breastfeeding and all things boob.

When I first became pregnant I knew that I wanted to be a breastfeeding mother. My mom breastfed my siblings and I, an aunt of my breastfed her children. It just seemed like the right thing to do.

So when Sadie was born I immediately began breastfeeding and I was ecstatic with how easy it seemed. She seemed to latch on just fine by her second day, she seemed satisfied when she was done and I was feeling very pleased with myself. I loved the little expressions that she made right before she latched on and I loved the way she appeared drunk off milk and drift off to a deep slumber when she was done.

Things seemed perfect. How could anyone complain that this was difficult or uncomfortable. It seemed so simple.

Then my milk came in.

No one told me what it feels like when your milk comes in.

For those that are expecting or for those that wish to know, you feel like your boobs were taken from you and replaced with giant sized rocks. It hurts. There’s this intense pressure and the only way to remove all of that pressure is for your baby to feed. And feed. And feed. Of course your baby really only wants a few tablespoons at this time. And this is where the problems begin.

I became a fountain. My bra’s stunk of breast milk. I couldn’t find a breast pad that would absorb the downpour that my boobs created. I was changing my shirts several times a day. I was in pain. I felt gross. Sadie struggled with fire hose like stream that I was forcing down her throat. She cried. I cried. I got mastitis. Things were no longer easy and carefree. I could see why people give up on breastfeeding.

Eventually I got through it. There were days when Sadie just wouldn’t latch so I’d resort to pumping and feeding. There were days that I just stuck a cloth diaper down my shirt and changed it when it was too wet.

It seemed like I was one of those mothers with an over supply and oh, woe is me. I have too much milk.

Then I went back to work.

At first pumping was fine. I had a steady supply, I had a mini stash all ready saved up in the freezer. I seemed to be pumping about 13 ounces a day in two sessions. My baby had plenty to drink while I was gone and I was worry free.

Fast forward 4 weeks and all of a sudden I’m producing half the amount that I used to. I’m increasing my pumping sessions to 3 times a day and still struggling to keep enough milk in the fridge for her needs the following day. At this point I cried. I considered quitting my job. I thought about giving up. I wasn’t in the best space.

I ended up resorting to taking herbal supplements (fenugreek & fennel) and drinking fancy nursing mother’s teas. It seems to be working and I’m producing a decent supply but its still not where it was.

Why am I writing all of this? Because no one told me any of this. Today I came home from work and tried to nurse my baby but I had pumped an hour and a half ago so she wasn’t satisfied. I ended up going into my precious milk stash and warming up a bottle for her and feeding that way. It had me thinking how easy it would be to just bottle feed her and use formula. I could be one of those cool mom’s that has a bottle stashed in her purse, rather than the mom the smells of breast milk and has sore nipples.

But then I remember why I breastfeed. I breastfeed because I love the look on her face when she nurses, and I don’t get to see that look on her face when she’s sucking on a bottle. I breast feed because I really can’t afford to spend the $50+ a week it would cost to formula feed. I breast feed because it’s a heck of a lot easier to whip out my boob at midnight than stumble around the house to heat a bottle.


This definitely hasn’t been easy, and it’s definitely been emotionally exhausting, as well as physically exhausting. I’m not sure how long we’ll do this for, I’d like to do a year, but I’ve decided to just focus on getting through the month and see how things go. And hey, if we end up having to formula feed that will be okay too. I’ll do what I can, when I can, for how long I can.