WARNING: TL;DR about breastfeeding, TMI, etc etc.
Okay. I have to get this out, after 11 months of horrible feelings.
I hated breastfeeding.
This is why.
When Charlotte was first born, I was completely fixated on her. She was handed to me wrapped in a huge blanket with only her face and her little hands touching her face and her feet visible. She had vernix still around the corners of her nostrils and I wanted to wipe it away but I was scared of hurting her. I remember thinking she was so big and so small at the same time. I remember looking into her face as we were wheeled from the operating theatre and into the recovery ward.
I remember a midwife with cold hands getting me to pull my hospital gown down and taking my breast to put into Charlotte's mouth. I remember being apprehensive and wondering if it would actually work, since she'd just been born ten minutes ago, but she latched on. I was so out of it from the drugs at that point I didn't care.
I don't remember being wheeled to my room, but I do remember hours later - maybe even the next morning - breastfeeding Charlotte. It felt weird. It felt oddly sexual, which disturbed and disgusted me greatly. I became panicky and angry, I remember freaking out and saying "This is wrong! This is wrong!" over and over. I remember the midwife soothing me and assuring me that everything would be fine, that we could use a bottle of formula. She brought one and Charlotte had a little of that. That night, I felt horribly guilty, I felt like a failure as a person and as a mother. I picked her up and breastfeed her although it felt wrong and creepy and, of course, painful. But I did it because I thought it was best for her.
The next morning the midwives were very proud of me, praising me and so forth. I didn't feel proud. I felt exhausted, humiliated - having to keep my boobs out all the time - and in pain thanks to my sensitive nipples, which were already sore and chapped. I remember being given Lansinoh to put on them. It didn't help much.
After that first couple of days I began to have trouble with Charlotte latching on. The midwives helped. They were not shy about grabbing my breasts and putting them in Charlotte's mouth. I became flustered - flushed - sweaty and uncomfortable, every time. Frustrated often since she wouldn't latch. Angry. I punched the pillow beside me a few times. I kept breastfeeding. I felt I had to to be a successful mother.
The last day in hospital - the fourth, I think it was - my milk came in. My breasts were huge, engorged, sore, my nipples chapped by that point. My midwife for that day was an unpleasant, cold, brisk type of woman. She put cold cloths on my breasts. It didn't help the aching much. She gave me an electric pump to express some of the excess milk, since I had way too much too fast. She went away at some point and I tried to use the pump on my own. It was scary and horrible, having a machine attached to me, pumping away, sucking at me like I was some kind of cow. I freaked out. I lost it. I had a panic attack, my first in years. I demanded to go home. That night I was discharged with a manual pump to take home.
This I used with some difficulty until a week or so later I got my own pump. It worked much better. I had to pump all the time, sometimes as much as 6 times a day, even despite feeds. Charlotte still had trouble latching on, I still got angry and flustered and panicky, especially at night, I screamed "I can't do this!" once, put Charlotte aside on the bed, and sobbed for ten minutes in Marc's arms. I scared him. But I kept doing it. I kept breastfeeding as much as I could, I expressed, and sometimes I would give her expressed bottles, and I went out a couple of times with them too.
Charlotte had horrible reflux and colic problems. She would scream after some feeds, draw her knees up to her chest, arch her back. Sometimes for a good hour or two. She would throw up, all the time, so I had to keep re-feeding her, which started the crying cycle again. She became constipated, so badly that she bled. It was awful.
In November Marc and I went to a wedding. We left Charlotte at home with plenty of expressed milk (I was pumping a good litre a day) and my mother. I had to take my breast pump with me, since I still had such an oversupply. My breasts became sore and prickly and hot halfway through the reception, and I snuck off to the bathroom to express the excess milk. It was humiliating, embarrassing, disgusting. I was so anxious and flustered at first I shook with anxiety. I pumped around 200 mls and my breasts were still full and sore, but it was the best I could do. I waited until we got home to breastfeed and pump another 300 odd mls, and then my breasts finally felt fine again.
I could not sleep on my stomach, which I have always done. My breasts were like two rocks pressing into my chest. My back was so sore from the different positions I had to sleep in, and from the way I sat when I was breastfeeding, that I was in constant pain. So was Charlotte.
