It's funny, isn't it, how we end up on some of the paths we travel down? I recently was talking with a friend about the current media breastfeeding brouhaha, and about mothers and the options they have available and the choices they must make, and I suddenly recalled one of those key exchanges that helped push me along my own journey.
Backing up a bit, to put this all in context...
I am the mother of a three-and-a-half year old daughter who is - along with the love of my life, my amazing husband - the greatest gift I have ever been given. I am also a certified lactation counselor, and work for a governmental agency providing support to mothers; I also am a volunteer counselor with my local nursing mothers' council. (And here's my standard disclaimer - any opinions I express here in my blog or in other personal spaces or forums are mine and mine alone.) It is my intent to obtain both my RN and my IBCLC in the future.
I became a breastfeeding counselor because of my own personal experiences. I had always had an interest in women's health issues, knew I somehow wanted to be involved in the field, and was exploring possible career options with that in mind. But I had not yet - for a lack of a better phrase - found my calling.
I knew I wanted to breastfeed my daughter, but when she was born, we had a lot of trouble. And I mean a lot of trouble. I rarely speak of this at length, even with close friends... but it's important to not minimize our experiences, so I'm going to speak of it here and now.
The Peanut would not latch on, although I had a great supply and was determined to make it work. I will always remember the sheer panic of knowing that we would soon be sent home and that I could not feed my child. She had latched very poorly a few times, then opted out of the whole process. I swear to you, every single nurse in that hospital handled my breasts during our stay. My husband cup-fed her my pumped milk while I wept.
We received so much conflicting advice, from both the nurses and the IBCLCs. It was terrifying and overwhelming and stressful. But my husband and I were determined to make breastfeeding work; god love that man, he worked just as hard at the process and was a rock, never faltering or questioning the decision that we made together - our daughter would be breastfed.
The day before we were sent home, an IBCLC looked at my desperate face, and then came back with a nipple shield in her hand. We talked about the pros and cons, the conditions of its use and the importance of follow-up lactation care - and then we gave it a try. And my daughter nursed.
What followed were eight-plus long weeks of a love-hate relationship with the nipple shield, a strange little silicon device that came between my daughter and I and yet brought us together. There were countless visits to breastfeeding support group, hours and hours of research, lots of learning and lots of crying. I have extremely mixed feelings about nipple shields because they are so often improperly used - but I will always be grateful for its existence, and for the IBCLC who first handed us one, because it saved our nursing relationship and allowed us to breastfeed.
After weeks of patient (and not-so patient) attempts, we finally weaned the Peanut off of the shield, and at ten weeks of age, she was nursing like a champ, unassisted and intervention-free. The first time we made it a whole day without once needing the shield, I bawled. The whole process was gut-wrenching and life-changing. There were plenty of times I was ready to give up, but between my husband and the lactation support people (IBCLCs and LLLLs and other angels) I hung in there and stuck it out. I'm stubborn that way. And three-and-a-half years later, I am now the mother of a beautiful, sensitive, brilliant little nursling who on a daily basis makes it abundantly clear how much she values our breastfeeding relationship, and validates our decision to stick it out through all the grief and pain.
I still get teary when I think about that time. There were many other unfair burdens and demands placed upon us during that winter as well, and we were under a great deal of pressure and stress. But our daughter came first and foremost, in spite of it all, and we made it through to the other side.
You see, it's because of all this trouble that I had that I have gone on to become a certified lactation counselor. Because it was so hard for me, and if I can help just one mama to have a better experience, it means everything to me. The number one reason women stop breastfeeding is because they do not have adequate support. So I aim to provide a little of that missing support. Upon encouragement from my favorite IBCLC, I started taking formal classes... and so it began, and so it goes on.
Anyway, back to that exchange I mentioned...
My daughter was probably about twelve weeks old or so, and our nursing issues were quite recent and the emotional wounds were still quite fresh. I had some friends and some friends-of-friends come over for a girl's night, and our conversation touched on many subjects. I was the only mother in the group, and I alluded briefly to the struggle we had with breastfeeding, and what a relief it was that we were on track now.
One of the attendees was heavily pregnant with her first child. She was one of those 'friend-of-a-friends' and I did not really know her at all. And she remarked, "Well, I don't see how anyone can have any trouble with breastfeeding - those babies seem to want to latch onto everything and anything! All they want to do is suck, so I don't see what the big deal is."
I recall very well the sting of those thoughtless words. I know they were said without malice and came from ignorance, but they hurt. From my perspective, this woman was sitting on my sofa eating the food I had cooked for her and was criticizing me for not being good at something that should be instinctual and easy, and it felt like being kicked in the stomach. She was just being stupid and dumb, but she really hurt me.
So yeah, I've looked at clouds from both sides. I know about the struggle and the hurt and the sting of being made to feel inadequate. And I know about how fiercely proud I am to have nursed my child, and I want every baby in the world to be breastfed. But I also have friends who couldn't make it work, and I will not tolerate people slapping them for things they could not control, whether it's because it flat out wasn't possible or because they weren't given the support they needed to succeed. And it's also why it makes me so angry when women are made to feel guilty over an issue like this.
You just can't look at it from one side. To paraphrase the schmaltzy song, it's the clouds' illusions you should recall.
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