Adventures in Breastfeeding- Melissa

This post is a part of the Adventures in Breastfeeding Project sharing mother’s unique experiences, successes and struggles with Breastfeeding. This post is by Melissa. Here’s what she had to share:

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In my ten years of motherhood I have had four completely different breastfeeding stories unfold, each one building on the last. There were tears, pain, sadness, and regret but somewhere wrapped up in all of that mess were some the best months of my life to date. This is our breastfeeding story…

When I had Zoe I was young and impatient and impressionable, so when she got jaundice and dehydrated I asked, Where do I sign up for WIC? Four years later when rowan came along, so did a lot more determination inside of me. I felt more prepared and willing but was going to go easy on myself if it didn’t work out, because that is ok too. We fought from day one, when my ten and a half pound daughter entered this world demanding no less then four ounces a feeding. Six months and the death of her cousin later we just stopped and never skipped a beat. Stella was a new chapter of my life, not that every new child you bring into this world isn’t, I was a whole new me and that was already playing out in my parenting and choices. I would breastfeed her no less then six months and anything after that was a pat on the back to both of us. Promptly at just a few weeks before her first birthday she finally refused the last nursing I was holding onto, the last special moment of the day I struggled to keep, our morning nursing session was over and she was done. Nursing hadn’t really been fun for either of us anymore at that point while she fought me to rejoin her toys on the floor or her sisters playing in the other room. I would be lying if I didn’t mourn that loss terribly until the second I found out that I was pregnant with Robin two years later and then my heart ached and ached for those new nursing moments and memories to come quickly.

Robin’s birth was quick and fierce and natural and primal so it was no wonder that he latched perfectly just seconds after his arrival as we announced his name to everyone waiting patiently in our birth center room. At home I quickly came to know this little insatiable man that wouldn’t leave my breast for even a second. I had already made up my mind that we would nurse for two years and then see where it went from there. However, it wasn’t long till I started to feel…not overjoyed…about nursing as I once had. With Rowan and Stella underfoot now, my attention and energy was being pulled in so many directions and I constantly found myself trapped on the couch for hours on end trying to satisfy this little dude’s appetite. I started to rationalize maybe introducing formula, to give myself a little break, and was instantly disappointed in myself. There were even a few times where I was sure my supply wasn’t keeping up with Robin. Not because of the common misconception of pumping versus actual output, but because I would nurse and nurse and robin would unlatch and cry and I could tell he was not getting enough, we blew through any tiny supply I had built up in these low weeks. It was again at this point I considered an alternative such as goat’s milk. Now, looking back, all of these feelings  regrets seem so trivial, if I had only known what out nursing future held…

On May 9th, just ten days after Robin had turned six months old, Rowan was hospitalized for Encephalitis, a brain infection causing motor control damage. I drug Robin and my pump to the first hospital (we were at three total over a months time) because I had no milk saved and the thought of formula wasn’t even on my mind. When it became apparent that things were going to get worse before they got better, my sister put a call to action, asking for anyone who could to donate milk to Robin and me. Between the stress and limited time between procedures and the constant flood of people in our room, pumping was difficult to say the least. I went from every three hours to four times a day to three to barely once before I drifted off into a restless night of sleep.

Ounces and ounces of milk donations started to pour in, mostly friends and some strangers were so moved by our situation that they were over joyed to help us. (After I had stopped nursing Stella I donated a freezer full of hundreds of ounces of milk but had never even considered that I would ever be on the receiving end.) I kept up pumping the best I could but you can’t even imagine the difficulties I faced as I fought the last hospital we were at. First they refused to store my milk and handed me a bucket of ice (???), then when I was missing a part it took my husband twenty irate phone calls before a nurse finally walked down to the lactation specialist and asked for it, it was a nightmare and left me terribly disappointed with Children’s Hospital and their ability to assist nursing mothers. Had I been nursing Rowan? It would have been a completely different story. The hospital was my home and I was washing bottles best I could in the bathroom sink with no guarantees that anything was totally sanitary, but it was my life.

When we rounded down to the last few days of Rowan being in the hospital, I had to face the fact that we only had a few bags of frozen donated milk left and I would have to purchase some formula. We had leaned, hard, on so many people and their kindness while we were in the hospital that I just couldn’t ask for anymore milk and I began to face the facts. I was pumping about six ounces once a day but was confident with some supplements and diet and a nursing vacation in bed I could at least triple that and we would settle into a new normal of half and half. The first full day home arrived and it became apparent almost immediately that our nursing relationship had ended a month ago and it was taking me till just now to face it. Robin was uninterested and fidgety at the breast and then my real dose of reality came when he tossed aside a bottle of my milk but happily drank down a bottle of formula minutes later. He preferred it over me.


