I Was a Slightly Obsessed Breastfeeding Crazy Woman

[caption id="attachment_3368" align="aligncenter" width="550" caption="Photo by I Spy Photography"][/caption]

Once upon a time my boobs were working their magic making milk to feed my baby and I became a slightly obsessed breastfeeding nut. There’s something about the act that absorbs you and makes you care or think about nothing else in the entire world.

Case in point. I joined the Facebook group, Nevada Breastfeeds. Their profile picture is a very intimate breastfeeding boob shot. My sister-in-law left me a comment via Facebook about how she was shocked and appalled when she clicked on the image to see what it was. I became a hysterical mad woman proclaiming to my husband, “how dare she say that?! Doesn’t she know that’s me right now? That’s MY LIFE!”

When I was working and the office was doing some shuffling they were unaware they were taking away the only private room for pumping. Shocked and appalled they had no future plans for a new place to pump, I went into that CEO’s office and announced that I and another woman use that room to pump and they best be getting us a new one. Mind you, this was after weeks of gossiping about how terrible they were to not think about me, a breast feeding mother in an office of 40 employees.

It’s not just the woman that loses their mind about the business of breast feeding either. It happens to the innocent husband too. While staying at a family friend’s house I disappeared for 30 minutes into a bedroom where I was pumping. The family friend asked Jake, “where’s Lauren?” “Oh, she’s pumping breast milk,” he replied. “Dude, you could’ve just said that she’s in the bedroom,” was the response he got.

Combine this with toting around bottles of breastmilk, putting it in people’s fridges and leaving the room to go pump every 3 hours it’s no surprise we became so nonchalant about the whole ordeal.

I was prepared for the baby to consume our life.  I was not, however, prepared for the breastfeeding bubble that swallowed us whole for an entire year. Looking back now, months after stopping breastfeeding all I can think is how silly it was and thank the heavens above we have such understanding friends and family who put up with all the talk about my breasts, their milk and a breast pump.

Did you develop a slightly crazed attitude while breastfeeding?

The End of Our Breast-Feeding Journey

Sunday marked the end of our breastfeeding journey. You know what the weird thing is? I had a brief moment of sadness.

Sure I’ve hated every last minute of pumping: The stress that accompanies milk supply issues, taking three fenugreek pills three times a day, having to excuse myself from fun social situations to sit alone in a room with a pump.  But at the end of the day, my baby girl needed that milk and depended on me to make it for her. And I couldn’t help but feel important.

As silly as it seems, when Gwyneth finally gave into the whole milk (by the way we wound up mixing it with the breast milk and within days she was weaned) I couldn’t help but feel mixed emotions. Joyful that the pumping is over but a little sad that as disconnected as it may be, we’re not going to have that connection of breast milk.

With that being said it was a fleeting moment of sadness that has already dissipated as I pack away the pump supplies and return the rental pump. It’s really hard not to pull an Office Space beating of the old pump, but I digress. We made it to one year and 16 days and I can bookmark it as an experience I’ll never forget. Neither will anyone who actually got the experience of witnessing me pumping or everyone who's heard me whine and talk about "pumping." I'm glad that won't be a part of my everyday vocabulary any longer and I'm sure our family and friends are too.

 

Why Not Formula?

After reading our breast-feeding story I'm sure some of you are wondering, "why didn't they just use formula?" 

I can plain and simply tell you one simple reason: cost.

We had planned on breast-feeding since it was for all intents and purposes, free. All the other benefits were mere bonuses. It was even more of a great plan seeing as I got laid off when the baby was five months old.

I had no real passion or experience in regards to breast-feeding.  The closest I had come to it was a girlfriend who had a baby three months before me. I didn't even take the breast-feeding preparation class. Maybe that's where we went wrong? If only I had taken the class!

This got me to thinking about the ultimate cost of pumping. The equipment itself didn't come cheap ($250) and it seemed as if we were constantly having to purchase something for it throughout the year. Not to mention that towards the end we wound up renting a hospital grade pump since I used mine beyond its limitations.

I wrote it all down to compare to the price formula would've cost.

Cost           Supplies
$239         Medela Pump And Style Breast Pump
$108        Lactina Select Hospital Grade Pump Rental - 2 months
$10           Replacement tubing
$20           Replacement membranes x 3
$10           Replacement valves
$30          Pump Bra
$100        Nursing Tank Tops x 5
$517  Total cost of excusively pumping

From the research I did (a la Google) it looks like formula on average costs $1500-$2000 for the first year.

