To VBAC Or Not To VBAC

Sometimes it can't be avoided: serious topics. And I'm struggling to find much humor in this one.

At my last OB visit, my OB-of-the-day (there are four in the practice) wanted to talk about my upcoming labor and delivery.

An aside: this is my temporary OB as we have re-located for my husband's job … we are supposed to be back in L.A. before babe #2 makes her appearance. And a little refresher: Eli was born via c-section due to an abruption. There was also an issue of my pelvis "not opening," or so I was told, so I was also labeled as “failure to progress.”

At the visit, my OB told me that since my pelvis didn't "open" last time there isn't much chance of it doing so this go-round, and that I should seriously consider having a scheduled c-section.

I listened to her reasons and came home. My OB back in L.A. has told me I'm not the best candidate for a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean), but in previous visits, told me he would at least let me try.

As the hours after my appointment passed I found myself becoming more upset and emotional. I do not want another c-section if it can at all be avoided. I realize if it's scheduled, meaning: if I don't have the 20+ hours of labor, the abruption and THEN the c-section that my recovery will, in fact, be better. But it will still involve a surgical procedure and me being stuck in bed the first day attached to a catheter and those funky inflating leg warmers to ward off blood clots. I won't be able to immediately bond with or breastfeed my baby. I won't be able to hold her. This is devastating to me, again. Then there are the risks of having a c-section in the first place, and those do not diminish for repeat c-sections.

What I kept wondering was: Why are my healthcare providers so convinced my body isn't capable of doing this?

I went online and decided to do some research.

I posted a thread on Mothering.com (home of Mothering magazine). I know this particular crowd is pro-VBAC, homebirth, midwife, natural birth, etc., and I figured if there was an audience that would encourage and support me in my endeavor to have a VBAC this would be the place.

I laid out my birth experience and asked if any women had had a similar pelvis issue and gone on to have a successful VBAC.

It's worth noting that Eli was asynclitic before I went into labor, meaning he was head down, but slanted off to the side a bit. He was like that for several weeks before he was born, didn't flip for the longest time and was actually quite lodged in there. It was for this reason he was born with torticollis and plagiocephally (an issue with neck muscles; he also had a flat spot on his head). Well, come to find out his position was most likely responsible for my unyielding pelvis, as this is a common “side effect” of having an asynclitic baby. It's amazing what you can learn in an afternoon.

I dilated to a nine during my labor. Were it not for the abruption and had I been handling the sciatic pain (due to his asynclitic position) better, basically, if I had had more time (and no epidural), it's tough to say whether or not he could have been born naturally.

What I do know, after my frenzied research period, is that there are things I can do before I go into labor and even after I do, to encourage an optimal birth position for the baby and to prep my pelvic floor. I can visit a chiropractor, continue my yoga, hire a doula to assist me during labor with stretches and positioning to encourage the baby to move into a good position. Most of all, I will do whatever I can to avoid getting an epidural, as that hindered my ability to move around, thus ending any hope of assisting the opening of my pelvis.

These are all things I didn't know during my first labor, but none of them are absolutes. This baby may not be asynclitic. My pelvis may open if she is in the proper position. Will I have another abruption? There is no way to know. It is the one factor I cannot prepare for and the one big risk I will be taking in attempting a VBAC. Because I have already had one, statistically I am at greater risk of having another. That is frightening. Will it keep me from attempting a VBAC? I don't think so.

The point I’m trying to get at here is that if I only listened to my healthcare providers I would continue to believe that my body isn't "right," that it isn't capable of delivering a baby without surgery. In my heart I do not believe this. I was almost there last time. Had I been better educated (and supported) perhaps things could have turned out differently. That's the beauty of hindsight, and it means I will be better prepared this time.

I would like to think I've moved past my c-section. In most ways I have. All I have to do is look at Eli, at what a beautiful, smart, sweet boy he is, and I know the c-section, in that instance, was the right thing to do, it is what needed to be done to insure the safety of both of us. My problem is that without getting into the next labor, seeing how the conditions play out, I can't say with any certainty it would be the way to go next time.

