at this point I realized that even though 'Breast is Best', if it just wasn't working, then what was the point of putting myself through all that emotional agony and heartache?  Furthermore, if I continued the way I was, I would actually be doing my daughter more harm than good.  Because clearly something just wasn't working in our breastfeeding relationship and she wasn't getting what she needed.  And if I continued this struggle, she wouldn't be able to grow, and she really would fail to thrive.

So despite even the tin of formula telling me that breast milk is the ideal food, I have finally managed to make peace with myself.  I am not a failure as a mum.  Because now my daughter is getting what she needs.  She is putting on weight and is a happy and social baby who loves to smile at people.  She is right on the cusp of learning to roll over and has recently started sleeping through the night (with the exception of last night lol).  Formula hasn't done her any harm and she still breastfeeds a couple of times per day to help her settle before a nap.  I'm also still pumping and expressing milk in order to freeze it.  When she starts solid foods in a few months, I'll be able to use this saved milk to make baby rice and baby custard so she is still getting all the benefits of my milk.

I have not failed.  I have redefined what success is.

And when I see my baby smile, I consider that my success.

Some things just aren't in the book.

I am a new mum.  My daughter is 12 weeks old.  And I will say this now, so there can't be any doubt.  I love her with all my heart.  She is a gorgeous, smiley ball of adorable who is right on the cusp of laughing for the first time.  She's also discovered that kicking in the bath makes splashes, which is fun!

I also want to say that she was a planned pregnancy.  I thought I was ready for kids.  And when I discovered I was pregnant, I began reading everything I could, watching my diet and weight gain like a hawk and of course signing up for an antenatal class so that I would be as prepared as possible for this next stage of my life.

But here's the first truth that no one ever tells you: You are never prepared.

I understand and appreciate that every single parent's journey is unique and that everyone has different experiences.  But there will always be similarities - it's what unites us in the bonds of parenthood.  But these are my experiences and a few reflections on what I wish I'd known before starting this journey.

I have to admit, aside from a couple of minor, easily dealt with complications, I had pretty much a textbook pregnancy.  My weight gain was steady and my scans were good.  My midwife was amazing and wonderfully supportive.  Even my labor started off textbook perfect.  Just before 4pm on the 9th of April I heard a strange popping noise, kind of like the sound you get when you snap chewing gum.  This was immediately followed by a gush of fluid that made me feel like I had suddenly peed myself.  I called my midwife who confirmed that yes this was most likely my waters breaking, please keep her informed of my progress.  Contractions started about 30 minutes later.

I labored at home until 10:30pm when the contractions finally got too much for me to handle.  So as previously discussed with my midwife, I headed up to the hospital birthing suites.  And it was basically at this point that my labor experience took a sharp turn off the pages of that textbook.  In fact, I'm pretty damn sure that the textbook got thrown out the window entirely.

Truth of labor #1: Birth plans are great but don't expect them to stick.

 I wanted a water birth.  I love baths and nothing makes me feel better after a long, stressful day than a good 1 hour or more in a tub full of steaming hot water with a good book.  (Of course that was pre-baby.  These day I'm lucky to get 20 minutes in the shower!).  So I thought being able to soak in water while laboring would help me cope with the pain and get through it using nothing but the gas as a painkiller.

But as part of standard procedure at the birthing suites, they need to strap you into a monitor to record the strength and frequency of the contractions, along with the baby's heart-rate.  The idea is to get a baseline set of vitals to compare against later in labor.  Unfortunately though, the machine wasn't picking up my contractions properly so I never left the bed again.  I did get the gas though, so that was at least something.

Truth of labor #2: Hospital births put you at greater risk of unwanted interventions.

Now I'm not saying don't have a hospital birth.  I'm glad I did and will probably do so again if I get crazy enough to want to have another child.  My only problem with hospital births are the surgical registrars.  I know they are there in the birthing wards to serve a very important purpose.  They are there in case things go horribly horribly wrong and intervention becomes a matter of life or death for either the mother or the baby.  My main problem with them is the fact that they are far too quick to assume things are going horribly horribly wrong.

During one point of my labor (don't ask me when because I'd lost ALL sense of time by then) my baby's heart-rate dropped suddenly.  The registrar jumped in and TOLD me that it was a sign that my contractions weren't strong enough to bring the baby down and so they were going to put me on an oxytocin drip to speed things up.  And because the oxytocin was going to make the contractions even more intense than what I was currently experiencing, they were going to put a spinal anesthetic in.  And then she went on to say that if that wasn't successful, they were going to take me down to surgery for an emergency c-section.  My midwife, being a beacon of calm and common sense suggested that I try changing positions.  As soon as I was up on my knees, the baby's heart-rate went back up and things started progressing again as gravity began giving me a hand.

Then towards the end of the labor, there was yet another drop in heart-rate.  Apparently my poor baby had a little bit of swelling in her head and had gotten stuck near the end of the birth canal.  The registrar jumps in again saying that she's going to take me down to theatre, put a spinal in and then attempt to lift the baby out with forceps.  Then if the attempt with forceps was unsuccessful, they'd go straight to c-section.  I had told my midwife before all this began that I wanted to avoid a c-section unless it was a DIRE emergency and that I did NOT like the idea of forceps AT ALL.  Once the registrar left the room to find the consultant to get the ball rolling, my midwife told the hospital midwife that the baby was right there and that if they gave me an episiotomy, she'd be out with one push.  They numbed me up with local, did the episiotomy and yeah, ok it was three pushes but she still came out, and she came out screaming.  So instead of a huge gaping wound that would have taken six weeks to heal, I had a tiny cut 'down there' that took ten days to heal and I got to bond with my baby straight away as she was placed on my stomach.

As a downside, I had to spend the next two days in hospital.  Not because of the baby, she was perfectly fine.  But because after the delivery was totally over, when I stood up to go have a shower, I damn near fainted.  And after I got out of the shower and they took my vitals, my heart-rate was sitting at around 140 beats per minute.  Which is nearly double its usual.

It turned out that I had lost a bit more blood during the labor than they had anticipated.  Not enough to warrant a transfusion, but enough to require constant monitoring and me drinking like a camel to try and trick my body into thinking there was still enough fluid in there.  I wasn't allowed to go home until my heart-rate was back under 100 beats per minute.  Which took two days.

But those were the hard truths I learned about the process of labor.  Not from the books, not from the classes, but just through my own experience.  I got off relatively lightly.  All up, my labor was just 13.5 hours.  One of the women who was in my antenatal class had a 50 hour labor.  But I do wish I'd know those two truths beforehand.  Because that way I wouldn't have felt such a keen disappointment when my entire birth plan turned to custard.  That way I would have expected the registrars and their jumpiness, because them assuming things are going wrong just make you feel even more stressed in what is already a VERY stressful, very painful, very messy situation.

So that was my labor and delivery.  My next post (when I have braced myself enough emotionally to write it) will be able the hardest truths I've learned so far: the truth about breastfeeding.

Till next time.