At two months I went to see the health nurse for the regular checkup. My mother, who had been trying to convince me to stop breastfeeding if I hated it so much, told her about my problems. The nurse asked me "Do you enjoy it?" She was the first person to ask me that, out of 10 or so midwives and doctors and other professionals. I said no. She asked me if I felt it was a good bonding experience with Charlotte. I said I felt it was exactly the opposite. I resented her, even hated the little mouth constantly attached to my nipples. The nurse asked if Charlotte liked my breastmilk. I told her about the colic, the constipation. The health nurse told me to stop breastfeeding. I'd never been so relieved in my life.
Over the next two weeks, I did not breastfeed Charlotte. I expressed and gave her that as well as formula. We went through a few different brands before using one formulated for constipation. I pumped as little as I could, down to about 3 times a day and after that week or so I began to get less and less out and then after two and a half weeks I didn't have to pump anymore.
Charlotte's colic and reflux lessened after she was exclusively on formula. She finally stopped crying after most feeds and didn't throw up nearly as much. My back stopped hurting so much now that I could sit in different positions and feed her, even put her in the bassinet and feed her. I felt closer to her holding her in my arms and feeding her with a bottle than I ever did with her on the breast. I could go out again without being anxious about when I'd need to express, where and how. I felt human again, after all that.
I hated the whole experience so much and I hated myself for hating it.
It traumatized me a little, I think. I have honest-to-god nightmares about having to breastfeed again. I breastfed for two months and I'm proud of that, and my daughter is no stupider, slower or smaller than any breastfed baby, and I'm proud of that too. I am still coming to terms with my hatred of the natural process, with my resentment, my guilt, my bitterness towards other mothers who love it, towards the lactivists who look down on people like me. I'm just grateful that Charlotte is happy and healthy now and that the experience didn't damage her.
Maybe I need to toughen up, suck it up and deal with it, but I can't change how I feel and someday, I hope not to feel guilty and ashamed. Someday, I hope there won't be a need for me to feel guilty and ashamed. Someday I hope there won't be people out there trying to make me feel that way. I hope.
I hated breastfeeding.
This is why.
When Charlotte was first born, I was completely fixated on her. She was handed to me wrapped in a huge blanket with only her face and her little hands touching her face and her feet visible. She had vernix still around the corners of her nostrils and I wanted to wipe it away but I was scared of hurting her. I remember thinking she was so big and so small at the same time. I remember looking into her face as we were wheeled from the operating theatre and into the recovery ward.
I remember a midwife with cold hands getting me to pull my hospital gown down and taking my breast to put into Charlotte's mouth. I remember being apprehensive and wondering if it would actually work, since she'd just been born ten minutes ago, but she latched on. I was so out of it from the drugs at that point I didn't care.
I don't remember being wheeled to my room, but I do remember hours later - maybe even the next morning - breastfeeding Charlotte. It felt weird. It felt oddly sexual, which disturbed and disgusted me greatly. I became panicky and angry, I remember freaking out and saying "This is wrong! This is wrong!" over and over. I remember the midwife soothing me and assuring me that everything would be fine, that we could use a bottle of formula. She brought one and Charlotte had a little of that. That night, I felt horribly guilty, I felt like a failure as a person and as a mother. I picked her up and breastfeed her although it felt wrong and creepy and, of course, painful. But I did it because I thought it was best for her.
The next morning the midwives were very proud of me, praising me and so forth. I didn't feel proud. I felt exhausted, humiliated - having to keep my boobs out all the time - and in pain thanks to my sensitive nipples, which were already sore and chapped. I remember being given Lansinoh to put on them. It didn't help much.
After that first couple of days I began to have trouble with Charlotte latching on. The midwives helped. They were not shy about grabbing my breasts and putting them in Charlotte's mouth. I became flustered - flushed - sweaty and uncomfortable, every time. Frustrated often since she wouldn't latch. Angry. I punched the pillow beside me a few times. I kept breastfeeding. I felt I had to to be a successful mother.
