What it's really like to breastfeed a toddler

Yup, I admit it.  My baby boy is 16 months old.  Closer to a little boy than a baby, really.

And he's still breastfeeding.  Several times a day, in fact.  And several times a night, too.  (Yawn)

I nursed Ashlynn until she was 30 months old.  Yup.  2 1/2.  She was almost fully potty-trained by the time she was weaned.

I nursed Max through two surgeries and until I was nearly halfway through Ian's pregnancy. He was 18 months old when he weaned.

(I'm also admitting to recycling most of this post... Having two boys almost exactly 2 years apart feels like having the same baby twice. I've been chuckling lately at some of the absurdities that come from toddler breastfeeding, and remembered this post!)

I didn't start out to be a long-term breastfeeder.  I knew with my first daughter that I wanted to breastfeed.  We got off to really rocky start, and we didn't find a good rhythm until she was well past six months old.  By the time she was a year old, I was pregnant again, and we continued nursing until I had very little milk left and she became disinterested.

When I had my second daughter, breastfeeding was so much easier.  When she hit a year, I didn't think anything of it.  She still seemed like such a baby to me- I couldn't imagine depriving her of something she obviously loved and still needed.  So we kept nursing.  When she turned two, and we still liked it.  It was easy, it was a way to connect.  She peacefully weaned around the ripe old age of 2 1/2. 

There's a lot of good reasons to continue breastfeeding past the "normal" 4 months, 6 months, a year that are more typical in our society.  For example, did you know that in the second year (12-23 months), 448 mL of breastmilk provides:

29% of energy requirements
43% of protein requirements
36% of calcium requirements
75% of vitamin A requirements
76% of folate requirements
94% of vitamin B12 requirements
60% of vitamin C requirements.
(Source: kellymom.com Extended Breastfeeding Fact Sheet.)

There have been studies done that suggest the longer a mom breastfeeds, the more she reduces risk of getting cancers herself.  And of course, we're all familiar with the stats that say breastfed babies get sick less often (someone forgot to give that memo to my boys...) have less allergies, etc.

That's all fine and good.  But all the boring statistics don't give the real picture.  So, in an effort to normalize toddler nursing, (hey, a girl can dream, can't she?) here's a look at what it's really like to breastfeed a toddler, at least in my world.

Nursing a toddler means learning about all kinds of different nursing positions.  Toddlers are resistant to the nice neat cradle hold of their infancy and are instead more determined to see if they can, in fact, nurse upside down.  (Just for the record, my daughter could.)  Other favorites include nursing while standing up, sitting up so they can watch tv and nurse at the same time, and laying flat while trying to s-t-r-e-t-c-h the nipple as far as it will possibly go.

Nursing a toddler means laughs.  Laughs as they learn to blow raspberries while nursing and spray milk everywhere.  Laughs as you tickle them while nursing and they try desperately to laugh and stay latched at the same time.  Laughs as they finish nursing, pop off, announce "all done!" to anyone within hearing distance and then say "bye," pat your breast, and wave to you as they toddle off to their next adventure.  Laughs as they pop off just as your milk lets down, and they feel the milk spraying all over them.  And lots and lots of laughs when he presses on your breast to make the milk spray again and again.

Nursing a toddler means that you can fix almost anything.  Tantrums, overtiredness, overstimulation, and bonks on the head can all be healed miraculously with a little bit of cuddle up with mommy time.  I've even been know to cure a case of pink-eye or two with breastmilk.  Don't tell my kids.

Nursing a toddler means that there are some busy days where your toddler won't nurse at all because there's too much going on, and you go to bed wondering if he's started to wean himself.

And nursing a toddler means that the next day, you'll probably nurse 57 times to make up for it, and wonder if he'll ever wean.

Nursing a toddler means nursing in some pretty crazy places.  When my daughter was two, she was going through some pretty crazy separation anxiety and refused to go to our church's nursery.  I was supposed to be playing the piano in primary, and her dad was working on Sundays, so she used to come sit on my lap while I was playing the piano.  Of course, sitting on my lap wasn't anywhere near good enough, so I quickly became an expert at nursing and playing the piano at the same time.  The best part?  No one ever knew that's what we were doing.  We've nursed on airplanes, in sacrament meeting, at the Conference Center, in the grocery store, etc.  If we've been there, chances are, we've nursed there.

Nursing a toddler means that you may never get the shower to yourself again.  I had a little visitor pull back my shower curtain yesterday morning.  His face lit up and he immediately started signing "milk" over and over again.

Nursing a toddler often means (at least in my life) nursing frequently at night too.  I think it's just as important that these busy little people get their needs met at night just as they do during the day.  Sure, I miss out on some sleep, but I do get the pleasure of seeing him stir and sign "milk" in his sleep as he's rolling over.   It's so stinkin' cute!