So, we quit.
I talked it to death with Tim and friends to help justify it to myself. I felt defeated and sad and incomplete in some ways, even if that seems silly. No one was judging me, I mean, I had done the best I could. But I felt jealous and started to mourn the loss of that part of our relationship. Then life got busy, we got busy, and some weeks later I noticed that I wasn’t yearning for the relationship back like I had with Stella. Maybe because I already had one foot out the door when this all happened or the pros just outweigh so obviously, who knows. Shhh, don’t tell anyone but weeks later, when I was still making milk, I would sneak him back on just to comfort nurse when he seemed sad. I think it was the perfect way to ease me out of the sadness and he knew that too.

I forgot formula and clean bottles everywhere we went, because breastfeeding is just so damn convenient and it was hard to adjust. I cringed at the cost of formula almost more then I did when a bottle of breast-milk was spilled or wasted and I (very) unnecessarily defended our decision to stop breastfeeding. This was my life now.

So here we are and Robin is coming up on ten months. After two and a half months on formula we are slowly transitioning over to almond milk in a cup and I feel great about all of our decisions leading up to this point. I fight hard on both sides of the feeding camp with a “Let’s just feed them, shall we!” attitude. Zoe was almost one hundred precent formula fed and she may be my pickiest eater but she is off the charts smart, in the ap classes in school, and all around smarty mcsmarty.

Life is rarely how we dream up it will be, but we all do the best we can on this crazy ride as parents!

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You can follow Melissa’s beautiful family on her blog While It Rains.

Adventures in Breastfeeding- Ashlee

This post is a part of the Adventures in Breastfeeding Project sharing mother’s unique experiences, successes and struggles with Breastfeeding. This post is by Ashlee. Here’s what she had to share:

He was 26 days old the first time I was able to feed him from my breast. Up until that point it had been all breast pumps and feeding tubes. 26 days before that day, my dreams for a happy homebirth were rapidly dashed with a late night hospital drive as contractions came too fast to stop. I fought the urge to push as they examined and x­rayed me and in the 45 minutes that seemed an eternity I heard him scream for the first time. My mind tried to wrap around this life that was a boy that was mine and that 28 weeks was far too soon all at the same time.

Despite our challenges I was determined to breastfeed exclusively. We refused supplementation, we researched, we held him skin to skin for as many hours as we all could tolerate and I pumped and pumped and waited for him to be ready. 26 days in he was more than ready, I saw him root around and suck, the nurses agreed as we snuck him licks and tastes but we needed the doctors blessing to withdraw real feeds and allow him to nurse. So we asked trepidatiously if I could put him to breast, a question, a situation that in itself is heartbreaking. To have to ask permission to feed your own child the way that nature intended pulls at your very being.
The doctor that day was not my favorite but we were all determined that it was time so with my favorite nurse by our side we asked as he left Xavier’s bedside following morning rounds. He told me he was not ready, that we needed to wait and we pleaded. We discussed stats and studies and insisted he was strong enough to try. Finally the doctor, tired of fighting with me told me to go ahead, give it a try, page him when we failed and with a huff walked away.
Surrounded with pillows and too many hands I pulled all 4 tiny pounds of him up to my breast, he looked up at me for a moment and then latched like he’d been born to. He sucked and gulped with the most peaceful expression and the moments ticked on slowly until he slept in my arms. Tears dropped from my face to his as I heard our nurse whisper from behind me, “You did it. You two. You did it.”
Over the next 20 days we transitioned fully from tube to breast and he came home to us without incident. The next 3 years I was able to nourish him, comfort him and sustain him with my body, with my breasts. An ability that softened the sting of my inability to carry him to term.

Days after his third birthday he sat me down and told me he was all done with “Nonnies”, he kissed my chest, snuggled up and meant it. I may have cried and longed for more moments but while I never knew exactly how our nursing relationship would meet it’s end I’m so happy that it continued until he was ready to see it go. It was so worth fighting for.