So there you have it ladies and gentleman, it was cheaper. I can now sleep a little better because that was a legitimate concern of mine. Imagine! A year of my life spent slaving over breast milk under the notion that formula would be more expensive to have it not be? I am proud to say this is not the case.

Sweet dreams!

 

We Kept on Trying and it Never Clicked {Our Breast-Feeding Journey}

I’ve been quite reserved when discussing breast-feeding because, lets face it, breastfeeding is kind of weird. Not to mention that it’s not everyone’s cup of tea to read about my boobs. But as Gwyneth and I celebrate making it through an entire year of this weird (but natural) phenomenon I can’t help but feel the need to share our story. So if reading about my boobs weirds you out, I urge you to not click through and I’ll see you tomorrow. But if you’re interested in hearing an inspirational breast-feeding story, I’ll see you after the jump.

On Weaning

Over the weekend we decided to buckle down and wean the baby off breastmilk. We had discussed what the process should look like with our pediatrician earlier that week. “Most kids do fine cold turkey,” he said. Jake and I looked at each other and thought, “those probably aren’t the kids in the 5^th percentile for weight who refuse to breastfeed.”

And boy were we right.

To no surprise Gwyneth refuses whole milk. We learned this when she was given tastes throughout the week leading up to the “milkocaplyse.” She takes a sip, gives it time enough to linger in her mouth only to realize that she has been tricked. A look of disgust and overdramatic gagging and the apparatus with which the imposter was delivered is tossed aside.

So we decided she’d have to get used to it whether she likes it or not. We rolled up our sleeves and gave it everything we’ve got. We used every single different sippy cup, straw cup, bottle and cup in our ammo. We tried adding banana and vanilla extract to it, we even gave her some 1%. By the end of the day we gave in and provided her with the nectar of the gods, a sippy cup filled with warmed breastmilk.

To which she refused.

She wasn’t about to be fooled again into drinking some cow’s milk bullcrap.

And so, we all went to bed defeated. Word on the street is that the process can take weeks. Have you ever tried googling “how to wean your baby off breastmilk?” Don’t, it’s not helpful and it just makes you feel like a bad parent for not wanting to breastfeed your child for entirely too long. All I know is that the poor thing won’t have a choice in a few day’s or week’s time.

But we will soldier on and bookmark this in our parenting adventure/torment documentary we’re so grateful to be a part of. And I’m sure one glorious day Gwyneth will get the hint that her mother won’t be making her milk any longer. I just hope it’s sooner than later.

I feel Pretty, Oh So Pretty

The other day I felt pretty. You know when you hair curls and frizzes in just the right way, your new shirt from Banana Republic looks just right and the world can’t stop you? Like that.

I saw myself in a photo the other day and noticed I looked a little thinner than usual. I stepped on a scale to confirm my suspicions, 27 pounds lighter than my weight pre-baby. No, I don’t mean, 27 pounds lost from pregnancy.  I mean, in addition to the pregnancy weight. I have no room to brag about this weight loss since sitting on the couch or in front of a computer stuffing my face with snacks all day does not constitute bragging. But feeling good about myself does.

I was prepared for having a baby to wreck havoc on my body. I was ready to accept the mom body as a nice excuse for the extra pounds I had put on working at Starbucks. I ate and drank 1,000-calorie beverages and pastries without abandon and became the heaviest I’ve ever been.

Then I got pregnant and lost my mind about my body issues. I cried and cried because I couldn’t find clothes (specifically bras, I mean my god, they didn’t sell my size in the maternity stores!). I thought life would never be right again. And then my body did something miraculous. It made a baby and went back to normal. Just like that.

I’ve never been more proud of it. Even in those post-partum days when my belly was reminiscent of a deflated balloon, I loved every inch of my body. It produced life and continued to nurture it.

I can attribute my weight loss to a great many things (not working at Starbucks, breastfeeding) but in my heart I’d like to think the self-acceptance and value I’ve placed on it gave it the legs to do what it needed to do.

So today, as I get all full of myself and think, “You look good!” I hope this body of mine hears its praise. A woman’s body is a wondrous thing. It is capable of the most miraculous task of all, human creation, and that alone deserves all the praise in the world.

Saying Goodbye To The Breast Pump

With Gwen’s first birthday comes a lot of excitement around these parts. January 14^th represents a day of freedom from the bonds of the breast pump for me. A day I wasn’t quite sure I was going to make it to, a day that I have only dreamed about for the past year.