The last day in hospital - the fourth, I think it was - my milk came in. My breasts were huge, engorged, sore, my nipples chapped by that point. My midwife for that day was an unpleasant, cold, brisk type of woman. She put cold cloths on my breasts. It didn't help the aching much. She gave me an electric pump to express some of the excess milk, since I had way too much too fast. She went away at some point and I tried to use the pump on my own. It was scary and horrible, having a machine attached to me, pumping away, sucking at me like I was some kind of cow. I freaked out. I lost it. I had a panic attack, my first in years. I demanded to go home. That night I was discharged with a manual pump to take home.
This I used with some difficulty until a week or so later I got my own pump. It worked much better. I had to pump all the time, sometimes as much as 6 times a day, even despite feeds. Charlotte still had trouble latching on, I still got angry and flustered and panicky, especially at night, I screamed "I can't do this!" once, put Charlotte aside on the bed, and sobbed for ten minutes in Marc's arms. I scared him. But I kept doing it. I kept breastfeeding as much as I could, I expressed, and sometimes I would give her expressed bottles, and I went out a couple of times with them too.
Charlotte had horrible reflux and colic problems. She would scream after some feeds, draw her knees up to her chest, arch her back. Sometimes for a good hour or two. She would throw up, all the time, so I had to keep re-feeding her, which started the crying cycle again. She became constipated, so badly that she bled. It was awful.
In November Marc and I went to a wedding. We left Charlotte at home with plenty of expressed milk (I was pumping a good litre a day) and my mother. I had to take my breast pump with me, since I still had such an oversupply. My breasts became sore and prickly and hot halfway through the reception, and I snuck off to the bathroom to express the excess milk. It was humiliating, embarrassing, disgusting. I was so anxious and flustered at first I shook with anxiety. I pumped around 200 mls and my breasts were still full and sore, but it was the best I could do. I waited until we got home to breastfeed and pump another 300 odd mls, and then my breasts finally felt fine again.
I could not sleep on my stomach, which I have always done. My breasts were like two rocks pressing into my chest. My back was so sore from the different positions I had to sleep in, and from the way I sat when I was breastfeeding, that I was in constant pain. So was Charlotte.
At two months I went to see the health nurse for the regular checkup. My mother, who had been trying to convince me to stop breastfeeding if I hated it so much, told her about my problems. The nurse asked me "Do you enjoy it?" She was the first person to ask me that, out of 10 or so midwives and doctors and other professionals. I said no. She asked me if I felt it was a good bonding experience with Charlotte. I said I felt it was exactly the opposite. I resented her, even hated the little mouth constantly attached to my nipples. The nurse asked if Charlotte liked my breastmilk. I told her about the colic, the constipation. The health nurse told me to stop breastfeeding. I'd never been so relieved in my life.
Over the next two weeks, I did not breastfeed Charlotte. I expressed and gave her that as well as formula. We went through a few different brands before using one formulated for constipation. I pumped as little as I could, down to about 3 times a day and after that week or so I began to get less and less out and then after two and a half weeks I didn't have to pump anymore.
Charlotte's colic and reflux lessened after she was exclusively on formula. She finally stopped crying after most feeds and didn't throw up nearly as much. My back stopped hurting so much now that I could sit in different positions and feed her, even put her in the bassinet and feed her. I felt closer to her holding her in my arms and feeding her with a bottle than I ever did with her on the breast. I could go out again without being anxious about when I'd need to express, where and how. I felt human again, after all that.
I hated the whole experience so much and I hated myself for hating it.
It traumatized me a little, I think. I have honest-to-god nightmares about having to breastfeed again. I breastfed for two months and I'm proud of that, and my daughter is no stupider, slower or smaller than any breastfed baby, and I'm proud of that too. I am still coming to terms with my hatred of the natural process, with my resentment, my guilt, my bitterness towards other mothers who love it, towards the lactivists who look down on people like me. I'm just grateful that Charlotte is happy and healthy now and that the experience didn't damage her.
Maybe I need to toughen up, suck it up and deal with it, but I can't change how I feel and someday, I hope not to feel guilty and ashamed. Someday, I hope there won't be a need for me to feel guilty and ashamed. Someday I hope there won't be people out there trying to make me feel that way. I hope.