Because I share my life on Instagram like I must think i’m a freakin Kardashian, most people reading this are probably already high-level aware of my feeding journey with Zoey.
It starts in the hospital
The first thing I remember after Zoey was born (besides her peeing on my Apple watch) was my Doctor asking if I wanted to nurse and, without hesitation, I said yes. From that point, internally, I committed. I didn’t know what the road was going to look like, just that I wanted to nurse my baby at least until she turned one.
Then they wheeled in the hospital-grade pump and I think a nurse helped me use it…honestly outside of this photo, I don’t remember what it was like and I assumed I wouldn’t really pump until I went back to work.
Throw in cracked nipples, peeing on the kitchen floor while trying to make a bottle 2 days postpartum, a baby that prefers to snack rather than have large meals, losing my milk supply at one month, nursing a baby with teeth and it’s just straight chaos.
No one *super* knows what they're doing
I found out two things:
1 – Nursing is way more difficult than just latching your baby
2 – No one “really” knows how to pump
I spent hours nursing Zoey & researching how to use my pump, only to come back with “it depends on each specific person and no one truly knows the best way to go about it”
Comforting, being a new mother face to face with a breast pump waiting to take advantage of her.
I took screenshots upon screenshots, asked ladies at Mommy & Me, and did my own form of beta-testing to confirm that yes, it did indeed depend on each specific woman.
When Gregg went back to work and I lost my milk supply, I panicked and re-committed to doing everything needed to get it back.
With milk donated from a beautiful friend of ours, I was able to continue providing Zoey breast milk while I pumped around the clock, alerting my body to do better, essentially.
I would pump while feeding Zoey, pump in the middle of the night (highest output), pump in the car.
I would pump in a house, pump with a mouse, pump here and there, I would pump everywhere. Moo.
You can't half-commit
I made the decision to not go back to how I worked out pre-pregnancy, and to up my calorie intake even more (“recommendation” is 500 calories above maintenance. My body saw a difference after about 1,000 extra calories). I wanted all of my body’s energy to go into producing nutrition for my baby.
I gave up coffee after I drank the world’s smallest one and Zoey was then up until 3 in the morning.
She was able to get her nutrition exclusively from breastmilk for the first 6 months, and continued as we added in solid foods.
I eventually made enough where I could drop the middle of the night pump.
We were able to nurse through her first cold & flu season (November was DARK).
My supply helped to feed three other babies.
Zoey turns one this month & I have about 800 ounces that I plan to hold onto for when she gets sick after transitioning to whole milk.
If it feels difficult, that's because it is
I read somewhere that one year of breastfeeding is equal to 1,800 hours. When I pumped, at most it was 6 20-minute sessions a day. That + 42 minutes of breastfeeding = almost 3 hours a day feeding my child or making milk for her.
Add in washing/preparing bottles & cleaning pump parts (20-30 minutes/day – I know because I just washed bottles from today & tracked the time specifically for this blog post. It took me 22 minutes just to wash the bottles she takes now at 11 months old & one set of pump parts).
Every time I dropped a pump, I couldn’t fathom how I made it that far.
Getting up in the middle of the night to pump even after going back to work.
Holding an upset child while warming up a bottle and attaching the pump.
Getting Zoey out of bed in the morning before my AM pump was finished so her cries wouldn’t wake up the whole house, being careful not to spill all over her crib (#winning).
It’s exhausting to even think about and hard to remember specifics.
But I remember the late night snuggles.
The largest sigh of relaxation from the smallest body when she would latch at midnight in the dark by the little red lamp.
Her little hand grabbing my face while nursing and giggling at 3 in the morning.
The times she’d eat & we’d fall asleep together in the big chair until it was time to nurse again.
To see a breastfeeding journey coming to an end almost exactly a year from when it started is ambivalent.
Relieving to know you’ve made it without driving off a cliff or setting your pump on fire (calm down, I’m kidding).
To know you survived the sleepless nights, the sound of a microwave beeping for the 16th time because you started to heat up dinner and then your baby needed to nurse for 20 minutes replaying in your mind.
A year of night sweats and nipple cream and lactation appointments and tears and oversharing and feeling lost and alone and begging God to keep you from giving up.
The spilled milk and broken freezer bags.
The feeling of being over touched by others and under cared for by yourself.
Knowing I’d do it all again in a single heartbeat, no questions.
