Just as I was finishing up feeding R this morning, I noticed an alarmingly hard area in my right boob. I still get engorged once in a while, and I've had plugged ducts, but this felt like neither. For one thing, it was in an isolated area. For another, there wasn't any pain, redness, or feelings of exhaustion, all of which accompanied my previous experiences with mastitis. In fact, the area felt rather numb. Ironically, this lack of pain freaked me out. And, come on, who wouldn't panic when it feels like a mischievous little breast pixie tucked a golf ball inside your breast while you slept.
I tried to tempt baby girl to get a little more milk out but she wasn't having any of that. Dragged out my dusty breast pump but the stupid thing couldn't squeeze out more than a drop.
Well, long story short, took two lecithin capsules, did a lot of massaging and warm compresses, and had a very long nursing session in the afternoon right before R's nap, when she was half asleep--perfect because she wasn't distracted and pulling on and off.
Success! The horrifying rock sliding around behind my nipple has almost completely melted away.
Showing posts with label breastfeeding. Show all posts
Showing posts with label breastfeeding. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Ah, breastfeeding. What could so perfectly conjure up that maternal emotion of quiet, tender love as the scene of a mother nursing her infant? Unless you're me, of course. Because then, most likely, your jaws would be clenched and your shoulders stiffly hunched as your own flesh and blood lays siege to your body.
If someone asked me what's the hardest part about being a new mother, I would answer unequivocably: breastfeeding. What's so hard about it? Well, first, there's that little bit of pressure regarding adequately nourishing your child. Imagine holding your fragile new daughter, who, hysterical with hunger, tries to find relief at your breast, only to pull back, flailing and screaming even louder. Then having a nurse gasp and say, "Oh, no" after weighing your one-week old baby, who apparently has lost too much weight. Then having the pediatrician tell you that your babe is dangerously jaundiced and that you have to supplement with formula because your milk isn't working, isn't enough (which translates in a crazed new-mom's brain as: You've completely failed your child and it's entirely your fault that she's sick).
Breastfeeding also has its physical discomforts. In my case, so far, my breasts have been: bitten, bruised, puked on, kicked, kneed, pounded on by little fists, clawed and bloodied, pinched, yanked on, shoved away, infected, blistered, and so engorged at times, I couldn't put my arms down or bear to feel a soft t-shirt against my skin. I still can't face forward in the shower, unless my arms are crossed shield-like over my chest against the water spray. Hugging makes me wince. It's been almost two months and the multiple milk blisters on my left nipple aren't healing and there's sharp pain every time I nurse, and even when I'm not nursing. Although really it's nothing compared to the experience of nursing with thrush--thank god that's over--which felt like there was a shard of jagged glass repeatedly plunging straight through my breast and out past my shoulder blade.
I'm not tallying up my battle wounds like a strutting jock. I'm not fishing for sympathy--because truly, after all this time, you get a bit numb to the discomforts. I'm writing this post because I haven't yet met a mom struggling with breastfeeding who didn't tear up when we shared experiences. I don't want to scare anyone who hasn't gone through it. I have friends who declare it everything those Madonna and Child paintings depict it to be, who adore each precious bonding moment. But for those of us who find it a challenge--a "war" was how I thought of it in the beginning, when every nursing session left me feeling utterly drained and defeated--just know that you're not a failure and a wuss for crying, for finding it hard, for having thoughts of giving up. If you have any doubts, just visit the La Leche forum, and you'll see there are many, many other moms going through something similar or maybe, sadly, something worse.
I think a low point for me, though, came a few months back, when my own lactation consultant told me that maybe I should consider giving up. No, there's no shame in pumping or turning to formula. But that's not what I needed to hear when what I was seeking was encouragement and hope. Okay, sure, while she's savaging my nipple, my daughter's roving little fingers still attack any exposed flesh like she's Bruno the Burly Baker working on a rebellious piece of bread dough. Yeah, the slow-healing milk blisters are bugging the heck out of me. Maybe all this jaw-clenching is realigning my until-now straight rows of teeth. Also, tonight, the little poopsies bit me so hard I felt the pain surge like a wave all the way down my body. But when I glance through my baby girl's newborn photos and see exactly how much she's changed, how big she's grown, how squeezably chubby her body has become, I feel...awed and amazed that somehow I had something to do with that. And on those rare occasions when we're not battling, when she's getting sleepy at my breast and the abuse from those terrifying little hands turns to gentle petting, or when she's just about to nurse and opens her mouth, like a baby bird beneath a dangling worm, with utter confidence in my ability to feed her, I do understand the peaceful connection that other women experience with their babies.
