Remy and I were/are extremely lucky in terms of breastfeeding and nursing. We both caught on right away after he was born and pretty much had zero problems with it from Day One. I had some anxiety about it initially, but only because my milk hadn't come in yet and I had no clue if he was getting anything during the few days after his birth in the hospital (he was). I was also only comfortable nursing him in the "football" position, and no other position, for the longest time. But other than that, it's been smooth sailing. He latches correctly and easily, my milk came in on time and I have yet to have any health issues come up (mastitis, thrush, etc). For a little while, I had a dry spot of skin under one nipple, probably due to how he was latching. But it wasn't painful, and after awhile it went away. My nipples would also get a little tender here and there, especially if I forgot to slather on nipple butter after nursing and/or pumping several times in a row, but as long as I remembered to apply it, my nipples were aces. And now, after five months of breastfeeding, my nipples are tough enough to get through nursing and pumping in a day's time without any discomfort whatsoever. I still put the nipple butter on at night before bed, but it's not like I have to. (Have you ever seen the word 'nipple' so much in one paragraph?)
A few weeks after he was born, I started stockpiling my milk in bags in the freezer, in anticipation of going back to work and him going to daycare (aka grandma's house) three days a week. In a typical day, I was usually able to pump a few ounces a couple of times to freeze, while also keeping a stockpile of fresh milk in the refrigerator, plus nursing him for almost every feeding. At one point, I thought I was going to have to buy more bottles to stock milk in the fridge because I was using every single one at any given time. I felt confident and assured that my baby would have milk for weeks and weeks to come. What I didn't think about, however, was the fact that his appetite would grow right along with him. Duh, mom.
As soon as I went back to work, I delved into the frozen milk and stocked grandma up with my reserves. I remember giving her an entire month's worth and thinking she wouldn't need any more for weeks.... um, yeah, after like a week, she informed me she was almost out and would need more soon. Fuuuuuuck. And it only got worse from that point on, because he was no longer just taking in a measly 2 oz per feeding.
Fast forward to today, and at five months old, Remy eats about 6 oz per feeding. On the days I work, I pump maybe 10 oz, give or take. This kid eats several times a day because sometimes he'll just graze and other times he takes down a bottle of milk like I take down a bottle of wine (no shame in my game). So with that math: hello formula.
Just to be clear, I'm not anti-formula AT ALL. In fact, we had to supplement his feedings with formula when he first came home from the hospital so he could get back to birth weight, and I was in it to win it. Whatever it took, I was more than happy to do it. I don't want my baby to be hangry ever. But let's be honest: when one is tasked with a job (feeding the baby) and then falls short on that job (not enough milk for the baby), there are going to be feelings about it. I don't necessarily feel like a failure, per se, but I do wish I produced more milk or had started stockpiling earlier or had the mental fortitude to wake up every two hours overnight to pump and keep my milk stocked so that he can continue to exclusively have breastmilk until he's at least six months old. I mean, I do what I can, right? Sometimes a night waking turns into a 3am pump session, and while I'm not always thrilled to do it, I appreciate the opportunity since I had to get up anyway. I still pump at work and try to do so at least 2-3 times during the work day. I try to eat oatmeal as often as possible in an effort to boost my milk production. I also drink more beer *wink* to boost milk *wink* because that's a thing, right? *wink* Plus, I know that despite the inevitability of him having to start formula and solids, he will still get breastmilk inserted into his daily eats for several more months, probably until he's at least a year old.
But honestly, now that I've had to open the formula can and start feeding rice cereal, I'm feeling a bit sad, because it all translates to the fact that my baby is getting bigger. His appetite is growing, he is growing, and he's no longer the tiny little person I birthed and brought home five months ago. His needs are expanding and it's time for him to start learning how to eat solids and use a spoon and fill out college applications (cue ugly crying face). I remember one night when he was only a couple months old, I was nursing him at 2am and I was talking to him about how soon he wouldn't need to nurse in the middle of the night and how much I would miss our middle of the night rendezvous where it was just the two of us, bonding in a sleep-deprived haze.
I have to admit, there are a few benefits to him getting bigger and his eating becoming more advanced. For starters, the incidence of him projectile vomiting his entire feeding doesn't happen much anymore, if at all. Let me tell you, there is nothing more heartbreaking than watching your baby full on projectile pukeface all that precious breastmilk all over himself and you after a feeding. It's shocking, because you've probably only imagined what you look like puking with momentum after a night of drinking, and then you see your baby up close and personal shoot a couple ounces of milk out of his mouth and it may as well be 3 gallons because that's what it looks like and now your crotch is soaked in milk, you don't have anymore milk in your boobs for the time being because you just fed it all to the baby and you're under the impression that he must be starving again now that his dinner is running down your legs. In fact, Remy basically ruined my first postpartum beer with a milk eruption (it's ok; it was just a Bud Light). In general, medium to larger spit ups seemed to decrease the older he got, which wasn't a bad thing.
Another benefit is that other people can feed him and it's not all on mom to do this 24/7. Again, we were very lucky that Remy took a bottle, breastfed and used pacifiers all without having the dreaded nipple confusion that so many fear. Now I will say that sometimes he more readily takes the breast over the bottle, especially if he's in a mood. Also, as per the advice of a mommy blog, I registered and got a few different brands of bottle in order to figure out which ones work best for him. I was hoping he'd have no problems with any of the brands and take them all with ease, but he does have his favorites, so the bottles that he doesn't care for are just collecting dust. I'm hoping that as he gets older, he will be less picky about bottles and will take whatever he's given. Fingers crossed.