Nursing a toddler means built-in breaks in my day. Ian always wants to needs to demands to nurse sometime very soon after meals and the minute I get done teaching in the afternoons.  It's such a nice way to sit or lay down, relax, and spend some quality time with the baby.  It also works well when there are yucky chores to be done: "Honey, you're going to have to do the dishes, the baby needs to nurse."

Breastfeeding a toddler means very little worry about dehydration and less worry about adequate nutrition.  My boys are very susceptible to stomach bugs, and I always worry about dehydration. But luckily, breastmilk starts to be absorbed in the intestines in as little as five minutes, which means even if my boys keep throwing up, there's a good possibility that there getting at some nutrition. Plus, I know that even if his diet in a normal day consists solely of club crackers and mac and cheese that the breastmilk he gets will make up the difference.

So I know I'm not the only one out there breastfeeding past the age of one. What are your thoughts and experiences with toddlers and breastfeeding? 

Two

Max is our miracle baby. 

I had all but given up hope of ever conceiving a child again.  I had a preschooler, a kindergartener, and a studio of 30 violin students.  I had started working as a doula, and was loving the increasing number of births I was attending.

We had been to two different fertility doctors, done a few cycles with fertility drugs, with no success.  Our next option was injectable drugs, costing around $3000 a cycle.  There was no way we could afford that, and we had no insurance coverage for infertility. 

I had made peace with being done.  I was excited about it.  I wondered why in the world I had decided "starting over" with a newborn was such a great idea when I was so close to having all that time to myself and developing my career.  I had even put out feelers about a possible midwife apprenticeship. 

At the end of the last cycle, I decided I needed to take one more pregnancy test, to prove to myself that we were done.  Then when it was negative, I reasoned, I could get back to the business of living my life and parenting my girls.

Except it wasn't negative.  And we were thrilled.

***

Since we were being followed by a fertility specialist, protocol dicatated a "viability" ultrasound at 6 weeks.  I was destroyed when the ultrasound showed no heartbeat. 

"I'm sorry," the Doctor said "There's nothing there.  We should see a heartbeat by now.  I'm afraid this isn't a viable pregnancy."

I don't remember what else was said, except that he told me that I had less than  5% chance of having the pregnancy continue, and that I shouldn't get my hopes up.  He scheduled me to come in four days later to do another check, and  said we could talk about options for ending the pregnancy at that point.

Waiting those four days was excruciating.  I have never experienced grief like that in my life.

We went back in on a Saturday, to find a blinking little heartbeat, and a Doctor who nonchalantly said "Well, it's a good thing we had you come back in to check."

***

Max's labor was complicated, long, and difficult.  He was born with his cord wrapped tightly around his neck three times, and wasn't breathing at birth.

While I felt his spirit all around me, and knew that he was going to be fine, I found out later that my husband and my mom were very scared for his life.

It took some maneuvering by my midwife and some fancy resuscitation before we heard his first cry.

***

Shortly after he was born, we started on the crazy medical roller coaster.  Besides finding out that he had a major skull condition, he was also having trouble feeding.  We were told he was aspirating fluid into his lungs, which was a very dangerous condition, and that he couldn't breastfeed anymore because the risks to him were just too great. 

Once again, I was devastated.  Breastfeeding was the only thing I knew.  I consulted with doctors, with lactations consultants, wth specialists.  They all told me the same thing- no more breastfeeding.

What they didn't count on was Max, and the miracles we had already experienced.  Lots of prayer, a priesthood blessing, and I continued to nurse my baby boy.  He weaned a few months ago after 20 or so months of peaceful breastfeeding.  He hasn't had a single lung issue.

***

I've talked a lot on this blog about Max's surgeries.  They are, undoubtedly, the hardest things I've ever had to go through as a parent.  There are no words to describe what it feels like to see your tiny baby hooked up to tubes, wires, and breathing machines in the ICU.

  To be told that he has a baffling complication from surgery that no one can figure out.  To be told just a few short months after the first surgery that the first surgery was a failure and that he would need a second, just as dramatic and invasive as the first.

Everyone says kids are reslient.  I would never have believed that a week after getting his skull opereated on that he would be beaming up at me, almost as if nothing had happened.

***

We celebrated Max's second birthday yesterday.  He is a charming, hilarious, full of trouble little boy, like any two year old should be.  It's been months since he has needed a trip to a Doctor's office, an instacare, or an ER.  (And yes, I did just knock on wood.)  His scar is nearly completely hidden in his mop of crazy curly hair.  He shoots basketballs like a pro, (you mean you don't have a Fisher Price basketball hoop in your front room?) is learning new words at a rate of 5-10 per day, (his newest and cutest is "elevator,") and shows no sign of adverse effects from any of his crazy adventures. 