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4 years later I’m in a very different place, a new city, a new life, my now 7 year old Xavier by my side. It’s the morning of my wedding day and we’re waiting on an ultrasound tech to confirm the gestation of the bitty baby in my belly. We’re all nervous but joyful at our early sneak peak. Moments later we learn that not only were my dates off by a couple weeks but that our tiny babys two babies. In the blink of an eye I went from 15 weeks to 17 and from one more child to two. Precious two. Blissful, we shared the news with only our wedding party throughout the day. Our wedding itself was simply magical and as it culminated, at our late night reception we learned
alongside our closest friends and family that our one that is two were identical girls.

Over the next two blissful weeks my new husband and I along with our babes in my belly traveled the country from Chicago to Yellowstone and back again. We camped and climbed and dreamed about what our new lives with these new lives would hold. We named them as we traveled. Nova Emery and Aurora Eisley. Our girls, the twins, one active and joyful, the other subtle and sweet. I daydreamed about all the normal things us mothers do but was amazingly excited about my dreams for the pregnancy itself, our birth experience and the opportunity to breastfeed two babies simultaneously.

Life as normal had barely resumed when it’s ability to ever exist again would be shattered. At our 20 week ultrasound it was immediately clear that something was not well with our girls. The happy check in grew solemn. The tech left the room and before I knew it we were called to the hallway and handed a phone. It was my midwife. My son and husband stood beside unaware of what was being said but they saw the horror and the tears. I tried to repeat what I could but it was all such an unwelcomed blur. The babies are sick, one is stuck, they could die, treatment, MFM, immediately, goodbye.

That Friday I heard the words Twin to Twin Transfusion syndrome for the first time. Mo­Di. Stage 4. That Monday we learned just how critical our girls were, that in 2 short weeks one of our babies had stopped growing, her fluid all but disappeared, her heart stressed and the other now overwhelmed with fluid and blood, both at risk. Aurora became our donor. Nova the recipient. We were told we had 3 options and that we needed to chose one immediately to terminate our pregnancy altogether, to abort one of the girls in hopes that the other would pull through or travel from Chicago to St. Louis for an experimental surgery that would have a small chance of saving them both. The last our only option it was determined that Wednesday we would hit the road.

Our surgery was successful. Liters of fluid drained, connections severed. The next 18 hours were blissful. I watched them flit and flutter on ultrasounds every few hours, I slept with a peace I’d never had before. We woke in the morning and headed down for one last ultrasound before we were discharged for the long journey home. The ultrasound tech scanned the babies and left to get the doctor. We assumed he came in to admire his handiwork but instead he grabbed my hand with tears in his eyes and told me how sorry he was. Aurora’s heart was no longer beating. He was sorry. She was gone. The next many hours are a blur. Hugs and tears and somehow we made it home. I closed myself in the bathroom, stared at my copy of Mothering Multiples and wept as never before.

Grieving one life while welcoming another is a new reality for us. We were told that our survivor was healthy, she was monitored closely, she was going to make it healthily to term. Until she didn’t. Until I woke up in labor at 3 am somewhere between week 23 and 25. Until we spent 12ours and one emergency c­section trying to buy her time. TTTS, Prematurity, 1 hospital transfer, 2 brain surgeries, Profound Hydrocephalus, VP Shunt, 100 days and home.

The surgery meant to save our girls left me Nova and I with a nasty E. Coli infection that could have killed us both. While I am angry at my body for expelling her early I simultaneously applaud it for ultimately saving us both. For giving me my two girls to hold if only in separate moments.

Once again I found my world run by breast pumps and feeding tubes. This time around my baby was still too small and weak to nurse on day 26 or 46 but on day 57 she latched and sucked. Over the next 50 we fought to continue. To teach her to eat without backsliding in the process.

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My supply tanked and I did everything I could to get it back up. Supplements and oatmeal. Water and almonds. Despite smelling like maple syrup I was getting less with each pumping. Reglan was prescribed and despite the warnings I was desperate to feed my surviving daughter. After all we’d been through, I couldn’t fail at this too.

We brought our baby home after 100 days still dependent on a feeding tube. It meant coming home and we knew what to do. Every 3 hours we did a dance that took about 2 hours in itself. She would nurse for 30 minutes, I would pump for 30 minutes then she would get a feeding over the pump for 45 minutes. Rinse. Wash. Repeat.

I was exhausted. It was worth it. I was exhausted. Was it worth it?

