Before I had the Bear, I'd never really given breastfeeding much thought. Sure, I'd laughed along at the NCT breastfeeding class as we all held baby dolls to our bosoms, I'd always planned to "give it a go". Likewise I felt strongly that it wasn't something I would definitely do - I remember telling my husband that no-one should feel compelled to breastfeed, that breast wasn't always best for some women, that some women simply could not breastfeed, much as they might like to. Even if I did do it, I assumed it would probably just be for a couple of months, to give the baby "the best start in life" and then, well, I'd not really thought much more about it.
My memories now of the first 24 hours after the caesarean are really hazy - I can remember not being able to move as the spinal anaesthetic hadn't worn off, although my feet were itching like crazy. I remember my baby being wrapped up and popped in a plastic basin thing by the side of my bed. I remember being asked about my "loss" a disconcerting number of times. I don't really remember much about trying to feed him - just that I'd put his mouth to my boob, he'd suck and snuffle a bit then go to sleep. Seemed straight forward enough. End of.
When we moved to the normal delivery ward the next day, I seem to recall having my boob(s) out pretty much all the time, trying to get it right. I felt sore, but assumed this was just the normal bit of my nips having to toughen up - after all I'm sure someone told me that rubbing them with wire wool would be good preparation for feeding (note to friend: it is not!). A nice healthcare assistant came and showed me with a knitted boob what the mechanics were, so I got a tick to say I'd had "breastfeeding education". I remember sneakily reading my notes and feeling told off when I saw "baby has been at the breast all day". It was getting pretty uncomfortable by this time, but the nurses told me "the sensation should be one of pulling" but that it looked like I was getting it right. I kept on trying - and my mum told me about ten thousand times "what is the most natural thing in the world feels very unnatural". I also passed the milestone of flashing my boobs at my father in law (who didn't bat an eyelid, bless him).
After we came home (in which time I became convinced I had developed rapid cycling bipolar disorder for the first 48 hours) I tried again and again, and it hurt more and more. I honestly felt like my nipples were being flayed from my body. Why wasn't this working? The baby and I took it in turns to cry. ALOT. What had I done? Did I even want a baby? I felt like I was letting my baby and my husband down. In desperation I rang the NCT breastfeeding helpline and spoke to a wonderfully kind woman who told me about biological nurturing, in between reducing me to tears and being very kind and practical. This helped a bit, but it still hurt A LOT. I just couldn't work out what was going wrong.
Finally, five days postpartum, I went to a breastfeeding support clinic in St Davids hospital, Canton. Despite struggling around with the baby in his massive car seat five days after abdominal surgery, going in the wrong entrance and bursting into tears every five seconds, I finally found the clinic. Astonishingly (although what I expected I have no idea) it was full of women breastfeeding their babies. No one was crying (apart from me). There was an air of tranquillity about the place. I nearly collapsed. Fortunately, one of the advisers noticed almost immediately brought me a strong cup of tea. She also gave me a massive cuddle. I think it was then that I realised I'd found where the Bear and I needed to be. Having someone watch as I latched him on, giving me commentary about positioning and attachment, was exactly what we needed.
Over the next two days, the wonderful women from the clinic called out to see us at home. They patiently explained again about getting the latch right, how to feed lying down, how to keep unwanted visitors at bay. By the time the Bear was a week old a miracle had happened - it didn't hurt any more! In fact sometimes it was, ewwww, nice! When he was weighed, he'd only lost 6% of his birth weight. I felt like a world breastfeeding champion.
Since those difficult few days, I've completely changed my mind about breast feeding. I'd say it has become the single most important thing I do. As I've returned to work, and he's mastering new skills (crawling, cruising...) our feeding times are moments of calm and connection. I wouldn't give them up for anything, and I have a thriving, bouncy 10 month old who seems keen on keeping going too.
Thank you boobies, for growing my boy. And thank you breastfeeding supporters - I honestly could not have continued without you.
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