Sure, if we get a few hours in and some of the same hurdles present themselves and we are not getting around them, well, I wouldn't hesitate to get the c-section. But if I can try and birth my daughter naturally, hold her, feed her, walk around with her on the same day she is born, well, that makes me tear up just thinking about it.

All I can say is be your own advocate. If you don't like what you're being told, do your own research and seek out the experiences of other women. Obtain and read your medical records. I guarantee they will tell you things about your medical history you did not know.

Ultimately, as was the case during my first labor, some conditions and issues cannot be prepared for and if that is the case, I will do what is best for the health of the baby. At the end of the day that is all that matters. But it doesn’t mean I don’t deserve a choice or a say in how my next birthing experience unfolds. I will prepare myself and hope for the best. It is all I can do; it is what I have to do.

An End, And Beginning

It's been exactly four weeks since I stopped breastfeeding Eli. I was hoping some distance from the event would give me some shiny conclusion, a pearl of wisdom to share, something meaningful to say.

That hasn't happened, exactly. We stopped and there hasn't been much looking back. Between my participation in National Novel Writing Month during November, which took every spare second I had (and yes, I made my 50,000 word goal and will continue to work on this novel), and Eli's seemingly-daily-increase of energy, well, there hasn't been much time for reflection. What I do have is my experience on that final day.

Here is what I wrote in my journal the day the milk ran dry…


* * * * *

11/8/10
Today has been an emotional day. First off, it was Eli's final day of breastfeeding. He has been down to one feeding, first thing in the morning, and it is the one feeding he has been resistant to give up so I've been taking my time with him. But today there was nothing left. The boob juice was gone. He sat up and looked at me, confused. When I realized what was happening and what it meant I felt conflicted. Was I really done breastfeeding? I had made it just over a year, a huge accomplishment for me. But was this it?

It was a bittersweet moment. When I look at Eli I know I will miss the connection we've shared for so long, but at the same time I swell with pride when I see what a little man he is becoming, how much he has grown and changed, how he is becoming more independent each day.

The combination of this event, coupled with all these disparate thoughts and feelings, started me off on shaky ground for the day. Barely an hour later we were at my OB's office for our "big ultrasound," where we also opted to find out the sex of the baby. I initially thought girl when I first became pregnant, but then for several weeks had no inkling one way or the other. Then in the last week or two my husband and I had convinced ourselves this babe was a boy.

There was an immediate crotch shot during the ultrasound and I swear I saw some junk floating around in there. The tech didn't say anything but in my head I thought I knew. So it was a rather big shock to hear her announce a couple minutes later: "It's a girl!"

My response? I asked in disbelief, "Really?" Then my eyes filled with tears.

Of course the tech thought I was moved because I was going to have a little girl to buy frilly dresses for and to take doll shopping. She immediately started telling us about taking her daughter to the American Girl doll store. This is not my idea of a good time, by the way.

No, I'm not sure where the tears came from, other than the joy of feeling like I now knew my baby just a little better, felt a greater connection to this little person squirming around in there. Perhaps it was the knowledge that while one connection was ending on this day, another was beginning.

It was strange for me to feel so emotional over this news. The circumstances had been different with Eli. I was going to acupuncture during my first pregnancy and ten weeks in my acupuncturist asked if we were planning on finding out the sex of the baby. I said yes. "Well," she said, "I can tell you right now if you want to know."

Well of course I wanted to know so I found out. No one believed she could know such things, but my husband and I had already suspected we were having a boy, and Cristina only confirmed it. So while we were excited for our "big ultrasound" for Eli, it was really just a safety check, and then a confirmation of something we already knew.

This time around it was a true surprise.

I spent the rest of today wearing a silly grin one minute and then teary-eyed the next. I would look at Eli, imagine him with his baby sister, and feel my heart swell. In many ways, it is probably the best possible day for us to stop breastfeeding, a day when there is other happy news to focus on, to distract us from what could otherwise be a sad and/or traumatic day.