7 days later we pulled the tube. I couldn’t do it anymore and she was doing well so we decided to give it a go. The worst that could happen is that we had to put the tube back but I was damned determined and this little fighter had proved time after time that so was she. She continued to nurse amazingly until the worst comedy of errors ensued.

My prescription for Reglan ran out and my doctor refused to refill it stating I’d already been on it too long. As a result my supply tanked and as I had not weaned off the drug, a drug known for nasty neuro and psychological side effects, I hit bottom. I’ve never met an anxiety or depression I couldn’t conquer but suddenly I couldn’t get out of bed. I couldn’t feed my daughter, I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t function. My doctor told me the side effect was normal. To give it two weeks. If I didn’t feel better then it was likely PPD. I KNEW it was the medicine and I hated her for not doing anything. I hated myself for needing it. I felt trapped and desperate and in the meantime my sweet baby needed to eat. I’d nurse and pump but she was still obviously hungry and while pumping usually yielded several ounces a session, 24 hours of combined droplets barely rose to 10ml’s. My stash was useless due to a milk protein allergy and I was out of options.

For three days my daughter drank straight formula and while I justified it’s necessity and worth, it made me utterly heartbroken. I broke down in the waiting room at her ophthalmologist because she was hungry and I couldn’t feed her. I had failed her, my body had failed her once again. She was happy and healthy and after all we’d been through this had to be okay but after all we had been through I needed my nursing relationship with her more than anything.esparate, and still furious with my MFM, I asked Nova’s pediatrician to prescribe Domperidone for me. To my surprise he was happy to if it meant her having a chance to nurse again. I took it religiously and waited. I’d decided that I wasn’t going to kill myself attempting to relactate but if it happened I would happily resume. So we hoped. So we waited.

Several days later I was sitting at my desk in my studio with Nova in my sling and I suddenly started leaking, I felt full again. I had milk again. I ran to tell my husband, then attempted to get her to latch. Lazily she took to it, she drank, I cried. We nursed every hour those next few days, I held her naked against my skin, nothing was more important than getting her to drink from me. We weaned down the bottles until they were no more, she nursed, she nursed, she grew.

Nova is now just shy of 11 months old (6 months adjusted). She has been exclusively breastfed since February and is doing remarkably well. Up 13 pounds from her birthweight and hitting all of the milestones that nobody said she would. While I am still weaning myself down from Domperidone I credit the drug and our dedication to saving our precious breastfeeding relationship. I hope to continue nursing Nova at least until she turns 2 or whenever thereafter she decides she’s done.

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You can follow Ashlees amazing 4th Trimester Bodies Project here: https://www.facebook.com/4thTrimesterBodies?fref=ts or visit the webisite at http://4thtrimesterbodiesproject.com/

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And follow Nova’s journey here:https://www.facebook.com/SavingSuperNova

Adventures in Breastfeeding- Christine

This post is a part of the Adventures in Breastfeeding Project sharing mother’s unique experiences, successes and struggles with Breastfeeding. This post is by Christine. Here’s what she had to share:
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i always knew that i wanted to breastfeed my baby. i found it- and still find it- absolutely fascinating that you are not only able to grow a life inside of you, but that you are able to feed and nurture that life, too. for years, even! mind blown.

when i was pregnant with my daughter, marlo, i wanted to know absolutely everything that i could about breastfeeding. i went to numerous classes, i read all of the books. i asked all of the mamas that i knew far too many invasive and inappropriate questions. i was of the mindset that the more that i knew, the more prepared that i’d be; the more prepared that i was, the better and more successful breastfeeding would be. the more successful my breastfeeding experience was, the healthier, smarter, happier my baby would be. but the truth of the matter is that i can’t honestly say that all of my research and preparation actually prepared me for the actual act of breastfeeding.

when marlo was born, i was extremely surprised at how awkward it felt to me. all you hear throughout your pregnancy is how breastfeeding is so natural and beautiful and wonderful and such an amazing bonding experience. even though marlo had a great latch, i couldn’t seem to get myself or marlo positioned properly or comfortably, and fuck, it was so painful! i distinctly remember the lactation consultant at the class saying, “if you are doing it right, it shouldn’t be painful.” well, she lied. i was doing everything right and had three lactation consultants at the hospital give me the thumbs up but it was still so, so very painful. i also had to use those shield thingys that suck and make everything such a hassle. nothing about it felt wonderful or beautiful or natural to me. it was disheartening. and crushing. (at the time, i didn’t realize that this is so, so very common for new mamas.)