The best thing to do is think only about getting through today. Don't dwell on the weeks and months stretching ahead of you. Some things actually do get better. My daughter eventually stopped choking and crying while nursing when I finally fixed my overactive letdown (this took weeks of militantly precise block feeding). I woke up one morning and my shirt and sheets weren't completely drenched and soggy with milk from my stupid leaking breasts. I haven't had a plugged duct--utterly terrifying for anyone who's ever had mastitis--in weeks. And I can sort of, almost, practically feed my daughter without using my beloved My Breast Friend pillow. Now if we could only nurse in public without my daughter swatting at the nursing cover so hard my breasts are revealed to all the hapless passersby.
If someone asked me what's the hardest part about being a new mother, I would answer unequivocably: breastfeeding. What's so hard about it? Well, first, there's that little bit of pressure regarding adequately nourishing your child. Imagine holding your fragile new daughter, who, hysterical with hunger, tries to find relief at your breast, only to pull back, flailing and screaming even louder. Then having a nurse gasp and say, "Oh, no" after weighing your one-week old baby, who apparently has lost too much weight. Then having the pediatrician tell you that your babe is dangerously jaundiced and that you have to supplement with formula because your milk isn't working, isn't enough (which translates in a crazed new-mom's brain as: You've completely failed your child and it's entirely your fault that she's sick).
Breastfeeding also has its physical discomforts. In my case, so far, my breasts have been: bitten, bruised, puked on, kicked, kneed, pounded on by little fists, clawed and bloodied, pinched, yanked on, shoved away, infected, blistered, and so engorged at times, I couldn't put my arms down or bear to feel a soft t-shirt against my skin. I still can't face forward in the shower, unless my arms are crossed shield-like over my chest against the water spray. Hugging makes me wince. It's been almost two months and the multiple milk blisters on my left nipple aren't healing and there's sharp pain every time I nurse, and even when I'm not nursing. Although really it's nothing compared to the experience of nursing with thrush--thank god that's over--which felt like there was a shard of jagged glass repeatedly plunging straight through my breast and out past my shoulder blade.
I'm not tallying up my battle wounds like a strutting jock. I'm not fishing for sympathy--because truly, after all this time, you get a bit numb to the discomforts. I'm writing this post because I haven't yet met a mom struggling with breastfeeding who didn't tear up when we shared experiences. I don't want to scare anyone who hasn't gone through it. I have friends who declare it everything those Madonna and Child paintings depict it to be, who adore each precious bonding moment. But for those of us who find it a challenge--a "war" was how I thought of it in the beginning, when every nursing session left me feeling utterly drained and defeated--just know that you're not a failure and a wuss for crying, for finding it hard, for having thoughts of giving up. If you have any doubts, just visit the La Leche forum, and you'll see there are many, many other moms going through something similar or maybe, sadly, something worse.
I think a low point for me, though, came a few months back, when my own lactation consultant told me that maybe I should consider giving up. No, there's no shame in pumping or turning to formula. But that's not what I needed to hear when what I was seeking was encouragement and hope. Okay, sure, while she's savaging my nipple, my daughter's roving little fingers still attack any exposed flesh like she's Bruno the Burly Baker working on a rebellious piece of bread dough. Yeah, the slow-healing milk blisters are bugging the heck out of me. Maybe all this jaw-clenching is realigning my until-now straight rows of teeth. Also, tonight, the little poopsies bit me so hard I felt the pain surge like a wave all the way down my body. But when I glance through my baby girl's newborn photos and see exactly how much she's changed, how big she's grown, how squeezably chubby her body has become, I feel...awed and amazed that somehow I had something to do with that. And on those rare occasions when we're not battling, when she's getting sleepy at my breast and the abuse from those terrifying little hands turns to gentle petting, or when she's just about to nurse and opens her mouth, like a baby bird beneath a dangling worm, with utter confidence in my ability to feed her, I do understand the peaceful connection that other women experience with their babies.