He makes me laugh every day.  He helps me not to take myself so seriously. 

And he taught me a lot about miracles. 

Day 2- Hanging in the PICU

We had a mostly uneventful night.  I actually slept for about four and a half hours straight, which I think is a new all-time record for a sleeping closet in the PICU.  I came to visit Max about 4:30 am, and he was quiet, content, and very swollen.  We are surprised at the extent of the swelling this time around.  It started setting in immediately after sugery, and his eyes have already been swollen shut over 24 hours, where last time the swelling didn't start for about 12 hours, and then his eyes were only shut for around 12 hours.  (Hopefully, this means there was more extensive work and that they actually got the job done!)  His sodium levels were not behaving throughout the morning, and when they took a nose dive at the 8am check, I knew we were going to be here another day.

Luckily, because he has been through this before, no one is near as concerned as they were when we faced this in May.  We've still been doing sodium checks every two hours, but no one is concerned about the little fluctuations, and although his levels are still quite low, they're stable and moving s-l-o-w-l-y in the right direction.  We're hopeful (but not holding our breath) that we'll head to a regular room tomorrow.

So today has been blessedly uneventful.  It has amazed me how being in the hospital completely overtakes your world and changes your perspective.  I spent the last few weeks dreading the hospital stay, but now that we're here, in the middle of it, adrenaline and survival skills kick in, and before I know what's happening, being in the hospital seems like the most normal thing in the world.  You learn to rejoice in the really small things, (a shower, clean clothes, a baby that's sleeping because he's not in too much pain,) and have great conversations with other parents and staff members that you've never met before. 

I guess what I'm saying is that as of right now, things aren't too bad.  Don't get me wrong.  It sucks like nothing else to see your baby swollen, miserable and in pain, but considering everything, we're doing pretty well.  We're grateful that he's spending most of his time sleeping, and that when he's awake he doesn't seem miserable. 

Today's big milestone is that he finally is able to have fluids by mouth.  We were given the go ahead to start giving him water in a cup (which he loves,) and after convincing him that we weren't trying to torture him, he was thrilled and started guzzling it down.

A few hours later, he was awake and obviously agitated, and started reaching to me when he heard my voice.  He squirmed and was making familiar "I want to nurse now!" noises, so I stood at the edge of the bed and he latched on and went crazy.  After a few minutes in that cramped position, Tom and the nurse helped me arrange the wires and climb in next to him, and he happily clutched on to me and nursed for the next hour.  He then proceeded to throw up everything that he had just eaten all over himself and all over me, but everyone was thrilled that he was willing to nurse.  And after a dose of Zofran the wonder drug, Max was feeling better too.

After shift change, he heard my voice and started trying to crawl out of bed.  He was so happy to settle into my arms and go right back to nursing, (no vomiting this time!) and Max and I spent a happy hour and a half in the rocking chair.  It felt so good to hold him again, and do something, however small, to help him feel normal and peaceful. 

More pictures are coming, with the same warning- they're pretty graphic. 

You think I look bad?  You should see the other guy!

They had to make a slit in the turban because the swelling was increasing and they needed it to stay on.  Can't wait until it comes off, not just so we can see his new and improved head, but also because Max hates it!  We know he's awake because he starts tapping on his turban trying to get it off!

He loves these little dogs.  He reaches for them and clutches them close to his face whenever he's awake.

Finally getting some water.

Loving some daddy time.

I'm really hoping this is the worst of the swelling. His eyelids are starting to flip themselves inside out.

All tucked in for bed.

I can't say thank you enough for all your support, love and prayers.  I am amazed at the ourpouring of comments and concern for my little boy.  I have amazing friends and family- thank you!

What it's Really Like to Breastfeed a Toddler

Yup, I admit it.  My baby boy is 15 months old.  Closer to a little boy than a baby, really.

And he's still breastfeeding.  Several times a day, in fact.  And several times a night, too.  (Yawn)

I nursed my daughter until she was 30 months old.  Yup.  2 1/2.  She was almost fully potty-trained by the time she was weaned. 

I didn't start out to be a long-term breastfeeder.  I knew with my first daughter that I wanted to breastfeed.  We got off to really rocky start, and we didn't find a good rhythm until she was well past six months old.  By the time she was a year old, I was pregnant again, and we continued nursing until I had very little milk left and she became disinterested.

When I had my second daughter, breastfeeding was so much easier.  When she hit a year, I didn't think anything of it.  She still seemed like such a baby to me- I couldn't imagine depriving her of something she obviously loved and still needed.  So we kept nursing.  She turned two, and we still liked it.  It was easy, it was a way to connect.  She peacefully weaned around the ripe old age of 2 1/2. 