after a couple of weeks- but what truly felt like six years- of just figuring things out and working through the pain (bless first time mamas! and nipples!), marlo and i had become a well-oiled machine. i had succeeded. my girls were these gargantuan incubators of liquid gold and marlo would have spent every single moment at my breast if i would have let her. now that i think about it, she probably spent about eighteen hours a day there the first couple of months. our couch had an imprint of my ass that is still there to this day. i kid you not.

by that time, my hormones had plummeted and i realized that something wasn’t right with how i was feeling. my husband and family felt that something was off, too. after a few doctor visits, i was diagnosed with moderate to severe postpartum depression. i won’t go into the details because they are still too raw and heartbreaking to revisit; however, i will say that postpartum is such a thief. it robs you of joy, of connection, and of that new mommy happiness that every mother should be able to experience. i had this beautiful and healthy baby girl in front of me who i loved so very much. rather, on paper i knew that i loved her, i just couldn’t feel it. i didn’t feel it deep down in my bones, the way that i knew that i should. it was absolutely heartbreaking and debilitating. i felt like such a failure. even though i was doing everything that i could, even though i was succeeding at breastfeeding, something that was so important to me, i just didn’t feel the spiritual connection with her that i craved. to put it lightly, it wasn’t a good time for me or my family.

through the process of becoming well and navigating the road of postpartum depression, breastfeeding quickly became something else all together- it became my lifeline. it went from being the way that i fed and physically nurtured my baby to becoming the one way that i felt connected to her. breastfeeding became what i used to remind myself that i was doing a fine job. it became the tool that i used to get myself out of that extremely dark place that i know i shouldn’t be anywhere near. breastfeeding snapped me out of my unfathomable heart break and brought me back to the present, which was the milk drunk and healthy and beautiful babe at my breast.

i learned why people refer to breastfeeding as nursing. breastfeeding not only nursed her, but it nursed me back to emotional health. it soothed both of us, calmed both of us, bonded both of us. i will never fully emotionally recover from that specific time in my life. to be frank, i’m terrified of experiencing it again when we decide to have another child. but the one thing that i know that will be there for me is breastfeeding- nursing, rather- and i know that it will see both me and that baby through whatever we may experience. and that is a wonderfully, beautiful thing to look forward to.

If you pin it…it will come…

I wouldn’t consider myself a pinterest “heavy user”. But I dabble. Mainly clothing and hair styles. The occasional motherhood inspiration. random food. My main motive is to convey to others that despite my lacking sense of style, I actually have food taste “see!! look I pin cool girls! I get it! Im hip!” I rarely see something though and think I could possibly apply it to my own life. I mean, everything on pinterest seems like some sort of unattainable ideal.
but as I was scrolling through my albums farther and farther back I started seeing all these familiar sights! “Oh hey! I guess I did end up baking those brown sugar peaches..” or “oh no way! I forgot i pinned that teacup tattoo! now I have a teacup tattoo! crazy”. And so many messy  top knots with bangs and glasses! The farther back I went in the albums the more I saw things that I find in my life today.
There was an Oprah episode about inspiration boarding, finding beautiful images of things your “true” self really enjoys and how it would  “coincidentally” manifest itself later in your life. In a sense I think pinterest has succeeded somewhat in doing that. Ok I’m not going to say i look just like a very blonde Carolee Beckham, but I did have a similar color sling I often nursed in. Or this turban! Or the fact that I pinned these glasses a year before I bought them! Not saying I look like the model wearing them haha!
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this could just be a coincidence or maybe the reason I bought these glasses or this baby turban or a similar sling was because in the back of my mind I stored away that I wanted them or something. So if you have the time… scroll back 6-12 months in your pinterest, do you see things that you now own or do or make? Im really curious!!! maybe pinterest isnt just some major waste of time!! haha!

Front Yard

We’ve already really made ourselves at home. It happened almost instantly. It like we’ve always belonged here or something. Its a perfect fit for us now. I mean when I was 21 I would have hated it out here. I needed that time to work downtown and meet justin for cocktails after a shift. But now we find ourselves enjoying sitting on the front porch and watching the girls play in the front yard.
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^ outside our garage. we keep thinking of all the possibilities. Right now lucy is rooting for us to put in flooring and a mirror for a dance studio. haha!