The best thing to do is think only about getting through today. Don't dwell on the weeks and months stretching ahead of you. Some things actually do get better. My daughter eventually stopped choking and crying while nursing when I finally fixed my overactive letdown (this took weeks of militantly precise block feeding). I woke up one morning and my shirt and sheets weren't completely drenched and soggy with milk from my stupid leaking breasts. I haven't had a plugged duct--utterly terrifying for anyone who's ever had mastitis--in weeks. And I can sort of, almost, practically feed my daughter without using my beloved My Breast Friend pillow. Now if we could only nurse in public without my daughter swatting at the nursing cover so hard my breasts are revealed to all the hapless passersby.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Carlson Baby Ddrops
I was at Wholefoods the other day and made a happy discovery: Carlson Baby Ddrops, the vitamin D supplement I'd mentioned in my previous post. A friend got the okay from her daughter's pediatrician--I didn't even think to ask ours (sigh)--so it should be safe to use.
I'm glad to report that these drops are completely tasteless. There is a slightly sour odor, which might bother breastfeeding moms, since you're supposed to put the drop on your nipple (and let the baby suck away), but it really doesn't linger. The best part is that Baby Girl doesn't even realize she's taking a vitamin.
One thing: The solution is fairly liquid, and you need to have baby ready at the breast, right before you put a drop on your nipple, so you can quickly get that boob in his or her mouth. Also, be careful of sudden flailing arms--the first time I tried the drops, Baby R's hand suddenly flew out and went right through the stuff, and I didn't add another drop for fear of overdosage (which maybe isn't a real concern, but hey, I'm a first-time mom--leave me to my paranoia).
The only bad news is that the aforementioned friend's pediatrician also said breastfed babies need an iron supplement. Groan.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Vitamin D Supplement for Baby
There are a lot of differing opinions regarding giving your baby a vitamin D supplement. Only if you live in Alaska--or Canada (love the sweeping geographical verdict)--some say. Just take a vitamin D supplement yourself and it'll pass through your milk to the baby, my friend told me. All a baby needs is a few minutes a day in direct sunlight, claim the old-schoolers. The Baby 411 Blog has a nice post that sums up the vitamin D situation.
Baby R's own pediatrician recommended a vitamin supplement for babies--which I did most dutifully go out and buy. And which, I acknowledge, has been sitting a few squirts short of full at the back of the medicine cabinet for months. Why? Because, at the time, the only supplement seemingly available was a foul-smelling liquid (apparently, it's the vitamin B that's the stinker) multivitamin called Poly-Vi-Sol. You had to give a whole dropper's worth every day, and it was so hard to administer to my little baby because she absolutely hated it: her whole face would scrunch up and turn bright red and she'd repeatedly stick her tongue out, as if to get rid of a bad taste in her mouth--not to mention the fact that she pretty much spit out the majority of what I painstakingly was trying to squirt in.
[Editor's note: Can I interrupt this post to say that my baby is crying her guts out right now and it's extremely hard to think, let alone blog? I've tried everything: fed her, changed her diaper, read her a story, held and cuddled her. Nothing. Hated it all (except the feeding). For any new moms out there, this kind of thing happens and the intense stress it invokes will churn your stomach and shave five years off your lifespan.]
But then I found out that last year, the AAP had upped their recommended vitamin D dose for children from 200 IU to 400 IU. Worried, I did a little online research and thanks to the La Leche League forum, learned about something called Carlson Baby Ddrops. You just need to give baby one drop--applied on the nipple, for example, for breastfeeding moms. Sounds easy and painless, and I'm going to try to find it tomorrow, if the stress of my still-wailing baby doesn't first cause my brain to explode.
Update: I found the drops at a local supermarket and wrote a short review on it.
Baby R's own pediatrician recommended a vitamin supplement for babies--which I did most dutifully go out and buy. And which, I acknowledge, has been sitting a few squirts short of full at the back of the medicine cabinet for months. Why? Because, at the time, the only supplement seemingly available was a foul-smelling liquid (apparently, it's the vitamin B that's the stinker) multivitamin called Poly-Vi-Sol. You had to give a whole dropper's worth every day, and it was so hard to administer to my little baby because she absolutely hated it: her whole face would scrunch up and turn bright red and she'd repeatedly stick her tongue out, as if to get rid of a bad taste in her mouth--not to mention the fact that she pretty much spit out the majority of what I painstakingly was trying to squirt in.
[Editor's note: Can I interrupt this post to say that my baby is crying her guts out right now and it's extremely hard to think, let alone blog? I've tried everything: fed her, changed her diaper, read her a story, held and cuddled her. Nothing. Hated it all (except the feeding). For any new moms out there, this kind of thing happens and the intense stress it invokes will churn your stomach and shave five years off your lifespan.]