There's a lot of good reasons to continue breastfeeding past the "normal" 4 months, 6 months, a year that are more typical in our society.  For example, did you know that in the second year (12-23 months), 448 mL of breastmilk provides:


29% of energy requirements
43% of protein requirements
36% of calcium requirements
75% of vitamin A requirements
76% of folate requirements
94% of vitamin B12 requirements
60% of vitamin C requirements.
(Source: kellymom.com Extended Breastfeeding Fact Sheet.)
 
There have been studies done that suggest the longer a mom breastfeeds, the more she reduces risk of getting cancers herself.  And of course, we're all familiar with the stats that say breastfed babies get sick less often (someone forgot to give that memo to Max...) have less allergies, etc. 
 
That's all fine and good.  But all the boring statistics don't give the real picture.  So, in an effort to normalize toddler nursing, (hey, a girl can dream, can't she?) here's a look at what it's really like to breastfeed a toddler. 
 
Nursing a toddler means learning about all kinds of different nursing positions.  Toddlers are resistant to the nice neat cradle hold of their infancy and are instead more determined to see if they can, in fact, nurse upside down.  (Just for the record, my daughter could.)  Other favorites include nursing while standing up, sitting up so they can watch tv and nurse at the same time, and laying flat while trying to s-t-r-e-t-c-h the nipple as far as it will possibly go.
 
Nursing a toddler means laughs.  Laughs as they learn to blow raspberries while nursing and spray milk everywhere.  Laughs as you tickle them while nursing and they try desperately to laugh and stay latched at the same time.  Laughs as they finish nursing, pop off, announce "all done!" to anyone within hearing distance and then say "bye," pat your breast, and wave to you as they toddle off to their next adventure.  Laughs as they pop off just as your milk lets down, and they feel the milk spraying all over them.  And lots and lots of laughs when he presses on your breast to make the milk spray again and again.
 
Nursing a toddler means that you can fix almost anything.  Tantrums, overtiredness, overstimulation, bonks on the head can all be healed miraculously with a little bit of cuddle up with mommy time.  I've even been know to cure a case of pink-eye or two with breastmilk.  Don't tell my daughters, they would think it was really gross.  But hey- it's cheaper and better for them than a round of anti-biotics!
 
Nursing a toddler means that there are some busy days where your toddler won't nurse at all because there's too much going on, and you go to bed wondering if he's started to wean himself.
 
And Nursing a toddler means that the next day, you'll probably nurse 57 times, and wonder if he'll ever wean. 
 
Nursing a toddler means nursing in some pretty crazy places.  When my daughter was two, she was going through some pretty crazy separation anxiety and refused to go to nursery.  Well, I was playing the piano in primary, and her dad was working on Sundays, so she used to come sit on my lap while I was playing the piano.  Of course, sitting on my lap wasn't anywhere near good enough, so I was forced to quickly become an expert at nursing and playing the piano at the same time.  The best part?  No one ever knew that's what we were doing.  We've nursed on airplanes, in sacrament meeting, at the Conference Center, in the grocery store, etc.  If we've been there, chances are, we've nursed there.
 
Nursing a toddler means that you may never get the shower to yourself again.  I had a little visitor pull back my shower curtain yesterday morning.  His face lit up and he immediately started signing "milk" over and over again. 
 
Nursing a toddler often means (at least in my life) nursing frequently at night too.  I think it's just as important that these busy little people get their needs met at night just as they do during the day.  Sure, I miss out on some sleep, but I do get the pleasure of seeing him stir and sign "milk" in his sleep as he's rolling over.   It's so stinkin' cute!
 
Nursing a toddler means built-in breaks in my day. Max always wants to needs to demands to nurse around 9:30am, just as we get home from taking the girlies to school.  It's such a nice way to sit or lay down, relax, and spend some quality time with the baby.  It also works well when there are yucky chores to be done: "Honey, you're going to have to do the dishes, the baby needs to nurse." 
 
Breastfeeding a toddler means very little worry about dehydration and less worry about adequate nutrition.  When Max had a stomach bug a few weeks ago, I was terrified of dehydration, until I read that breastmilk starts to be absorbed in the intestines in as little as five minutes, which means even if he did keep throwing up, at least he was getting something good.  Plus, I know that even if his diet in a day consists solely of club crackers and mac&cheese that the milk I'm giving him will make up the difference. 
 
And breastfeeding my toddler means having a way to comfort and nourish him after another lengthy and painful surgery, and that knowledge and ability is worth any amount of lost sleep.
 