* * * * *


Four weeks later we all move forward, Eli drinking whole milk like a monster (he loves it, thank goodness). I am thankful for a smooth transition, not one clouded with doubt about whether I did things the right way. Eli never seemed upset that he was no longer breastfeeding, never tugged at me. It's like we both knew: This time is over. It's time to move on.

Mostly, I am thankful that we made it. Breastfeeding for one full year was always my goal and so many times, especially in the early days, it seemed unattainable. By the time we finished it felt second nature, natural, like there couldn't be anything more normal in the entire world. I never thought any of these statements would come out of my mouth (or fingers) so that feels like true progress. It also feels like a wonderful way to move forward in preparation for our next babe, who will have a much more assured mother waiting for her.

This Milk Machine is closed, for a little while ;)

Snuggle Your Snoogle

My husband hates my Snoogle pillow.

Early in my first pregnancy it became apparent that I do not sleep well while pregnant. Initially I chalked it up to the thrill and excitement of being pregnant. My mind was constantly swirling with a thousand disparate thoughts. How could anyone rest with so much going on in their brain? After a few weeks of this, though, I was sleep-deprived, stiff, sore, and getting increasingly cranky. Did I mention I was also writing my Master's thesis during this time?

What is a pregnant girl to do? I started to research natural sleep remedies. Warm milk, a hot shower or bath, exercise, meditation, no screens of any kind a few hours before bed, some pleasant reading. I tried it all and none of it did a damn bit of good.

When I complained to anyone that would listen about the unfairness of not being able to sleep when I was so clearly exhausted, I was generally met with this response: "It's good practice for when the baby comes."

I’m sorry, practice? Does anyone need to practice NOT sleeping? As though over time you'll simply "get better" at it? So that way, when the baby actually comes I'll already be so sleep-deprived that I'll be half out of my mind?

This didn't make any sense to me, and I'll admit, I had to restrain myself from lashing out when I received this stock response. Now I say it to others, but always in a mocking, there's-no-way-they-don't-know-I'm-kidding tone.

Part of the problem was that I couldn't get comfortable in bed. My hips in particular would get so stiff that I would wake and need to flip over about every hour or so during the night. This was in addition to the other two+ times I needed to get up and pee. So at best, I was managing maybe an hour-and-a-half of sleep at a stretch. Yes, perhaps this would be my nighttime schedule once the baby came. But that babe was still safely tucked into my belly and I wanted to savor every moment of sleep I could get until the day he arrived.

I started to look at pregnancy pillows online. Let me say now, I am not one for having a thousand pillows on or near my bed, nor do I sleep with more than one pillow, ever. So the thought of more pillows seemed silly, but I was getting desperate.

Then I stumbled upon it: The Snoogle Total Body Pillow. Stupid name, yes, but there were so many glowing reviews on the Babies R Us website that I had to restrain myself from immediately jumping in the car and driving to the nearest store to buy it. Could I really spend $50 on a pillow?

As I continued through the reviews, moved to tears by the miracles it was working with all these other pregnant women, I knew I had found my solution. This pillow was going to give me the best damn night of sleep I had had in four months, and that was worth $50. It was worth double that if I slept for six to eight hours straight as some women claimed to do with the Snoogle.

This is what happens when I'm pregnant: I'm like an infomercial customer to the extreme. You tell me your product is awesome and I am going to buy it. Why? I'm tired, I'm cranky, I’m emotional-as-hell, and worst of all: I believe you.

So off I went to buy my newest favorite thing in the world. When my husband got home from work and saw the pillow unfurled on the bed, taking up the space of an additional person in our already cramped full size bed, he looked doubtful.

"Really?" he asked.

And I nodded. Oh yes, this was going to fix everything.

I went to bed that night ready to be dazzled.

And dazzled I (mostly) was.

Did I sleep six to eight hours straight? No, but I clocked a three hour stretch, my best in weeks. Even better, I didn't need to flip as often during the night, and awoke with my hips feeling only mildly stiff.

Was the Snoogle worth every last penny? Over time, yes.

