In the wake of “world breastfeeding week,” I’d just like to offer a word on lactation consultants. And tongue ties. And the power of patience and the passage of time.
When I had our son 4 years ago, he immediately latched, no problem. My milk came in, and he was exclusively breastfed for 12 full months. He never had a drop of formula.
Naturally, I made the mistake of assuming (you know what they say about when you “ass-u-me” things) that since I had done it once, I’d be able to do it again. It would be like riding a bike—that’s what I kept telling myself.
Wrong!
When our youngest daughter was born in April, I of course had all of the ambition to breastfeed for a full 12 months, just as I had done for our son, and just as my wife had done for our daughter. We got off to a good start– she immediately latched in the hospital, and for the first 24 hours of life it was smooth sailing.
But then, on day 2 of life, it’s like she suddenly forgot how to latch! And it was like my nipples suddenly decided to revolt!
The two hospitalist lactation consultants, and my wife, who is a pediatrician, all cringed when they saw the state of my nipples: fire-engine red, and blistered, and perfectly matching the color of my eyes from all the crying I had done because of the stress and physical pain of her not latching. I was in a “breastfeeding friendly” hospital, which suddenly seemed more like a “breastfeeding scary” hospital because everyone was obsessing over my breasts. They recommended various techniques to try to work on our daughter’s latch, all of which I tried. They recommended a soft-feeder, to avoid nipple confusion, which we also tried. They recommended pumping every 2 hours, to bring in my milk. And ultimately, they recommended that I quit for a few days, to let my nipples heal. The final straw was when, to my chagrin, they recommended that we supplement with formula, to get her weight back up.
Quit breastfeeding?? Never. For some reason, I decided to make breastfeeding our new little baby my personal Mount Everest. I WOULD make this happen, if it was the last thing I did.
And so, we were discharged from the hospital. Our homecoming was met with another visit from a 3rd lactation consultant, who told me the same thing: to let my nipples heal. She said to me, “You know, I feel like you’d give me your right arm if I told you that’s what it would take to help her,” to which I promptly replied, stone-faced and serious, “Absolutely.” (That should have been a red flag to my inner self that I was taking things a bit far—I wasn’t even able to appreciate someone trying to make light of the situation.) While she commended my dedication, she made the point of telling me that I needed to be healthy myself, and that the stress wasn’t helping my milk come in, or helping our sweet baby girl latch better.
Was she right? Absolutely. Was I truly listening to a word she said? Nope. I was in full-on-Mount-Everest-Climbing-mode.
And so, at the age of 7 days old, continuing my search for a magic solution, we took the steps to have our daughter evaluated for a tongue tie. Ultimately, the dentist we were referred to (a specialist in pediatric frenulectomies) was amazing, and gave us the solid advice that our daughter didn’t necessarily need a frenulectomy. He said that, in his opinion, it might not improve my breastfeeding outcome substantially.
It was a turning point for me—until that moment, I had firmly believed that there had to be a “solution” out there—that there were magic techniques a lactation consultant could teach me, or that a frenulectomy to correct a tongue tie would be the magic fix. It was our decision about what to do—proceed with the frenulectomy in hopes that it provided some benefit, or “let some more time pass,” and come back if things didn’t improve.
Let more time pass. Not the magic fix I was desperately searching for, but magic words nonetheless. Because you know what ultimately happened? We let more time pass. We were able to drop the supplemental formula. I let her grow. I let her practice. I let her keep trying. I kept pumping every 2 hours to ensure I kept up my supply. I endured painful sessions with her, trying to help her figure it out. I physically toughened up (i.e.- my boobs returned to a normal pinkish hue instead of fire engine red). I mentally toughened up (i.e.- I told my type-A self that I needed to be patient). And I set a deadline—if we weren’t into a good latching/breastfeeding groove by the time she was 6 weeks old, I would continue pumping, but I would “give up” on the latch.
And somehow, magically, at week 5, she got the hang of it. Suddenly the world seemed like it was full of sunshine and roses again. Ever since week 5, we’ve had a great breastfeeding relationship that has continued even now that I’m a solid month into being back at work.
The point is—sometimes there is no magic fix. Sometimes you just need to be patient, which is one of the hardest things in the world. Have faith in yourself. And have faith in your baby. They need to grow and practice, too. And at the end of the day, there’s no need to do what I did and make it into your own personal Mount Everest—in hindsight, I don’t think I was particularly mentally healthy during those first 5 weeks. And hey, if it doesn’t work out for you and baby, that’s okay too—mom’s mental and physical health should always come first, because a healthy mom is what a baby TRULY needs most.
~The Forgotten Trimester~ 