Get 'Em Out

Did you know it was World Breastfeeding Week last week? 

A friend on Facebook posted an event, “Big Latch On,” that was being held in conjunction with the week’s festivities.  The event was held outdoors at a park downtown, where breastfeeding mommas could convene, connect, and nourish their little ones.

I had honestly never heard of World Breastfeeding Week before, and for some reason it sparked a memory of a sentence I read in some breastfeeding literature awhile back: “breastfeeding in public is legal in all 50 states.”

At the time I did a double take when I read this.  Really?  Someone had to tell me this? 

It never occurred to me that there may have been a time when it wasn’t legal, or that it even needed to be written down somewhere that breastfeeding in public isn’t considered obscene (if you’re curious about breastfeeding laws in your state, go here).

That being said, it’s taken me some time to get comfortable breastfeeding in public. 

The reasons for my discomfort initially were quite varied:  I didn’t want to “flash” myself at strangers (easily avoided with a nursing wrap), I didn’t want to attract attention to myself (I’ve always been this way), and most of all I didn’t want anyone to be offended.

It shames me to admit that I thought publicly feeding my child might offend anyone.  Or rather, that I cared if it did. 

One of the larger underlying issues was that, quite simply, I had almost never seen anyone else breastfeeding in public.

When Eli was a newborn, breastfeeding went poorly.  I didn’t have confidence feeding him in the privacy of my own home.  It was a frustrating ordeal, and the thought of feeding him in public, with a potential audience, was anxiety provoking at the highest level.

I would plan all of my errands, and essentially my entire day, around his feeding schedule.  I would feed him, Vinny and I would look at the clock and say, “let’s go to lunch now so we can get back before he needs to eat again!”  And so on…

This is no way to live, mind you, tied to a feeding schedule, feeling rushed wherever you go.  After awhile I would feed him in the car if we were on the go.  And eventually I did nurse him in public with my nursing wrap.  For all my nerves over it, I can’t even remember where/when our first public feeding was!

All the while I never felt particularly comfortable in what I was doing, but I was getting more and more determined that I shouldn’t have to hide away in our apartment or in my car to feed my child. 

At this point I have breastfed in various stores, the mall, the park, dressing rooms, restrooms, restaurants, museums, the airport, the doctor’s office, and I’m sure several other locations I cannot recall.  I still always prefer to feed at home, where we are both most comfortable, but over time I have grown more confident breastfeeding in public.

I am one of those people that tries to be very discreet when I breastfeed.  I don’t like to flop my boob out for all to see, and it’s not because it would make me uncomfortable at this point, but rather, I realize it does make others uncomfortable.  I have come to understand that many people are not necessarily offended by women feeding in public, it’s more about them being uncomfortable seeing a private body part so openly on display.

I don’t get this, exactly.  On any given warm day in most of our country, countless women wear tank tops or other such clothing that not only leaves little to the imagination, but quite often offers a peek at their girls if you’re really so inclined.  You don’t see anyone complaining about that. 

Regardless, nudity of any kind still tends to shock people, whether it’s for the greater good of feeding a child or not.

Which brings me back to the fact that I so rarely see anyone breastfeed in public (well, other than people I already know).  Since having Eli I feel like I have a keener eye for this sort of thing, and I can count on both hands how many times I’ve seen a breastfeeding momma out in public over the last two years.   

In some ways I feel it is my duty to breastfeed in public.  I’ve heard little kids whisper to their mom, “What is she doing?”  I’ve rarely heard the response given.  I imagine not all kids get the most positive reaction, but I hope the experience stays with the child.  I don’t remember seeing anyone breastfeed when I was a kid, ever.  I wish this would have been “normal” to me, to know that people breastfed, to know that it is acceptable to do in public, to know that it is encouraged.

Breastfeeding is difficult enough without feeling nervous about having to do it “out there.”  I’m happy to report that with Sophie I have had none of the reservations that I experienced with Eli.  If we have something to go do, we do it without thought of when she may need to eat next.  And wherever we happen to be, that’s where she’ll eat.  It’s worked out beautifully so far.