But then I found out that last year, the AAP had upped their recommended vitamin D dose for children from 200 IU to 400 IU. Worried, I did a little online research and thanks to the La Leche League forum, learned about something called Carlson Baby Ddrops. You just need to give baby one drop--applied on the nipple, for example, for breastfeeding moms. Sounds easy and painless, and I'm going to try to find it tomorrow, if the stress of my still-wailing baby doesn't first cause my brain to explode.
Update: I found the drops at a local supermarket and wrote a short review on it.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Fight!
Had a small-largish fight with my husband this morning. Recently, our magical Fisher Price swing--the only thing my baby girl will sleep in for more than an hour, besides a set of warm arms connected to a walking body--has been deemed too-dangerous by the hubster because the baby's upper body is starting to flop over while seated in it. I think she's trying to sit up without having yet perfected the whole holding-your-own-head-up thing. Anyhow, this means she's back to waking up every two hours in her bassinet (I should be grateful she's sleeping that long in there, since she won't do that in the daylight hours) throughout the night and this left me weaving drunkenly about the room this morning, as I tried to rock her back to sleep after a feeding.
So when she woke up less than two hours later, I asked my husband to take her for a while. If it were me, I'd have picked her up and walked around with her a bit. My husband pretty much tucked her under his arm and tried to go back to sleep. No surprise that she continued fussing. Our daughter is not one of those babies easily placated merely by being close to a warm body. No, it has to be an upright, moving body.
So there I was, trying my best to sleep despite the little cries and sounds of struggle beside me. And then the inevitable words from him came: "Honey, I think she's hungry." My husband is overly enamored by the mighty power of the breast and its ability to instantly quieten our little girl. Unfortunately, this means any time she starts crying, he turns to me to fix it. I think he's terrified of the possibility that he could attempt to comfort her and fail. What I wish is that he would give it a go anyways. He rarely holds her in his arms, always turning to various "tricks"--toys, making loud silly noises, the mobile, and, until recently, the swing--to quieten her. I'm not one to begrudge my baby a little boob comfort, even if I know she's not really hungry. But this morning, I was so staggeringly exhausted, I just wanted 15 minutes more sleep.
If he had just taken her into the living room and tried walking with her a bit, or changing her diaper, or just talking to her (scarcely 11 weeks and she's already quite the chatterbox, especially first thing in the morning), just to give me a little more rest, I would have been so grateful. But in the end, I dragged myself up, the baby ended up back on my breast, and I ended up pissed off at hubby. And he gave me the usual defensive speech about how the problem wouldn't come up if I kept pumped breast milk in the fridge. While it isn't a bad idea, I worry that every time our daughter cries, he'll simply turn to the bottle as a quick fix.
So when she woke up less than two hours later, I asked my husband to take her for a while. If it were me, I'd have picked her up and walked around with her a bit. My husband pretty much tucked her under his arm and tried to go back to sleep. No surprise that she continued fussing. Our daughter is not one of those babies easily placated merely by being close to a warm body. No, it has to be an upright, moving body.
So there I was, trying my best to sleep despite the little cries and sounds of struggle beside me. And then the inevitable words from him came: "Honey, I think she's hungry." My husband is overly enamored by the mighty power of the breast and its ability to instantly quieten our little girl. Unfortunately, this means any time she starts crying, he turns to me to fix it. I think he's terrified of the possibility that he could attempt to comfort her and fail. What I wish is that he would give it a go anyways. He rarely holds her in his arms, always turning to various "tricks"--toys, making loud silly noises, the mobile, and, until recently, the swing--to quieten her. I'm not one to begrudge my baby a little boob comfort, even if I know she's not really hungry. But this morning, I was so staggeringly exhausted, I just wanted 15 minutes more sleep.
If he had just taken her into the living room and tried walking with her a bit, or changing her diaper, or just talking to her (scarcely 11 weeks and she's already quite the chatterbox, especially first thing in the morning), just to give me a little more rest, I would have been so grateful. But in the end, I dragged myself up, the baby ended up back on my breast, and I ended up pissed off at hubby. And he gave me the usual defensive speech about how the problem wouldn't come up if I kept pumped breast milk in the fridge. While it isn't a bad idea, I worry that every time our daughter cries, he'll simply turn to the bottle as a quick fix.
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