You see, as I’ve said before and whined about plenty, I’ve been strapping into a milking machine 3 to 4 -half hour (sometimes hour) intervals throughout the day. When she was a newborn and I was panic-stricken and terrified I was pumping 8-10 times which included late night/early sessions.  So you can see where my clear hatred for this machine lies.

When it comes time to wean that little girl, you will probably hear a joyous cheer radiating from the Sunderland household. It means no washing pump parts multiple times a day, not having to dress appropriately for pumping (read, nursing tank tops), not having to worry about milk expiring, not having to wash bottles and lids, not having to shut the blinds because I’m running around the house with no shirt on. I could go on, but I think I just crossed a line that can't be undone.

I feel like a kid waiting for summer break to start, the clock slowly ticking until I can burst forth through the doors, breast pump in hand wandering around confused about what to do with all my newfound free time. Can't wait!

TV as a Babysitter

Today I woke up to rain tapping against our bedroom window.As I snuggled up under the covers I was ever so rudely interrupted by Sir Sunderland’sdaily wake up call.

You see, I started waking up an hour earlier in the morningto squeak in a baby-free pump. This is after months of trying to figure out howto entertain the baby for a half an hour in the morning while she demandsattention.

I thought I had it all figured out. She will watch TV (gasp!). Allow me to explain the horror of this decision. We decided that we’d prefer she didn’t watch TV for as long as possible. This was decided after we put on Yo Gabba Gabba for our curiosity’s sake and watched her turn into a zombie at the ripe age of 3 months.

As I sat theretrying to pump and TV being the only thing to take her mind off the fact I wasn’tpaying attention to her, I tricked myself into believing that breastmilk trumps TV. Of course, it’s not so bad since she’s getting the  superpowers from breast milk, right?  What's a little TV going to hurt?So I resigned to the fact that wewould watch some show made for babies for half an hour each morning.

Then one night Sir Sunderland nonchalantly says, “well youcould just wake up earlier and do it before she wakes up.” We laughed, thenlooked at each other with the intensity of a man who’s just discovered gold. Eureka!

I now wake up with Sir Sunderland in the morning andget the job done in the wee hours of the morning before the baby wakes up. Nowinstead of watching crappy TV and preemptively creating a zombie child, we sitand eat breakfast together. Her relaxing on the boppy and me enjoying my bowlof frosted shredded mini-wheats.And the best part of the entire deal? We’reawake in time to give Daddy kisses as he leaves for work.

 

TV as a Babysitter

Today I woke up to rain tapping against our bedroom window. As I snuggled up under the covers I was ever so rudely interrupted by Sir Sunderland’s daily wake up call.

You see, I started waking up an hour earlier in the morning to squeak in a baby-free pump. This is after months of trying to figure out how to entertain the baby for a half an hour in the morning while she demands attention.

I thought I had it all figured out. She will watch TV (gasp!). Allow me to explain the horror of this decision. We decided that we’d prefer she didn’t watch TV for as long as possible. This was decided after we put on Yo Gabba Gabba for our curiosity’s sake and watched her turn into a zombie at the ripe age of 3 months. 

As I sat there trying to pump and TV being the only thing to take her mind off the fact I wasn’t paying attention to her, I tricked myself into believing that breast milk trumps TV. Of course, it’s not so bad since she’s getting the  superpowers from breast milk, right?  What's a little TV going to hurt?

So I resigned to the fact that we would watch some show made for babies for half an hour each morning.

Then one night Sir Sunderland nonchalantly says, “well you could just wake up earlier and do it before she wakes up.” We laughed, then looked at each other with the intensity of a man who’s just discovered gold. Eureka!

I now wake up with Sir Sunderland in the morning and get the job done in the wee hours of the morning before the baby wakes up.

 Now instead of watching crappy TV and preemptively creating a zombie child, we sit and eat breakfast together. Her relaxing on the boppy and me enjoying my bowl of frosted shredded mini-wheats.

And the best part of the entire deal? We’re awake in time to give Daddy kisses as he leaves for work. 

Pummping, How I Hate Thee

For seven months I have been strapping myself to a machine for four to six 30 minute intervals per day. Most days, this isn't a big deal. Some days it's a struggle.

