Feed me Seymour

Sarcastic Mom aka Lotus had a feeding carnival yesterday. I had good intentions of getting my post done but sadly my family had other ideas. So here I am a day late. But hey, I figure you'd love to hear about my boobies any day.

Let me start by saying I strongly believe that how you feed your baby is a highly personal decision. It is never a choice as simple as breast or bottle. There are so many emotions, personal history's and expectations attached to to nourishing our babies.

I have successfully breastfeed four children for varying degrees of time. But it has not always been easy. Each experience was unique and had its own challenges. But I have to admit that with Cade, I seriously struggled.

The day Cade was born he nursed like a champ. For a glorious 24 hours we had peace. Then I made the mistake of having him circumcised. I personally have strong feelings against circumcision but it was important to my husband. During the circ Cade was given a pacifier. Against my wishes and without my permission. The peace was shattered.

Cade immediately began to refuse the breast. He was suddenly unable to latch. I spent the rest of our stay spoon feeding which did not go over well with the staff. His bilirubin level rose. They told me he would be "retarded" if I didn't give formula. I continued to spoon feed. We were discharged but had to come back daily for bilirubin levels.

The nursery staff barraged me during these checks. Hounding me to give him formula. Even the lactation consultant seemed to blame me. She told me he was over stimulated. I was taking him out too much, too busy. My fault. I left devastated. I was sobbing uncontrollably before I even reached the car.

Once home I continued to struggle at each feeding. Spending at least 30 minutes attempting to nurse while he screamed and then cup feeding him. Pumping, cup feeding, failed attempts. With each day I fell deeper and deeper into a depression. I taught and supported breastfeeding mothers and I couldn't even nurse my own child. I stopped sleeping. I began to pull my hair out. I became anxious, paranoid.

I knew I was in trouble. My ob was amazingly supportive and prescribed meds immediately. Within a week I began to think more clearly. I became indignant. How dare this child not nurse! I became determined. I used all of the resources I had. At 3 weeks old Cade nursed again. It was the middle of the night but I felt the sun shining on us. The weight of those three hideous weeks was lifted. I sobbed tears of joy and relief.

Cade became an expert nurser. So much so that when I returned to work he refused to take a bottle. After three sitters in two weeks I finally found one who would cup feed him...as he had done before. But there was no screaming, no tears, no heartbreak. I knew when I picked him up he would bury his curly blond head in my chest and nurse with ease.

If I had to do it over again would I have been so militant? Would I have allowed my self to become consumed? Would I have accepted our failure and moved on? Maybe, but I know with every bottle I made...the failure, the heartache, the longing would still have been there.

My stubborn little man today