I never slept a six to eight hour stretch, ever, during my entire pregnancy. After awhile, I stopped letting this frustrate me as much, and learned to be thankful for the stretches I was getting. I realized that perhaps this was the way life was going to be, for a long time, and instead of fighting it every step of the way, I should give in and catch cat naps when I could during the day.

Either way, I loved my Snoogle pillow. It did help, although during summer nights in L.A., it did make for some very hot, uncomfortable sleep. It also forced my husband into a corner of the bed and drove him nuts. He complained he couldn't cuddle me with that barrier between us (a valid complaint; one I shared). He'd lift the end of the pillow, pretending it was a snake, and attack me with it. He longed for the day I could pack it away.

That day didn't come until about two months after I gave birth to Eli. With my c-section incision painful for several weeks, I still needed the extra support at night. When the big day came, it felt good to get that Snoogle-Monster out of our bed.

I knew when I got pregnant the second time around that my husband would grumble when I got the Snoogle pillow out. I held out as long as possible before tossing it onto the bed one night, about 15 weeks into my pregnancy.

"I need it," was all I said.

"I know," was all he said.

And he hasn't made one remark since. Did I mention that I love my Snoogle AND my husband?

To Aid You in the Early Days

A couple quick asides:

*Posts this month will be brief. I am participating in National Novel Writing Month. The goal? To write 50,000 words during the month of November. At the end of week one I am 12020 words in and working hard to maintain momentum…

*Thanks to my friend Trish for the photograph I am currently using as my blog header.

And now on to business…

* * * * *

So many of my loved ones have had babies in the last several months (two in the last week), and it always takes me back to the early days of breastfeeding. Here's a list of ten things I wish I had known before I began breastfeeding:

1. That my boobs would not resemble each other in the least. They were certainly not a "pair." Rather, one nipple pointed up, one pointed down, the right nipple was about an inch lower than the left and my left breast was generally twice as big as the right one. If you feel like giving your partner a scare, flash your "new" girls and see what kind of reaction you get.

2. That I would have lumpy looking boobs thanks to the breast pads I had to wear at all times. You know, because my boobs would leak whenever they felt like it. And this didn't just last "the first few weeks" as is so often stated. No, this lasted for months. I tried several different brands of breast pads, disposable pads, re-washable pads (my ultimate preference, though they are thicker). This discovery works in close conjunction with #3… which is:

3. That none of my regular (i.e. pre-pregnancy) shirts would fit. Not that I wear hoochie clothes to begin with, but my form-fitting shirts became obscene. Nearly everything was too tight (and as you learned from #2, looked even more horrible due to the lumpy factor). Finally I gave in and bought a few new shirts, bitter that my boobs were now the cause of even more temporary clothes.

4. That I would feel like a 24-hour, buffet-style milk dispenser. I knew the little rascal would be eating frequently, especially in the early weeks, but damn, it felt like I had no sooner put him down and hoovered some lunch (or showered, or done one load of laundry, or paid one bill, or…), then he'd wake up and was ready to go again. Get used to this simple fact: for some time, life will revolve entirely around your boobs.

5. That buying a nursing bra before the baby comes, while it seems practical, will probably spell disaster. Sure your boobs get huge during pregnancy and you will think to yourself, "Surely they won't get any bigger." Just wait. Just wait and see.

6. That hot water pelting your breasts, in the early weeks of breastfeeding, will feel like torture. Suddenly showering is equal parts pleasure and pain. Drying your nipples off with a towel may bring you to tears. Proceed with caution. It's a sensitive area.

7. That it might take a long time for your baby to get it right, to be a "good" eater. One boob may be more enticing (or full) than the other. Your baby may have a hard time staying awake as he eats, latching on, etc. It's okay to become frustrated. You're both learning a new skill. Cry if you need to. This is hard work.

8. That once your baby starts sleeping for longer stretches at night, while it sounds heavenly in theory, will initially be quite painful for your boobs as they adjust to the longer period between feedings. You will believe your boobs are capable of exploding. Have your pump handy, otherwise you will be tempted to wake your little one for some relief.