What are your thoughts and experiences with toddlers and breastfeeding? 

On your worst day...

Anyone who knows me even a little bit knows that I'm a die-hard breastfeeding advocate.  I breastfed Abby for fifteen months, through severe engorgement, her terrible tongue thrust, cracked and bleeding nipples, and the first three months of my pregnancy with her sister.  I breastfed Ashlynn for two and a half years.  I'm going on eleven months with Max, and we've lasted through just about everything.  We kept breastfeeding when I couldn't get a decent latch and no one could help it get better, we kept breastfeeding when the doctors told us he was at risk from aspiration, we kept breastfeeding through major skull sugery and a week in the PICU, and we kept breastfeeding when we discovered a few weeks ago that his upper lip was tied and he had to have minor surgery to have it clipped. I've breastfed so far for a cumulative fifty-six months.  That's almost four and a half years.

But tossing all that aside, I hit my worst breastfeeding day this weekend.  A week ago, I was laying down nursing Max when he chomped down on my nipple and then pulled off.  I screamed, he screamed, (and no, we did not all scream for ice cream) and I discovered that my nipple was bleeding in four places.  It hurt terribly, but I decided to stick it through since I could mostly just nurse on the other side while that one healed.  Then a few nights later, I was nursing Max in the middle of the night.  I was  dead asleep and woken up by another chomp.  I sat up in bed screaming.  (If you ever want to give you husband a heart attack, sitting up and screaming at three in the morning is the way to do it.  I'm not sure he's forgiven me yet.) 

Enter the Cold From Hell.  I woke up early Friday morning and knew I was in trouble.  I started coughing like I had lung cancer, the snot was flowing everywhere, and every five minutes I was either begging for blankets or tossing them off me.  Problem was, Max was teething (obviously) and we suspect he was getting an ear infection,  And all he wanted to do was nurse.  And every time I tried to nurse him, it felt like a small animal was chewing on me.  With razor blades.  Add that to the Nyquil commercial I was living in and I have never wanted to wean so badly in my life. 

Problem is, there's no way to wean a baby instantaneously and gently at the same time.   Weaning a near-toddler (especially one as addicted as Max!) can take weeks or months, and that wasn't going to help me.  I hopped on a discussion board to try to find some kind of quick fix solution and I found this:

Never Quit on Your Worst Day

That was it.  I knew it.  I knew that I would regret it if I stopped then.  And you know what?  That day was awful.  I think I only nursed him three or four times that day, but everytime left me almost in tears.  (Or in tears.  Or hacking coughing.  Or all of the above...)  Saturday wasn't any better.  But Saturday night I asked for a Priesthood Blessing, and then Max slept for nine straight hours.  And by yesterday, things were starting to feel more normal again. 

I know a lot of you are going to think I'm crazy for sticking it through, and that's ok.  And I'm not posting this to show "Oh look what a dedicated nursing mom I am" or anything like that.  Its because I think the sentiment is so profound.

You can't quit on your worst day.

So that means when I'm so frustrated with violin practice that I want to back over the violin with the minivan, I can't quit.  (Or let Abby quit!) Because it will get better.  It has to.

And that means that when I'm still feeling like I've been hit by a semi-truck, and I just got done with teaching five violin lessons, and I'm trying to avoid hacking up my lung, and I pop the frozen lasagna in the oven not realizing that I misread the directions and its going to take two hours to cook, I can't quit.  Because my husband can bring home takeout so we don't have to eat half-frozen Stouffers Lasagna, and it won't seem so bad tomorrow.

And when the surgeries keep coming, and my kids are screaming, and the laundry is multiplying, the birthday party invitations are begging to be addressed, the bills are late, two phones are ringing, the violin student arrives, the snow is falling in early October, I couldn't stop coughing if you offered me a tropical vacation, and all I want to do is curl up under a blanket, hire a nanny, and sleep until Spring, you all have to remind me that if I take two Benadryl, three advil some herbal tea, and get a good night's sleep, everything will look better in the morning.

In Honor of World Breastfeeding Week

Nursing Acrobatics

Good to know that I'm raising another child who can't/won't/doesn't like to nurse in conventional positions. I see a lot of contortionist-style breastfeeding in our future.

And yes, he did in fact pull himself to a standing position to nurse like that. And yes, he's only eight months old. (As of yesterday!) And no, I didn't say it was okay. My naughty boy. Getting all grown up without asking.

Those Who Say...

"If your baby is old enough to ask for it, he's too old to breastfeed," have never watched my six month old son, Max. Once you see him sucking on my arm, neck, chin or nose hard enough to give me a major hicky, headbutt himself into my chest, pull down my shirt, or start arching his back in a desparate attempt to get into "nursing position," there's no doubt that he's asking to nurse. And at six months old, no one is going to tell me he's too old to be nursing. And you know what? Even if he was 18 months, 2 years or older, and could clearly articulate verbally what he wanted, he still wouldn't need it any less than my six month old.