Like I said before, we were extremely lucky in the breastfeeding department. I know not all moms are able to say this, so I know just how fortunate I am. And while I will eventually be happy that my boobs will be my own again one day and I won't have to worry about pumping or nursing every few hours (Um, pumping and breastfeeding are both FUCKING EXHAUSTING tasks) and I can turn on my stomach at night in bed without feeling like my chest is going to explode, for now I'm sad over the idea that my baby is growing up and eventually won't need me for breastmilk anymore. Sure, he'll still need me to buy him mac and cheese at the store, but it's not the same. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go pump.
(Someone needs to invent a nursing/nap table. Basically, it's a massage table you'd lay facedown on with holes for your boobs to go through and then you can pump milk and nap at the same time. Someone make this now and give one to me. PLEASE. )
As soon as I went back to work, I delved into the frozen milk and stocked grandma up with my reserves. I remember giving her an entire month's worth and thinking she wouldn't need any more for weeks.... um, yeah, after like a week, she informed me she was almost out and would need more soon. Fuuuuuuck. And it only got worse from that point on, because he was no longer just taking in a measly 2 oz per feeding.
Fast forward to today, and at five months old, Remy eats about 6 oz per feeding. On the days I work, I pump maybe 10 oz, give or take. This kid eats several times a day because sometimes he'll just graze and other times he takes down a bottle of milk like I take down a bottle of wine (no shame in my game). So with that math: hello formula.
Just to be clear, I'm not anti-formula AT ALL. In fact, we had to supplement his feedings with formula when he first came home from the hospital so he could get back to birth weight, and I was in it to win it. Whatever it took, I was more than happy to do it. I don't want my baby to be hangry ever. But let's be honest: when one is tasked with a job (feeding the baby) and then falls short on that job (not enough milk for the baby), there are going to be feelings about it. I don't necessarily feel like a failure, per se, but I do wish I produced more milk or had started stockpiling earlier or had the mental fortitude to wake up every two hours overnight to pump and keep my milk stocked so that he can continue to exclusively have breastmilk until he's at least six months old. I mean, I do what I can, right? Sometimes a night waking turns into a 3am pump session, and while I'm not always thrilled to do it, I appreciate the opportunity since I had to get up anyway. I still pump at work and try to do so at least 2-3 times during the work day. I try to eat oatmeal as often as possible in an effort to boost my milk production. I also drink more beer *wink* to boost milk *wink* because that's a thing, right? *wink* Plus, I know that despite the inevitability of him having to start formula and solids, he will still get breastmilk inserted into his daily eats for several more months, probably until he's at least a year old.
But honestly, now that I've had to open the formula can and start feeding rice cereal, I'm feeling a bit sad, because it all translates to the fact that my baby is getting bigger. His appetite is growing, he is growing, and he's no longer the tiny little person I birthed and brought home five months ago. His needs are expanding and it's time for him to start learning how to eat solids and use a spoon and fill out college applications (cue ugly crying face). I remember one night when he was only a couple months old, I was nursing him at 2am and I was talking to him about how soon he wouldn't need to nurse in the middle of the night and how much I would miss our middle of the night rendezvous where it was just the two of us, bonding in a sleep-deprived haze.
I have to admit, there are a few benefits to him getting bigger and his eating becoming more advanced. For starters, the incidence of him projectile vomiting his entire feeding doesn't happen much anymore, if at all. Let me tell you, there is nothing more heartbreaking than watching your baby full on projectile pukeface all that precious breastmilk all over himself and you after a feeding. It's shocking, because you've probably only imagined what you look like puking with momentum after a night of drinking, and then you see your baby up close and personal shoot a couple ounces of milk out of his mouth and it may as well be 3 gallons because that's what it looks like and now your crotch is soaked in milk, you don't have anymore milk in your boobs for the time being because you just fed it all to the baby and you're under the impression that he must be starving again now that his dinner is running down your legs. In fact, Remy basically ruined my first postpartum beer with a milk eruption (it's ok; it was just a Bud Light). In general, medium to larger spit ups seemed to decrease the older he got, which wasn't a bad thing.
Another benefit is that other people can feed him and it's not all on mom to do this 24/7. Again, we were very lucky that Remy took a bottle, breastfed and used pacifiers all without having the dreaded nipple confusion that so many fear. Now I will say that sometimes he more readily takes the breast over the bottle, especially if he's in a mood. Also, as per the advice of a mommy blog, I registered and got a few different brands of bottle in order to figure out which ones work best for him. I was hoping he'd have no problems with any of the brands and take them all with ease, but he does have his favorites, so the bottles that he doesn't care for are just collecting dust. I'm hoping that as he gets older, he will be less picky about bottles and will take whatever he's given. Fingers crossed.
Like I said before, we were extremely lucky in the breastfeeding department. I know not all moms are able to say this, so I know just how fortunate I am. And while I will eventually be happy that my boobs will be my own again one day and I won't have to worry about pumping or nursing every few hours (Um, pumping and breastfeeding are both FUCKING EXHAUSTING tasks) and I can turn on my stomach at night in bed without feeling like my chest is going to explode, for now I'm sad over the idea that my baby is growing up and eventually won't need me for breastmilk anymore. Sure, he'll still need me to buy him mac and cheese at the store, but it's not the same. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go pump.
(Someone needs to invent a nursing/nap table. Basically, it's a massage table you'd lay facedown on with holes for your boobs to go through and then you can pump milk and nap at the same time. Someone make this now and give one to me. PLEASE. )
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