9. That there will be nipple abuse. Your baby isn't doing this intentionally, of course, though in your sleep-deprived state you will begin to question whether or not he's capable of such things. Whether it's clicking, pulling back and stretching your nipple to its limits, or plain old chomping down, there will be trauma. Just know it gets better with time.

10. That there will come a point when you can see the beauty in what you are doing, sleep deprived or not, and that the bond you form with your child will become one you treasure. Now get your boob out.

* * * * *

What has been/was your most surprising discovery about breastfeeding? Leave a comment and add to the list...

A New Year & New (Old) Clothes

An older entry I never posted (written on 12/30/09)…

* * * * *

I hate to start the year off with something as vain as appearance, but with all the "eat less sweets" "get back into shape" and other such "resolutions" being tossed around I can't help but look in the mirror.

Not that I want to look in the mirror. Tomorrow Eli will be nine weeks old. That means I've had nine weeks to melt back into my former self. I was cautiously optimistic. But I was also deluding myself.

I gained 51 pounds during my pregnancy. There is no way to sugar coat this number. I far exceeded the recommended healthy "25-35 pound" pregnancy weight gain. From the moment I saw that range I knew there was no way I would exist within it. Twenty weeks into my pregnancy I had already gained 25 pounds.

I knew I was in deep shit.

People will feed you all kinds of compliments as you pile on the pounds in an effort to make you feel less like a hippopotamus. They'll tell you you're glowing, that you look beautiful, that pregnancy agrees with you, that they can't believe how well you're hiding the weight.

Sure.

Meanwhile, you're trying to reconcile the fact that not only is the baby inside your body changing by leaps and bounds on a weekly basis, your body is capable of expanding at a rate you never thought possible. I didn't feel beautiful, except on very rare and brief occasions. By the end of my pregnancy I couldn't see my ankle bones, could barely bend my toes they were so swollen, and even my maternity clothes were too small--the most depressing development of all.

It didn't help that as my pregnancy progressed people around me were popping out their babies and returning to their pre-pregnancy weight in four to eight weeks. Sure, they might have been hiding their leftover stomach pooch (not that I could discern one), but they were already back into their regular clothes and there were no outward signs that they'd ever been pregnant. My acupuncturist announced that at eight weeks post-partum she weighed less than she did before she got pregnant.

Yes, my friends, it's an unfair world.

So with the New Year looming ahead I have decided one thing: On January 1st I will not put on any maternity clothes. Yes, at nearly nine weeks post-partum I am still wearing my maternity jeans and many of my maternity shirts. My breastfeeding ta-tas are huge and most of my regular shirts are obscenely tight against my chest, not to mention the fact that they point a huge arrow at my still lingering pregnancy pooch.

Two weeks ago I tried on my pre-pregnancy jeans. Or, rather, I attempted to try them on. Sure I could pull them up, but most of them would not be buttoned, and the two pair that did required great straining on my part and there's no way I could have sat down comfortably wearing them.

I do take occasional walks with Eli, but I am nowhere near ready to start up my (very sporadic) jogging regimen. I need to build stamina and endurance with longer walks before I'm up for that kind of activity. And I couldn't muster a stomach crunch before this whole ordeal, so the thought of doing one now… Yet, how else will I get rid of all this extra baggage in the front?

* * * * *

10/25/10 - A brief update: All-in-all, I did eventually lose all but eight pounds of my pregnancy weight, most of it coming off without much effort … until I had about fifteen pounds to go. Then it started to take some serious work.

And now, pregnant again. I'm much more mindful of what I’m eating this time around and am trying not to fall into the "I'm pregnant, I can eat anything I want," trap. For most of the day I am doing very, very well. This does not mean, however, that I have not fallen back into the "I have to eat ice-cream nearly every night because it's awesome" routine. Thankfully I am gaining weight at a slower pace, so far. Seventeen weeks in and I've gained twelve pounds (Oh, plus the eight I never lost. Shit.).

I have also been in maternity clothes for nearly two months already. At first I felt devastated, but I got over it quickly. Comfort should not be underestimated, ever. Welcome back, stretchy-waist pants.