Now, getting back to the "Big Latch On.”  A fine idea, but I have to say if I had stumbled upon that park and not known what was going on only to find tons of breastfeeding mommas?  Well, it certainly would have felt like a Twilight moment, albeit a very welcome one…

Milk Machine, Again

Checking in from somewhere deep in the Land of Sleep Deprivation…

And the real question is: How is breastfeeding going with child #2?

The answer: Better, worse, the same.

I will say this: we got off to a much, much better start with Sophie.  This, in large part, is due to my doula, Gracie.

I had been in recovery only a couple minutes when she said, “I think we should try breastfeeding now.”  This was after the forty hours of labor and a rather hellish c-section.  I was relieved to finally be lying down in peace, as close to resting as I had been in two days.  The idea of breastfeeding at that moment, honestly, did not thrill me. 

My husband expressed doubts, too.  “But she’s still hooked up to so many things (me, not Sophie), and there are all these tubes.  I don’t know if she’s in any shape…”

Gracie would not be deterred and pressed in her oh-so-gentle way.  “Sophie’s about an hour old and now is the perfect time.  We’ll help place her and get her comfortable.” 

With some rearranging and maneuvering of tubes and gown, Sophie was placed on my chest, where she quickly latched on and began to eat.  I could barely move to hold her, but Gracie helped to keep her in place.  I was amazed and thrilled, moved to tears that this was happening and so very grateful that I had someone there helping to make it happen.

Compared to our early days with Eli this was a fairy tale beginning.

Sophie continued to and has been exclusively breastfed so far.  This makes me very, very happy.

This is not to say all has gone without a hitch. 

I am, again, a constant food trough.  My nipples have taken a beating.  There have been blisters, there has been cracking, there has been blood. 

Our last day at the hospital Sophie spit up blood.  I was in an immediate panic: why was blood coming out of our baby?  To see it spattered on her shirt made my blood pressure spike and I felt lightheaded.  Vinny was off doing release paperwork and I could barely make the flustered phone call to get him back to the room.  

After much hoopla by the nurses and attending pediatricians, not to mention a half-day delay in our release, it was decided, “Oh, your nipple was bleeding when she ate and she spit it up.  Totally normal.” 

Good times, friends.

All the old ailments and challenges returned: engorgement, spontaneous leaking (and no, not just when my milk lets down, just whenever … it soaks through my nursing pads and my shirt), her pulling back while latched on, clicking, total agony when water and/or a towel brushed anywhere in the vicinity of my nipple.

It’s hard in these early weeks, as we are adjusting to each other, to truly enjoy the process.  I am thankful to know this time around that we will arrive at the day where we are both comfortable, where things will proceed without a hitch, where the process will feel natural. 

We’re not there, yet.  And it gets frustrating.  One feeding goes well.  The next does not.  One feeding she eats calmly, the next is a frantic feeding frenzy that ends in me near tears and her with a gassy belly, screaming in pain. 

We are still in the “learning” period. 

You’d think there would be more patience this time around.  But the combination of sleep deprivation and knowing things should and will be better in the future sometimes sends me into a tailspin of frustration.  Did I mention we are also moving across the country in just over three weeks?

Add to that our 18-month old who is also adjusting to all this change, vying for my attention, wanting to be picked up by me (this breaks my heart, and was one of the reasons I so adamantly did not want a c-section), etc., and I often feel myself being pulled in too many different directions.

Thankfully, my husband has been home with me since the day we brought Sophie home.  He keeps me centered when everything feels overwhelming, keeps Eli happy when I cannot give him attention, and is my true partner in keeping our household functioning.

And so the days unfold, often in a haze, often spent entirely in my pajamas.  I know one of these days soon I will realize with a start that breastfeeding is going smoothly… that the haze is lifting and there is once again some semblance of a “normal” life.

Until then, it’s one feeding at a time.

 Sophie and I with my doula, Gracie, at our post-partum visit, 

where we talked at length about breastfeeding.