Extreme Breastfeeding

Extreme Breastfeeding: (n) The act of contorting your body in such a way that you can breastfeed and comfort your hysterical infant while he is still in his carseat and your husband is driving up a canyon at 80 miles and hour. Warning #1: bruising in strange places may occur from bending, twisting and leaning over the carseat. Warning #2: Your nipple may never be the same.

A 3- year old's view of breastfeeding

My husband's cousin's daughter was over this afternoon when Max woke up from his nap. We curled up in our favorite chair to nurse, and Kylie came over, curious as could be.

"Is your baby sleeping?"
"No," I said, "He's awake. He's eating."
"How is he eating?" she asked. "He looks like he's sleeping."
Hmmm. I thought. Maybe I better ask before I educate other people's kids about breastfeeding. "Steve!" I yelled to her dad in the kitchen. "I'm going to tell Kylie about breastfeeding." I don't think he believed me, because he just shouted back "Okay." So our conversation continued.
"He's drinking milk from my breasts." I said.
"He's eating you! He's eating your body!" Kylie shouted, alarmed.
"No, he's sucking on my breasts, and that's how he gets his milk."
"But he's eating your breasts!"
"No, my breasts make milk for him to drink and that's how he gets it out."
"Why?" She asked. (I've forgotten about 3-year olds and this question, obviously, or I probably wouldn't have started this conversation.)
"Well, babies drink milk. So my body makes the milk he needs, and then he sucks on my breasts to get it out."
"Why?" (Sigh. At this point, I'm really, really glad my kids have grown up with breastfeeding and don't question it as normal.)
"Because that's what our bodies do."
"Oh." That explanation seemed to satisfy her for a few minutes. I gave myself a little mental pat on the back for giving a good, age-appropriate education about breastfeeding. A few minutes later, I realized I wasn't as smart as I thought I was. Her mom and dad were in the room and Kylie came running up to me and started patting my belly.
"Is there still milk in there for the baby?"
Kylie's mom and dad's eyes looked like they were about to pop out of their heads and roll around on my living room floor.
"Steve," I said, "I warned you I was going to tell her about breastfeeding."

Reasons to Love Breastfeeding

1) The milk-drunk look. You know the one. Its most often seen after the baby has been nursing for a while and is in a deep sloppy sleep. They pull off your nipple with a big sigh and immediately fall right back asleep. At this point, I usually look at Max and think "I could hold you like this forever."

2) It's an instant get-out-of-anything card. "Oh, I can't, (clear the table, do the dishes, help with homework, settle the squabble, get up and get the remote control, get my own chocolate chips) I'm nursing the baby. Now, I'm not admitting to anything. But I hear there are people who offer to nurse a little earlier than they normally might just to get out of a chore.

3) Newborn milk dribbles. I'll admit it. I don't much like nursing newborns. I make enough milk to power a small dairy farm, and I seem to always go through a 6-week or so period where my nipples feel like they've been rubbed with sandpaper and then set on fire. But I love when my newborns are nursing and there's little dribbles of milk coming out of the corners of their mouth.

4) Milk breath. Seriously, is there any better smell?

5) Even if I'm doing nothing else, I can sit in my favorite chair, pick up the baby, and feel like I'm being productive.

6) Some days, I don't feel like a very good parent. I yell at my kids, we get KFC for dinner, and I don't read the assigned take-home book with my first grader for the second night in a row. (And that was just today!) But with breastfeeding, I know I'm doing something right in my parenting.

7) Nursing giggles. Max is just now getting old enough to play with me once he's done with his frantic "I'm starving" nursing. He'll be nursing, then pull off and smile at me. Its a reward for 8 weeks of sore nipples. Or I tickle him just a little, and he giggles, but insists on keeping my breast in his mouth.

8) I love, love the frantic, excited, crazy-happy-anxious noise he makes when I lay him across my lap and start lifting up my shirt. It makes me laugh even harder when I don't do it fast enough for his taste, and from the sounds he makes, I know he would be yelling at me if he could talk. "C'mon, Mom, can't you go any faster?"

9) I love nursing toddlers. Yes, I know that puts me in a crazy subspecies all my own, but I do. I love being able to comfort, distract, unwind, relax and reconnect with a crazy toddler just by nursing for a few minutes. I love that they nurse in any position. I love that they frequently experiment with nursing positions just to see what they can do. And I love that I can play the piano and nurse a toddler at the same time.

