Category: Being Mom

My Son Hates Breasts

Phew! I’m still a Mom! I keep waiting for Mike’s REAL Mom to come pick him up. But alas, that’s me and he is still here in all his snugly glory.  We had a huge win the other day at his 2 week appointment – he SURPASSED his birth weight an in less than a week we chunked him up from 7lbs 4 oz to 8lbs 12 oz. How did we do that? Not breastfeeding.

Here’s the thing. When companies claim things about their products that are not true, they get sued. I wish there was someone I could sue for marketing breastfeeding as this:

Beautiful right? Happy baby, happy mama? I am sure it is like this for a lot of mamas and babies (I do question her spit up and stain free white robe though). It was kinda like this for me in the hospital; minus a good latch, add incredibly sore nipples. Mike even tried to latch on my face while they were sewing me up! But hey, breastfeeding is natural right? We’ll work it out. In fact, at the hospital we learned how to supplement formula and Mike was in HEAVEN. Suddenly he didn’t have to work too hard for food. Which ironically, I don’t like to do either. I can’t be bothered with chicken bones or breaking open my own crabs.

Flash forward to our first night home. Here is what my breastfeeding experience looked like:

Back arching, mouth open, hands flaying, legs kicking … and mama crying. Every. Single. Time. The next day we went to our pediatrician to meet with the lactation consultant and Mike was still not gaining weight. But we worked on a scheduled plan, made an appointment for the next day with a different consultant and went home to try again. And by try, I mean cry for half an hour and give a bottle. Every. Single. Time.

The next day, we were back at the lactation consultant’s office and she noticed I had … wait for it … small nipples. Insert a flash of hope! The answer to my prayers! A quick fix! I got a nipple shield and Mike seemed moderately interested. Until we got home. 3 days and nights of screaming and crying to be followed by formula.

3 days later, we were BACK at the doctor’s office for a weight check and to see the lactation consultant. This time, I cried. She was so nice and caring about the situation. She made great points like breastfeeding has to be right for both mama and baby and clearly it wasn’t working for us. She also mentioned that it is to the point where Mike is so frustrated he freaks out at the sight of my breasts.  My breasts scare my son.

And Mike still wasn’t to his birth weight, so breastfeeding REALLY wasn’t working for him.  When Plan A doesn’t work, go to Plan B. When Plan B is a wash, go to Plan C.  Plan C for us was to be a formula family and supplement with a little pumped breast milk, which I call his multi-vitamin.

And guess what? No more tears. No more dreading feeding time. S. is able to take part in a stress free feeding experience. Sure there are a lot more bottles to wash and formula to buy (which is insanely expensive).

The strange thing is I am not sure why breastfeeding was so important to me. I always said if it works great, if not, that’s fine too. It’s about the baby being fed, not about me. But when it came down to it, it was heartbreaking that things weren’t working. A few days have gone by and a little Zoloft eased the blow (more on that later) and we are happy with the situation and snagging all the free formula samples we can.