The Hesitant Exit Strategy

Well, here we are nine months later. Clearly, updating this blog on a regular basis has not been my forte. The sad part is that I've written entries in the interim and they are sitting on my computer. That is to come, readers.

Before getting to the past and sharing the struggles and triumphs leading up until this moment, how about a current update?

I am pleased to report that Eli is now eleven months old, and yes, I am still breastfeeding. I have begun to supplement as my milk supply has taken a serious dive in the last two months … this may have something to do with the fact that I am pregnant with our second child(!!!). Yes, there will not be much of a break for me or my boobies before diving into this process all over again.

The amazing thing is that if you only read the first entry I've written, and know nothing else of the time between, you might assume that I still hate breastfeeding. And yes, did I ever have a love-hate relationship with it, for a very long time. There are still moments when I resent it, say, on a Saturday morning when my husband doesn't have to work and sleeps in, and I still schlep out of bed before seven to feed Eli. It's tough to never, ever sleep in on any given morning.

But, when I think about the fact that this part of our time together is coming to an end, and that soon Eli and I won't share this special bond, it makes me very emotional. Part of it is pregnancy hormones. One minute I am insanely happy and the next I could bawl. You know, it's like amped up PMS.

I also have an irrational fear that Eli simply won't need me once I am not his "food source." Of course, he's been eating solids and is transitioning away from nearly all of his jarred baby food now. I am not his main food source, nor have I been for some time. Still, if I'm not supplying any of his food, there is a part of me that feels like anyone could care for him and he wouldn't know the difference. Again, irrational. I know this.

What I'm realizing is this: I didn't think it would be so difficult and emotional to stop breastfeeding. I figured I'd be ticking the days off the calendar by now, waiting for my little man to hit that one-year mark so I could begin real cow's milk and slowly finish weaning him. That's still the plan, though things have been accelerated by my lack of supply and his occasional lack of interest in breastfeeding.

In theory this all sounds simple enough, but like so many other aspects of mothering it is more complicated than it appears. And everything, for me at least, also involves so many different and often conflicting emotions. Eleven months ago, when I was struggling, crying, frustrated, on the brink of giving up, it never occurred to me that one day I may not want to stop breastfeeding.

Now, here we are. I realize I could continue breastfeeding beyond the first year. And were I not pregnant, I may have traveled down that road (though I also never want to breastfeed simply because I am having a hard time letting go, either). As it stands, I would like a break between children, a time to "rest" my body before the demands of breastfeeding begin again. I would like to sleep in on a Saturday morning, perhaps just once, before baby #2 makes his or her appearance. This used to make me feel selfish (another, all-to-frequent emotion that bubbles up), but then I remind myself for the thousandth time that once in awhile I need to take care of myself before taking care of everyone else.

Of course, this is easier said than done.

The No-Plan Plan

(or, why things got off to such a rough start)

I'll be the first to admit that I was (and still am) anti-birth plan. I downloaded a copy of a birth plan template from thebump.com, and was rather overwhelmed to see it was six pages long. This isn't to say you shouldn't give your upcoming birth some time and consideration. It's crucial to educate yourself and know what could/should & likely will happen.

However, my experience in life is that any time you try to plan for an event, and put all of your hopes into the said event going a very specific way, your plans will be foiled. I have never known any major life event to go perfectly, ever.

I figured birth would fall into this category as well. Why force parameters onto something you have no control over? So instead of compiling a birth plan, I put together a brief list of "preferences" for my OB. Such as: I would prefer not to have any pain relief. I would prefer to move about as needed/possible. The list was brief: eight preferences. When I showed it to my OB, he pulled out a ruler and measured the page. "What is this?" he exclaimed. "Four inches? It's the shortest birth plan ever!"

It felt good to not expect my birth to go a particular way.

Well, readers, let me tell you that while in some ways I had amply prepared myself for the process of birth (and in my mind, by extension, breastfeeding), in a few key ways I did not.

MISTAKE #1
I assumed I wouldn't have a c-section.