10) And this one is just for me. I like knowing that come Friday afternoon, after 5-6 hours of surgery, and 1-2 hours coming out of anesthesia, and 3 hours of fasting before surgery, that there will be a time that I can pick up my son and nurse him, And no matter how scared and confused he is, and no matter how much he is hurting, he will know that everything is ok, and that his mommy still loves him. (Ok, I'm crying like a baby now, so I'm stopping.)

Anybody else want to add to my list?

You Know You're A Breastfeeding Mom If...

Thanks to my Friend Jenni for this very funny list...

Musings of Mommy Bee: You Know You're A Breastfeeding Mom If...

Adventures in Nursing in Public

I'm a pretty confident breastfeeding mama. I have no qualms about nursing anywhere. And I'm not brazen about it- I'm not out to offend anyone. I try to be as discreet as possible while breastfeeding. When my first was an infant, I used to practice nursing in front of a mirror to make sure I wasn't showing anyone anything. But when my babies are hungry, I'm going to nurse them, and I don't use a nursing cover. I don't have a problem when someone else does, but as a general rule, I'm pretty uncoordinated. Even if I tried, I don't know that I could manage getting my hungry baby latched on and covered up with a blanket. I've tried a couple of times, and I honestly think I need an extra set of hands to make that work. Plus, I don't see why a baby should have to be covered up to eat- my girls would never stand for it. And, I honestly think covering up draws more attention to what I'm doing than just tucking my baby in close, lifting up my shirt and latching him on. So there's the background that makes today's story even funnier.

Baby Max loves his afternoon nap. As in, he generally naps for at least three hours in the afternoons if not more, and is very cranky if he doesn't get his long afternoon nap. (Yes, I realize how fortunate I am, and all I have to say to that is I paid my dues with two girls who didn't sleep!) Enter one o'clock church, and you will understand why by the third hour of church today, I had a very cranky baby. So rather than leave Relief Society, trekking to the other side of the chirch to the mother's room for what I thought would be a short nursing session, I decided I was just going to nurse him there, figuring he would probably fall asleep quickly, and I could stay in the meeting.

I laid him across my lap, and he immediately started making the fussing/excited noise that little babies make when they know its time to eat. Enter a very nice woman from my ward, who we shall call J, to protect the innocent. She is a wonderful woman, who really does have a good heart. She genuinely cares about everyone, and always has something nice to say. So the meeting is about to start, and I have Max laying across my lap, and I'm trying to get ready to nurse. J sees me, and immediately rushes over. "Let me HELP you!" she loudly exclaims. (Umm, help me what?)

"I'm fine." I said, "I've gotten pretty good at this."

"Well, let me help you cover up," she says and grabs Max's blanket off my lap while I'm busy trying to unhook my nursing bra. She holds the blanket in front of me, like a screen, doing a good imitation of one of those spanish guys that wave a red cape in front of a charging bull.

"You know," I replied, feeling a little sheepish, "I'm okay." By this point I have my shirt up and am trying to latch Max on without flashing everyone in Relief Society. Max is now fussing louder.

"But let me HELP you," she insists. She puts down the blanket and starts pushing my baby towards me. I hem and haw for a minute.

"Now look," she says, "He's really hungry." (Well yes, that's why I'm trying to feed him.) At this point, half of the women in the Relief Society are looking at us. Max is almost frantic, rooting around. I'm trying to maintain some semblance of dignity by keeping covered up at least a little bit. "Oh look," J continued, "He's so hungry he's going to eat your shirt." (Well, really, I was just covered up. Which is the way I wanted it, and the way I'm sure everyone else in the room wanted it!) So then, she reached down and starts pulling my shirt up over my breast, thinking she's doing me and the baby some kind of favor! Really what's she's doing is exposing me to everyone in the room at this point.

By this time it was almost a comedy show, because here she is, insistent on helping me nurse, by shaking a blanket in front of me, shoving my baby into me, and lifting up my shirt. I kept trying to push my shirt back down, and she kept trying to life it up, and all the while, Max is spinning his head around watching the freak show. I was half expecting the lactation consultant treatment where they actually start grabbing your breast and shoving it in the baby's mouth for you. It was quite funny because it was so ridiculous. I mean, my baby is almost three months old. I've obvously learned how to breastfeed- he doubled his birthweight by two months old. And by "helping" me, she was really just drawing more attention to me in the first place. Luckily, the meeting started just then, and she walked back up to the front of the room, (she was conducting the meeting) and said loudly as she was walking back, "I just wanted to HELP you. Its a perfectly natural thing for you to do you know, I didn't want you to have to leave the meeting just so you could feed your baby."

Well, I tried to be discreet. Next time, I might just head to the mother's lounge.

