So I don’t want to brag, but lately quite a few people who have followed our difficult breastfeeding journey to date have been telling me I’m awesome. That’s not an exaggeration, they have literally, right to my face said, “Stacey, you know what? You are awesome.”
I’m usually not very good at accepting compliments but this time, I think they might actually be right. Dammit, I know they’re right.
There has been sucky elimination diets including nearly a month avoiding my beloved dairy; full-body back-breaking contortion acts to get into the best position for that elusive perfect latch; and countless late nights of not only getting up to feed 18million times, but pumping at 2am when your eyeballs are touching the floor.
There has been what seem like daily appointments with two lactation consultants, paediatrician, surgeon, GP, chiropractor, osteopath, paediatric dentist, at least one random nonna on a bench at the shops, and many many late night appointments with Dr Google. At times, some of the so-called “experts” have dismissed my concerns out of hand and in turn, I’ve second guessed myself, only to fall back on my motherly instincts and soldier on. I’m pretty sure I could now write my thesis on breastfeeding and babies with tongue tie.
There has been far too much washing and sterilising of pumps, dummies, spoons, medicine droppers and of course bottles (featuring a thousand different shapes and sizes of teats), for someone who considers herself a breastfeeding mum (have you noticed that there’s never a clean bottle when your baby is at its screaming hungriest?).
There has been tears. Lots of tears. Tears of physical pain at bleeding nipples and searing back ache. Tears over spilt milk (literally). Tears of frustration and empathy for my baby’s tears. Tears from us both when she screams at the mere sight of a nipple approaching her face. Tears in grieving the newborn / motherhood journey I was supposed to have but didn’t. Tears streaming down my face while I stood outside alone, while a stranger performed a painful and scary procedure on my tiny screaming 3 month old human.
There has been the awful post-laser massages I had to perform four times a day for 21 days, squeezing my fat fingers in a tiny person’s mouth to poke and prod at two painful wounds (cue more tears).
There has been times where I’ve considered throwing in the towel until I remember I don’t really have an alternative. (Go on, one more person suggest switching to formula, without understanding that my baby hates bottles as much as she hates my boobs…)
So when someone who hears what we’ve been through, and that I’m still persevering with our breastfeeding journey four months in, calls me awesome – I honestly think to myself, yes. Yes I am.
… Then I realise she’s only ever known this struggle of a life, and has gone through it all completely dependent on me. She is the one who has had to endure the hunger, tummy pain, mouth pain, my big fat fingers shoved in her mouth rubbing two painful wounds – and then I think to myself … she’s pretty bloody awesome too.
If you happen upon here now, please note all of my ramblings are drafts only until I get my real site up and running with more content including images, prettiness etc.
Who is this jerk that thinks people will want to read anything by her? Read more about me here.