The conclusion of Boob-Gate 09

I have thrown in the towel...erm, pump.

Owen doesn't want my nipples, he wants the silicone ones (that's what I get for having a baby in South County), and nothing I do is going to change that.

Pumping is a done deal as well. He's 3 weeks old today, and the lactation lagoon has dried up.

And nothing makes you feel more womanly than realizing your chest has turned into the Dust Bowl (how will I ever save a starving stranger now?)...

Sadness.

I have to keep reminding myself though, that this isn't about me. It's about the baby; he is perfectly healthy and content with his bottle of formula, and I am not an asshole or unfit mother because I couldn't breastfeed.

I'm working really hard to believe that, and not be negative about it.

(Sometimes however, I do find myself giving the formula can dirty looks...USURPER!)

As much as I hate to admit it, waving the white flag on this whole feeding fiasco has made things a lot easier.

I am less frustrated, the sobbing has all but quit (pregnancy hormones ain't got NOTHING on postpartum ones), and I get to spend more time cuddling Owen.

He's so good. He's waking up about every 2-2.5 hrs at night, but will usually go right back to sleep after a bottle and a dry diaper.

The pediatrician says he looks great, and I swear, he gets bigger each day!

I don't want him to grow up!

And yes, believe it or not, I get super-bummed sometimes that he's no longer in my belly....

But then I remember the constant pain, and I snap out of it pretty quickly.


Oh! Oh! Oh!

I am sleeping in my own bed again!

I'm thinking of burning the Poang chair in effigy.

Maybe this means he'll be a butt man....

Owen is HERE!

As of Wednesday, October 28th at 1:05pm, my perfect little man made his grand entrance into the world!

8 lbs, 7 oz, 19 inches long.

He is an absolute ANGEL, and I could not ask for a better (or more gorgeous) baby.

{For pics, check out http://lookathowcuteiam.blogspot.com}

Well, except for one thing...he hates my boobs.

I reeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaallllly wanted to breast feed. The bonding, the nutritional benefits, etc. I studied up, armed myself with the right gear, and gathered resources--I was amped.

My son, not so much.

He would not latch on to save his life. Granted, we had some obstacles, like my inverted nipples and his tendency to draw in his lower lip, but I was assured by the lactation consultants (or "Nipple Whisperers" as they were deemed by my hubby) that with persistence and patience, he would be on the boob in no time.

After 4 days of him screaming every time I put him to the nipple and me crying because I felt like a monster of a mother, the NWs changed their tune.

Now, they said—“You can pump and feed. The breast just doesn’t work for everybody”

Great.

So home from the hospital we went, latchless.

I was totally bummed. I felt like a failure. Would I think that any other mother was a failure? No, but this was not someone else, this was me, and the standards are less forgiving…

But, finally after trying to get him to love the boob at home only to more tears from the both of us, I decided to let it go and focus solely on pumping.

Yay Pumping!

Or not.

I had been pumping in the hospital every 3 hours, and continued that trend when I got home…

My milk wasn’t coming in.

More crying and crushing feelings of inadequacy ensued.

So I called the NWs. They assured me that my milk would come in, and that it was common for Cesarean births to sometimes cause a delay in production.

Their official line was basically: “If you Pump it, Milk will come”

Okay, fine.

So every 2-3 hours, I’m pumping, and when I can stand it, I’ll pump every hour and a half.

I feel like a dairy cow.

All of that effort and my production is still super low. We’re having to formula feed him almost exclusively, which again, makes me feel (however irrationally) like LoserMommy.

This Wednesday marks 2 weeks. Unless the Nipple River starts flowing by then, I’m packing away my pump.

I don’t want to be one of those women that gives up too soon, but at the same time, I don’t want to beat a dead mammary either.

I feel like all I do is pump, and it’s not even effective. Kinda like salt in the wounds….

I might as well spend that time enjoying Owen, instead of feeling bad about myself and torturing my nips, because on top of all the boob vs bottle drama—I’m healing from a C-section and as those of you who read this blog regularly know, a pretty physically debilitating pregnancy in the first place, which isn’t going so hot if I’m honest.


My poor husband.

He has been SO incredible in helping me and taking care of Owen, but I know he’s pretty sure I’ve lost my mind, because there has been a massive amount of tears and frustration since our son was born, and I don’t think he expected that.

In his defense, I don’t think I did either.

Neither one of us could have anticipated the feeding problems or how physically wrecked I would STILL be after coming home and how emotionally taxing that would be.

So it’s been tough, but every day gets a little better, so we are hanging in there.

And most importantly, we have Owen…our healthy, sweet, little monkey who makes us both giddy.

I swear, I could just stare at him sleeping all freakin’ day.

That’s not creepy, just maternal, right?