Time in a bottle

So I'm trying to be a good, obedient mama by transitioning Max slowly onto bottles of thickened breastmilk. Yesterday, we gave it our first go.

It took him 20 minutes to accept the bottle and start sucking from it. 20 minutes of him sobbing with a look of "What are you doing to me, Mom?" in his eyes. Then it took him 40 minutes to drink three ounces. We repeated this whole process later in the afternoon.

So let's see. One hour per feeding times seven to eight feedings spread over 24 hours. Hmmm. Anybody got an extra eight hours in their day they can send me? What if eight people just send me an extra hour? Or sixteen send me an extra half hour?

They do get more efficient at this right?

Breastfeeding woes

Tuesday was another day at Primary Children's. We've been concerned about Max's feeding habits for some time. When he nurses, he pulls off choking, coughing and sputtering at least 4-5 times every feeding. The geneticist referrred us to get a swallow study done to make sure he wasn't aspirating breastmilk into his lungs. As we did the study yesterday, it was clear that he was aspirating, even though he was sitting upright. The technicians and the speech language pathologist all said that the problem is probably significantly worse when he's nursing. The official recommendation is that I stop breastfeeding immediately to protect him and lessen the risk of aspiration pneumonia and damage to his lung tissue from aspirated fluid.

Now, anyone that knows me well knows that I love breastfeeding. I'm a big advocate. I have been a card carrying memeber of La Leche Leaugue, and have nursed my babies everywhere, without shame. I've participated in real and virtual nurse-ins, and I nursed my younger daughter until she was two and a half. I've already overcome serious latching problems with Max, and felt that if we could just get the choking under control that we would be home free. I am once again a big, blubbery mess of emotion.

I have absolutely no desire to bottle feed. All the doctors recommend that I pump and thicken the breastmilk and then bottlefeed, since he wasn't having problems drinking a thicker liquid. Their attitude is "He's still getting breatmilk!" But as anyone who has nursed long term can tell you, breastfeeding is not just about the milk production. Its about the convenience of having a ready-made perfect meal anywhere you are. Its about being able to comfort a baby or toddler who's frustrated, overstimulated, or having a bad day. Its about being able to roll over in the middle of the night, lift up your shirt, and latch the baby on, all while being half asleep, then having both of you fall peacefully back asleep.

This week has been all about researching and trying to find a way around the bottlefeeding recommendations. I've contacted a lactation consultant who told me this was way out of her league. I've posted on internet boards, and have had a myriad of opinions thrown at me. I've even emailed back and forth with Jack Newman, arguably the world's expert on breastfeeding. His advice was to continue breastfeeding, and while I'd like nothing more than to throw everyone else's opinions out the window, I can't do it based ont he opinion of one Doctor, over the internet, who hasn't even seen my child.

We saw the pediatrician on Friday. One thing Dr. Newman suggested was a lung function study, to see if there had been lung damage from aspiration. The pediatrician was against that because it would require a CT scan, which is way more radiation than she or we are comfortable with. She offered to consult with a pulmonologist. She called me back later that day to tell me the pulmonologist said the same thing- there was just too great a risk of damage to his lungs from aspiration for us to continue breastfeeding. The last reccomendation is that we go see an ear noe and throat specialist at Primary Children's to have him evaluated, because there's a possibility he may have an undiagnosed cleft palate. In a weird sort of way, I'm actually hoping that this is what's going on, because it would mean that it was something that could get fixed, possibly when he has the other surgery, instead of just a nebulous "oh, he'll grow out of it sometime."

So as soon as the thickener arrives via ups this week, we're set to become a pumping and bottlefeeding family. I have such mixed feelings about this. I know, intellectually, that this is what is best for my son and his health. But the natural mama in me- the part that homebirths, refuses vaccinations, cosleeps and breastfeeds long term, all against the wishes of Doctors- wants to think that the Doctors are blowing everything out of proportion and that we should just keep doing what we are doing.

But the truth is, (and I've only just started to admit this to myself,) Max is miserable nursing. He chokes and coughs almost constantly, and his eyes are always red and watery. There are some times he screams in pain while he's nursing, and there are many times when I think that he's quitting before he's full just because he's so frustrated. Its not fair of me to insist that he continue nursing this way, not if there's an alternative.

So in a few days, we'll be going from this



and this...

and this...

to breastpumps and bottles. I'm trying to have the best attitude about it that I can. I'm trying to remind myself that I'm not a failiure and that we did everything that we could. The doctor even said that some kids start to grow out of aspirating around the six month mark, so we may be able to try again then. So all hope for a normal nursing relationship is not lost. But man, when I'm pumping, thickening and bottlefeeding at three in the morning that may be hard to remember.