Adventures in Breastfeeding-Aly

This post is a part of the Adventures in Breastfeeding Project sharing mother’s unique experiences, successes and struggles with Breastfeeding. This post is by Aly. Here’s what she had to share:

Hi! I’m Aly, mother to Quinlyn, and this is my adventure with breastfeeding.

I always knew I wanted to breastfeed when it was my time to become a mother. My mom breastfed me and had always talked to me as if breastfeeding was the norm. When I got pregnant, it was with my long time boyfriend, Pierce, an awesome person who I knew would be a great dad (HE IS!!). He and his family were also very encouraging and supportive when it came to the idea of breastfeeding our new baby. I am thankful that I had this kind of support to begin with.

The birth went as planned, a “natural” hospital birth. I say “natural” because nothing is too natural about being hooked up to wires and tubes of saline, antibiotics and pitocin, fetal monitors and computers. It was a wonderful experience but I also didn’t feel the most natural in the hospital setting. After 12 hours of labor, and lots of supportive back rubs from Pierce, our bright-eyed baby girl was born. She was then put through the typical hospital regimen of the clamping and the cleaning, the weighing and the stamping, the eyes smothered in goo and of course topped with a little hat. My doctor stitched me up and then it was finally time for us to nurse for the first time…

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I was so concerned about if I was doing it right and if she was getting anything, I asked the nurse for help almost every time I fed her. Quin nursed often the first days in the hospital, but I honestly don’t remember a lot about it, I was so very tired. It wasn’t until I was being discharged from the hospital that I met with a lactation consultant. She told me how raw and red my nipples were. “Oh, you must be so sore! You poor girl.” I was so caught up in the moment, high on adrenaline and hormones (maybe a few Hyrdrocodones, too) that I didn’t seem to notice how bad my nipples were hurting.

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She then taught me then how to pump. I was getting a lot of colostrum and she was sure my milk would come in soon after I was home. I continued pumping and we fed Quin with a syringe and a pinky finger to give my nipples a break. She did well! Then my milk came in. My breasts turned to rocks. Literally, like two boulders on my chest (not to mention about 5 sizes larger than my breasts had been about a week ago.). This was NOT what I had expected. But nursing is all about supply and demand, and I had certainly been demanding with the pump, anxious for milk.

Quinlyn had a hard time latching because I was so engorged. So I continued using the pump and syringe feeding. At some point I got her back to my breast and ditched the pump. WOW. Life was much simpler without the pump…except Quinlyn had a horrible latch. Back to square one. My nipples cracked and bled, Quinlyn nursed and nursed. I was shocked that something that was so natural was SO incredibly hard.

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I franticly spent my days Googling, making posts on sites like Baby Center and contacting friends and family, trying to find one piece of advice that would work for me. I made saline soaks and bought my first jar of coconut oil. I went through tubes of lanolin and tried every breastfeeding position under the sun. I went shirtless around my house for weeks and rinsed my nips in Apple Cider Vinegar. Nothing seemed to be working and I was definitely starting to think of the alternative. The last thing I decided to try was Dr. Jack Newman’s All Purpose Nipple Ointment (APNO), which I need a prescription for. I asked my daughter’s pediatrician who had been so very supportive with breastfeeding and she gladly wrote it. (I wish I would have known about APNO first thing!)

After about 8 weeks of cracked nipples and beyond uncomfortable feedings, they finally started healing! Breastfeeding ended up being an even larger (and more painful!) task than an epidural-free birth, which surprised me! But from 8 weeks on, it was pretty smooth sailing. I started to bond with my baby and truly enjoy breastfeeding like I had imagined. It was wonderful. And still is! (Most days! ) I am so glad I stuck with it.

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I couldn’t have done it without support from Pierce, my family, friends and internet support groups. Sure, breastfeeding can be a drag some days, but the pros always seem to outweigh the cons, and breastfeeding is truly what’s easiest for us right now. She is now 18 months and I’m hoping to continue until she turns two.

I didn’t plan to becoming a mother when I did, and I certainly never saw myself breastfeeding a toddler, but if there’s one thing I have learned since becoming a mother it’s that love can get you through even the hardest of times. Being a mother has also taught me so much about my endurance (or stubbornness) when it comes to doing something I believe so strongly in. I encourage all moms to find support when they need it and to keep pushing through the hard times, there is always a light at the end of the tunnel! Happy nursing!

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