Like the day I complained for the sixth time how sick I was of pumping and  Sir Sunderland responded how equally sick of hearing my complaints he was.  I made a mental note to stop whining and carry on.  But sometimes it gets the best of me, like this week.  The burden of pumping seemed to weigh heavily on my day to day tasks ending up in a mini break down of sorts.

It's not a hard task, which I think makes it that much harder to understand why I despise it as much as I do. To an outsider it seems like a great excuse to take a break, sit on the couch and hang out at the computer for awhile.  But to me, it's boring, tedious and makes me want to scream.

It is something keeping me from doing what I want. Tonight it was not finishing that last glass of champagne, tomorrow it will be locking myself in a room while  my girlfriends continue crafting,  and the day after that it'll be something else .  There is always something better I could be doing and sometimes it just plain sucks to be reminded, like tonight.

After putting the baby to bed I was ready to abandon all household chores and call it an early summer night. You know, the kind where you crawl into bed covered with just a sheet as the cool summer breeze wafts through the window, the sun is still shining, unicorns galloping by.

But wait! What's that?  You can't do any of that because you have to pump. 

So I did what any grown woman would do.  I threw a temper tantrum, sulked, then pumped with an anger so deep I fear the baby might taste it in the morning.

I'll of course be happy I did it come tomorrow  but for now I'd like to be  angry at the stupid machine that has ruled my life for the last seven months.

What happens when the camera and pump supplies are left unattended....

 

The Latest Dieting Technique

After the baby was born, my parents stayed to help out which means they did our grocery shopping. That meant a pantry stocked full of my comfort foods. You know,  Swiss cake rolls, que bueno nacho cheese (you know, the giant tub) fruits and vegetables and oh god, eclairs. Needless to say, I wasn't making any attempt at losing baby weight. I was, however, pumping 8 times a day and sure enough,  the baby weight disappeared.

you thought this was going to be a booby pic, huh?

Here we are, 5 months and 5 lbs below my pre-preggers weight. And you know what? Other than a casual walk here and there the only exercise I've done is searching for workout videos on Netflix (and watching them for 5 minutes) from my couch.

There's an explanation and it comes in the form of booby juice (yes, I just wrote that).  Apparently breastfeeding burns 500 calories a day. Hells yes.

After my year sentence  is up, maybe I'll just continue to pump instead of exercising. Lord knows it's easier than jogging.

GOTCHA!

The Latest Dieting Technique

After the baby was born, my parents stayed to help out which means they did our grocery shopping. That meant a pantry stocked full of my comfort foods. You know,  Swiss cake rolls, que bueno nacho cheese (you know, the giant tub) fruits and vegetables and oh god, eclairs. Needless to say, I wasn't making any attempt at losing baby weight. I was, however, pumping 8 times a day and sure enough,  the baby weight disappeared.

you thought this was going to be a booby pic, huh?

Here we are, 5 months and 5 lbs below my pre-preggers weight. And you know what? Other than a casual walk here and there the only exercise I've done is searching for workout videos on Netflix (and watching them for 5 minutes) from my couch.

There's an explanation and it comes in the form of booby juice (yes, I just wrote that).  Apparently breastfeeding burns 500 calories a day. Hells yes.

After my year sentence  is up, maybe I'll just continue to pump instead of exercising. Lord knows it's easier than jogging.

GOTCHA!

I Need to Get Out More

Six Weeks of maternity leave. This was what I'd been looking forward to for months. It was like a get out of work free card that I couldn't wait to cash in. After I hit the point in my pregnancy when Gwyneth was officially a full term baby, I would lie in bed, stressed about work, wishing and hoping to go into labor just to get out of the hell that awaited me the next day.

Then Gwyneth came and three weeks in, I've come to realize that this whole maternity leave isn't a vacation. My days are filled with non-stop feedings, pumpings and trying to squeak in a nap. It's not glamorous and can drive a girl insane.

Yesterday my girlfriend came over. Our first visitor in a week. Due to our breastfeeding issues, it was entirely too stressful for me to have guests, so we closed ourselves off. I wasn't aware of how much I needed outside attention until I was talking to my girlfriend and every sentence out of mouth began with "at breastfeeding support group...." It's the only thing I've done in the past three weeks. Breastfeeding support group, breastfeeding consultations and sitting at home breastfeeding.  

I don't want to become that weird woman who is all passionate and slightly crazy about breastfeeding. I think it's great and all, but shoot. It's always kind of creeped me out, especially when you meet a woman feeding a 2 year old. Eeek. You know who I'm talking about.