Why did I do this? Well, my pregnancy was "normal," and up until days before Eli's birth there were no inclinations that I would have any complications. Even then, the issue at hand was that my pelvis was not opening. My OB assured me that in most instances this became a non-issue once the woman began to dilate. A tiny red flag went up somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind, but I chose to ignore it. I shouldn't have.

You see, in the few pregnancy books I did read, I always skipped over the c-section chapters. I wasn't going to have one, they freaked me out, why scare myself even more by reading about them?

MISTAKE #2
I assumed that breastfeeding would proceed without a hitch (yes, I can be a naïve idiot).

How the scenario played out in my mind: I would naturally birth my son, he would be placed onto my stomach, and minutes later he would breastfeed for the first time, thus completing one of the oldest, most natural scenes in all of history.

Remember Mistake #1?

I ended up having an emergency c-section after twenty hours of labor. When I emerged from recovery I found myself in a drugged-up, stupefied state. By the time Eli was wheeled in for our first true introduction, he'd already been introduced to the bottle and formula. This hadn't been my "preference," but I hardly felt in a state to disagree. I could barely move, how was I supposed to breastfeed?

MISTAKE #3
Not having a breastfeeding plan.

Sure, there's tons of talk about birth plans and what will happen during delivery given factors A, B, or C. But I had given no thought about what I would do, what support systems I would lean on, if and when breastfeeding became a harrowing challenge, which it did almost immediately.

On day three post-partum, after asking the nurses several times, the hospital's lactation consultant finally paid me a visit. At this point I was becoming discouraged from the entire enterprise, and the blisters on my right nipple had me wincing each time Eli was forced onto my breast to "try again." Maybe this wasn't going to work?

Thankfully, the LC had a soothing demeanor, and offered some useful tips and suggestions. Of course, one of those suggestions was that we not feed the baby any more formula. At all. Considering all the problems I was having getting the baby to latch on, this didn't seem realistic, but I became determined that dammit, the baby wasn't going to have any more supplemental formula.

MISTAKE #4
Failing to be flexible.

Once I decided Eli wasn't going to have any more formula, I became hell-bent on that goal. And for nearly two days (the last day at the hospital and the first day home) he was an entirely breastfed baby and I felt like I had somehow overcome the worst of it. I was doing this!

That is, until I wasn't. Until Eli wouldn't latch on, again. Until he wasn't eating sufficiently. Until I was so sleep-deprived that I caved in, sobbing to my husband, "Just give him some formula." I felt so defeated. I felt like I had failed. I felt like a terrible mother, poorly equipped to nourish my son.

In reality, I had underestimated the toll labor and delivery would take, as well as the effects of ping-ponging hormones raging through my body. In the days after birth the highs and lows came with alarming force and with small passages of time between each extreme.

I needed to cut myself some slack.

I made a couple calls to close friends and to my acupuncturist (who had recently given birth to her second child & is always a source of wisdom for me). It was from these conversations that I began to learn that breastfeeding rarely comes "naturally" to anyone. It's a taxing process, one that takes practice, patience, and gentleness towards oneself. Having a meltdown each time we needed to supplement with formula, until we could get things on track, wasn't going to do anyone any good whatsoever.

I began to wonder why, in all the excitement of pregnancy, in all the talks with friends about pregnancy-related ailments, discomforts, joys, and fears, we had never talked about breastfeeding?

That's why I’m here. I'm here to share my challenges, my triumphs, my frustrations, and perhaps most importantly, my mis-steps. I find myself struggling, at odds with what I think is best for Eli, and what is best for me. There are feelings of guilt and selfishness. So far, I have managed to persevere. I am ten weeks in and still breastfeeding. For me, this is an enormous victory.

I want to talk about breastfeeding (and motherhood) with openness and honesty, and because it is in my nature, with humor. This is a place for sharing, with no judgments handed out when the goals, tactics, and ideas of others differ from my own.

My one breastfeeding goal from the earliest stages of pregnancy was to breastfeed Eli for a year. We'll see if I get there, but if I don't, I will back up and remind myself of that "gentleness towards oneself" bit.