The Pagan Heart
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July 2005 Issue
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The Joy of Breastfeeding?
By Catherine M.
I always planned to breastfeed my children - aside from all the health benefits for mother and child, there was the monetary incentive. Tins of formula for $15-20 a pop for 2 hungry munchkins adds up to a lot of money. Then there's the ease of breastfeeding. No cleaning bottles, mixing formula, getting temperatures right - let alone running out in the middle of the night with a squalling infant desperate for a bottle. Yes, breastfeeding sounded like the way to go. The reality was vastly different to my expectations. A few hours after the wonderful birth experience I got to enjoy our first feeding. Still somewhat groggy and dazed from the operation, I sat propped in my lovely green hospital bed, festooned with tubing, IVs, and a catheter. I am still thankful for the numbing effects of the drug cocktail they gave me as I don't recall any discomfit from all that. Briannah latching on was, however, a different matter. Nothing quite prepares you for breastfeeding. It is an incredible experience - so much more personal and emotional for me than the pregnancy. Because this time I could see, feel, smell, and hear my little girl. She wasn't hidden inside the tight skin of my belly, but rather curled up within my arms like some strange flower, petals furled against the early morning light. I could see her lashes as they brushed her cheek, meet her intent yet unfocused stare - those blue, blue eyes that I drowned in, falling in love with this, my child. With one hand cupped about her head, I set out to help her latch on. Not something I had to worry about, it turns out. She knew exactly what to do and before I could even blink, she was in place, firmly attached, and suckling noisly. At this point I realised the exquisite and agonising experience breastfeeding can be. I understand why so many women give up. It really really hurts. And unlike labour, which you can't suddenly stop, the option to cease breastfeeding is there. Squatting on the supermarket shelves it calls with the siren song of painless feeding. However I am nothing if not stubborn. I set out intending to breastfeed, and by golly gosh (insert stronger words here) I would breastfeed. I focused upon my breathing, trying to avoid scrunching up in pain - by the barest of margins I avoided yanking her away from my tender flesh. Instead I stroked her soft little head and breathed in...out...in...out. When she finished I almost relaxed before remembering her sister still waited. With my mother and husband's encouragement I saw a lactation consultant. I can't recommend seeing someone like that strongly enough. We Western women live in a very surreal world when it comes to motherhood. Many of us never see another woman breastfeeding until we ourselves are struggling to do so. We don't grow up surrounded by the constant visuals of ancient, traditional methods of motherhood in action. While pregnancy, labour, and breastfeeding may be some of the most natural things in the world, they are still things we need to learn about, need guidance with, and support while we engage in them. I thought it hurt because I failed to do it right - I doubted myself. Not what I needed to be thinking mere hours after the most incredible and intense moment of my life. Here I sat holding these beautiful little girls and feeling that I was doing something wrong. To a certain extent I'd fallen victim to the popular ideal of motherhood - all pretty and clean and sanitary and easy. But it's not - and therein lies a lot of the joy. It's a challenge and a lot of hard work, and it often hurts. But that's how we know we're alive, isn't it? I learnt I really was doing everything right - it hurt because my lovely little newborns were so well-baked they had the sucking strength of 3 month old babies. And there were two of the little blighters! No wonder my nipples cracked. Thanks to the consultant I also learnt some tricks and tips to alleviate the discomfit and help the healing. And I realised that thinking I knew what I was doing after reading a book was nothing compared to having other women, such as my mother and the consultant, tell me I was doing it right. It still hurt, but knowing that was natural, and that most women experience it, and why, made it less important. Suddenly I found myself lost in the wonder of my daughter, the discomfit a distant concern as I listened to Erin snuffling. There's this idea that labour is the painful bit. It is, but it's not the only one - and not necessarily even the most painful. Being a parent is a juggling act of many emotions, many sensations. And in a way I don't think childbirth is the end of labour, but rather the beginning. |
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