Last night, as Sir Sunderland and I were talking and my sentence began with "at breastfeeding support...." Sir Sunderland ever so kindly mentioned that I should call my girlfriends, invite them over. If I didn't he would. So yesterday, I was lucky enough to have a friend who popped on over for a drink and some much needed company. It was nice to have a grown up conversation not centered around breastfeeding and now I can get back on the road of "non-creepy-breastfeeding-obsessed Motherhood."

I Need to Get Out More

Six Weeks of maternity leave. This was what I'd been looking forward to for months. It was like a get out of work free card that I couldn't wait to cash in. After I hit the point in my pregnancy when Gwyneth was officially a full term baby, I would lie in bed, stressed about work, wishing and hoping to go into labor just to get out of the hell that awaited me the next day.

Then Gwyneth came and three weeks in, I've come to realize that this whole maternity leave isn't a vacation. My days are filled with non-stop feedings, pumpings and trying to squeak in a nap. It's not glamorous and can drive a girl insane.

Yesterday my girlfriend came over. Our first visitor in a week. Due to our breastfeeding issues, it was entirely too stressful for me to have guests, so we closed ourselves off. I wasn't aware of how much I needed outside attention until I was talking to my girlfriend and every sentence out of mouth began with "at breastfeeding support group...." It's the only thing I've done in the past three weeks. Breastfeeding support group, breastfeeding consultations and sitting at home breastfeeding.  

I don't want to become that weird woman who is all passionate and slightly crazy about breastfeeding. I think it's great and all, but shoot. It's always kind of creeped me out, especially when you meet a woman feeding a 2 year old. Eeek. You know who I'm talking about.

Last night, as Sir Sunderland and I were talking and my sentence began with "at breastfeeding support...." Sir Sunderland ever so kindly mentioned that I should call my girlfriends, invite them over. If I didn't he would. So yesterday, I was lucky enough to have a friend who popped on over for a drink and some much needed company. It was nice to have a grown up conversation not centered around breastfeeding and now I can get back on the road of "non-creepy-breastfeeding-obsessed Motherhood."

Breastfeeding Ain't So Natural

So, did you know that breastfeeding can be a living nightmare? Yup, turns out it can and that it happens a lot and nobody really talks about it. You get so wrapped up in the pregnancy and birth, it's easy to bypass breastfeeding and lets face it, how can you plan for your child not nursing properly? It's something, I thought was an innate skill that babies pop out of the womb knowing how to do.  This is so not true. So not true that they have nurses at the hospital, a private business and support groups dedicated to the soul purpose of helping Moms who are breasfeeding.

Pediatricians, as we've experienced, are quick to tell Moms that they must be having problems because they aren't making enough milk and jump at the chance to tell them to supplement with formula. Did you now that only 5% of moms are literally not able to make the milk? That means 95% of women can make the milk their baby needs, but their doctors tell them otherwise. 

Lucky for me, I had a uber-supportive husband and I went to the support group at the hospital until I was finally told that they couldn't help me, we needed private help. Now, instead of sitting in a group of women, whipping my boob out to show everyone how my daughter screams, I got to pay someone to sit and watch me wrangle my screaming/starving infant attempt to nurse my child.

At first I was hesitant to get help, due to the sheer cost. It didn't come cheap. But it was the best decision we could've ever made. Not only was it the help with nursing, but it was someone to tell me that it's okay to give my daughter breastmilk from a bottle, how to increase my supply but most importantly to teach me that it's not a battle of the wills, she is just a baby who is trying to eat. Feeding times are no longer anxiety-ridden, tear filled endless boughts of despair. Things aren't fixed, by any means, but we're making more progress and Gwyneth is finally gaining weight.

There were and still are times when I think I should throw in the towel and just give her the formula. I was a formula-fed baby and, all things considered, I think I turned out alright. So what is it that keeps me on this path of time consuming, life altering hard work? To begin with, we hadn't planned on formula. It seemed silly to buy something that my body can provide free of cost, pre-mixed and pre-warmed. It made sense back when it seemed so easy. Now it is more a preference. We've given her  formula once or twice and to be honest, it stinks, stains her clothes and she seems to have issues the next day. So to make her tiny, precious life a little easier, I will sit with a crazy human milking machine for eight 10 minute sessions out of my day to give her what she needs.  Until then, we will practice and who knows, maybe she'll finally learn how to nurse.

Links for help:
Starfish Lactation
La Leche League