The Breast Moments of My Life ...

Apparently, August is International Breastfeeding Month. How appropriate, then, that my precious new son finally figured out this intricate dance this month. Henry was born June 6 (he earned his first nickname, D-Day, before he was even born!), and one of the only things I remember from the foggy moments right after his birth was our first of MANY unsuccessful attempts at breastfeeding. The nurses bathed him, wrapped him up, and settled him in my arms to see if he would take my nipple. He didn’t, and thus began a painful ritual that would last his first few weeks. I stayed in the hospital with my angel for 5 days (his ineptitude at nursing brought on a terrible case of Jaundice), and not once did he get a good latch. I spoke with lactation experts several times a day, and began using a breast pump just to have something to feed my baby. When we were discharged we went home with a few bottles in tow, and a determination to do what it took to feed this hungry little man. Even though he didn’t nurse, he seemed to enjoy the breastmilk I pumped for him, and gulped it down like a greedy, adorable little piglet. Two weeks after he was born, my parents, brother, aunt, uncle, cousins, and grandparents set up a weekend outing in nearby Gruene, so that everyone could enjoy the baby. Unfortunately, the bed & breakfast they’d booked didn’t allow anyone under 18 on the premesis, and so our pump-and-feed routine was disrupted. After not being able to feed Henry all day, my milk supply all but dried up, and I really began to fret. I just couldn’t produce enough to feed my son, and I felt like the World’s Worst Mother. Lucky for me, I got some great advice from an old friend whose son had also had difficulty nursing. She suggested a nipple guard, and it worked wonders. I don’t know what it was about that stupid little bit of silicone, but Henry latched right on and never looked back. I was pleased he’d figured it out, but still a little bit saddened that he was so disinclined to nurse au naturel. He loved the nipple guard, but woe betide me if I should try to sneak a real nipple into his mouth. He’d scrunch his little face up and begin wailing, and it began to feel like a personal affront. Each time the baby latched onto that faux nipple, it hurt my feelings more deeply. All I wanted was to breastfeed this beautiful little miracle, the way God intended. My husband assured me that I was doing a great job, and obviously Henry was growing like a weed, but I still resented the hell out of that nipple guard and the bond it was forming with my son.

One afternoon Elvis and I were lying on the bed with the baby, nipple guard at the ready for whenever he woke up hungry. Slowly his slate-gray eyes opened, and his little mouth started working. As I reached for the guard, my nipple brushed Henry’s cheek, and was finally – unexpectedly – granted entry. For the first time ever, I fed my baby directly from my breast, and it was as if I was able to let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. It was a little bit painful at first, but it felt so natural and so comforting. As I sat there feeding my tiny angel, he reached out an arm to curve around my breast as if to say, "Sorry Poppa, this is mine now."

"Good stuff, Mama!"

Henry is almost 3 months old now, and has been nursing au naturel for about 3 weeks. It’s been a long, exhausting, emotionally painful journey (for me, at least!), but no matter how exhausted I am, I delight every single time he latches onto my nipple. I’m so proud of my body’s ability to create and sustain life, and I take pride in knowing that I’m providing essential nourishment to my beloved boy, as well as the physical and emotional closeness that we both need. I know that it won’t be too long before this precious a deux ritual comes to an end, so I do my best to savor these sweet moments.