For my daughters, who made me sit still

diet coke and a pizza please - 27 Jan 18

For my daughters, who have taught me the art of sitting still, patience and perseverance. Though I still struggle!

And just like that, it’s over. And unlike with your sister, who lost interest over time and helped me see what was coming and prepare myself for it, you got a stinking cold, couldn’t breathe whilst you fed and just stopped.

And I’m sad. I’ve cried about it. And although many times during feeding both of you, I’d have given anything for it to be over. Now it is. And I’m bereft.

Juliette, you were not a ‘natural feeder’ whatever that is. After your long, arduous birth, you did not want to latch on. I let a random health care assistant express colostrum out of my breast whilst cuddling you. I syringe fed you colostrum for days and wondered what was happening as it changed in my fingers from yellow to white, when my milk came in.

I cried with frustration and fear when we came home and you still wouldn’t latch. And was terrified that I couldn’t feed you the way that I wanted to, the way that I assumed I would be able to. My saviour came in the form of my neighbour who taught me that you wouldn’t latch because you weren’t hungry; full of colostrum from the syringe. She sat with me for hours until you were bobbing around searching for the nipple. I’ve never forgotten how grateful I was for her kindness.

The time I stormed from the room when you wanted to non stop feed, yelling at my husband to give you a bottle when we didn’t even have one in the house. After screaming into my pillow, I calmed down within minutes, took you back in my arms, carried on.

The cluster feeding. What the actual fuck is this torture? The best kept breast feeding secret of all. When all women think ‘this can’t be right, they can’t be getting any milk, I’ve not got enough milk, I must need formula’. But actually it is the genius of human nature; your baby and your body responding to each other as they need to.

Then, when you were only 5 months old; I found a lump, and it didn’t go. I went to the Doctor feeling silly, that they would laugh me out of there – of course you’ve got lumpy breasts; you’re breast feeding. But they didn’t. They sent me to a breast clinic. Within 10 days. Where again I thought they would think me a time waster. But they didn’t. They biopsied me. And I looked down half way through as I felt warm milk running down my breast, to see that it was red, it was blood. And I was terrified that I would die and leave you, just when I had everything I’d ever wanted. But I was lucky, and 4 months later I married your dad.

And gradually you weaned yourself off and I was sad, but proud that you’d stopped on your own terms, that we’d made it that far.

Now you Emmeline, were a ‘natural feeder’ whatever that is. In the delivery room you were rooting around for the nipple and got right on there and had a feed before I’d had my stitches done!

One of my Mum friends had become a breast feeding advisor by now and was on hand to support me from the day I came home. And actually, she was probably what made the difference. Made it easier. The number of questions she has answered, advice she has given me. Second time around I definitely didn’t need less support.

But I was less afraid with you. When we had the difficult latching, the sore nipples, the cluster feeding, I hunkered down knowing that this was fine, that I could do it. I watched some quality Netflix – the crown, Sherlock, orange is the new black. And the hours spent feeding at night were actually good!

I also knew to cherish the feeding whilst it lasted, that it wouldn’t last forever. Once you were feeding less than a million hours a day, I put the iPad and phone away and watched your gorgeous face. I hired a photographer to try and capture ‘that view’. And she did, but not ‘that feeling’.

Unbelievably, having never had it before, 10 months in I got mastitis. Gutted. It took 2 lots of antibiotics to clear it.

When you were 11 months, daddy turned 40 and we went to New York for a week! It was the bomb! No kids in the party town of the world. I’d gone armed with my electric breast pump to keep my supply up whilst we were apart, to find that it didn’t work there. What could’ve been a nightmare became amusing as we found an awesome shop ‘yummy mummy’ a walk away from the apartment through Central Park. I hired a hospital grade double pump which made pumping a pleasure compared to my second hand medela! When I got home, you faltered and I thought I’d blown it, but a few feeds in and we were back to normal.

And to now. You’re 14 months, just like your sister was, and you’re done. You have given me a few little bites to make yourself clear. And now you just look quizzically at me, like we never did breastfeeding at all.

And you’re our last child, so this crazy experience is over. What has been one of the hardest aspects of motherhood has ended, and instead of being glad, thinking of the freedom I can have, of the normal bras, of getting my breasts back. I’m looking through rose tinted glasses, and I’m sad. And that is why I did it twice and would’ve done it again. Nature very cleverly floods you with the happy hormones when you feed, so in spite of it all, you still want to do it. And I know that if you choose to have children and if you choose to breastfeed them, you’ll have all these highs and lows to come.

diet coke and a pizza please

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