A mother’s breastfeeding journey
As this strange Covid-restricted year comes to a close, I am mindful of how my initial goal to breastfeed baby for at least a first year is nearing its end as well, and what that means.
My internet research had taught me that my uterus, from having expanded to the size of a large pumpkin, would slowly shrink back to the size of a pear as I continued breastfeeding. Every session during those first days would trigger it to further contract to its original size. Each convulsion were memories of the earthquake of birth.
Information and frustration
As I entered motherhood, I did not yet belong to a mommy community and had to search for information on my own. I did have a handful of mom friends and confidantes, including my own mom, to turn to for tips. But expat life had also left my husband and I fairly isolated, with Mom a world away. I refreshed some hazy knowledge I had about colostrum and its thick color and learned more about how it wasn’t plentiful in volume, but rich in antibodies and essential as an immune booster for baby. I learned about how an infant needed this “first milk” for the initial days of life.
Soon, I had to research my way through the world of breast pumps, finding out about Medela, Lansinoh and Haakaa and the difference between hand and electric pumps and milk collectors.
The frustration that came with baby’s growth spurt came next. Our Wochenbett Hebamme, or postnatal midwife, had warned us that baby was about to have a growth spurt within those first fifty days of life. And true enough, we reached the point that baby was on the boob every hour, on the hour. It was frustrating for me to feel like an open milk buffet with barely any respite. I wanted a moment to myself, for someone so small not to need me so terribly all the time. This I felt, despite my having waited for baby for eight years.
Varying cultural opinions on breastfeeding
Showing one’s breasts or nipples to strangers was not a thing in Manila, the city that birthed and raised me. Such an act would be a feast for the mamboboso, the voyeuristic men who would indulge in such a sight. Mothers I knew who lived in the Philippines were masters at handling shawls and wraps to cover themselves.
But I was a Filipina expat living in Zurich, a breastfeeding-friendly city, where nursing moms surprised me with their boobs at cafes and restaurants every now and again.
Where would I fit in? What would I do when the time came that I was out in public with a screaming baby who needed to feed? I was to find out, and baby and I were to grow into the skill of breastfeeding.
The challenges of breastfeeding
A few good samaritans — friends I had used to go clubbing with a lifetime ago, had become moms much earlier than I. They warned me during my pregnancy that I should not focus solely on birth when collecting stories and tips, but to find out more about the challenges of breastfeeding. A quick Pinterest search showed me frightening things about cracked and bleeding nipples.
I was to find out what breastfeeding injuries were, at least the mild kind that involved irritated, reddening skin, brought on by the voracious sucker that was my newborn. My postnatal midwife taught me various remedies like the use of sage or black tea compresses, and when that still didn’t work, the thing that became my savior was the final remedy she recommended — a pair of silver nipple shields.
Clothes, cleavage, and hot flashes
I have small breasts in normal life, so to have them jump from size A to size C was a boon. I was excited to show off my cleavage, but quickly discovered that I had no idea how to dress fashionably with bigger goodies. How could I dress in a classy manner but still show off my burgeoning beauties? I had no clue.
Not to mention my sweating every time I went indoors — I had thought it was due to my breath accumulating under my cloth mask that I was so warm. Later, an acquaintance shared what her doctor had told her — breastfeeding can leave a woman feeling menopause-like symptoms such as hot flashes. Just having that information made me feel more settled about my breastfeeding body and how it was behaving.
Our weaning journey
Our weaning journey began the first time my little one tried a teaspoon of solids, truth be told. The excitement of introducing solids soon became a part of our lives. At first it was just watered down rice, the am , a Filipino word I hadn’t known, but one my mother recently taught me. It was this juice from the rice that I was first to offer baby. Then came carrot. Then potato, and later, broccoli, then sweet potato. We took photos and videos of baby reacting to every bite. So much novelty for him, everyday. To see the world through his eyes was a thing of magic.
As solids in baby’s life grew from one teaspoon to three and then some, baby was soon too busy during our sensory play or sign language classes to bother with the breast during the day. It left my bosom aching as my little one grew to sample food in a variety of shapes and shades. My milk was unwanted during certain hours of the day, and yet, despite the struggles for my body to adjust to the lower demand, I was happy we had made it to this step in our weaning efforts. Soon, he was practicing his newfound pincer grasp on many a piece of fruit. He was eager to handle his own food and feed himself. A proud moment for us new parents.
Feeling separation anxiety
I feel separation anxiety when I think about our breastfeeding journey one day coming to an end, despite some of our successes. My initial goal was to conclude weaning by baby’s first birthday, which is just around the corner as I write this. But I had told myself from the start, maybe that will turn into fourteen months, or sixteen.
Now we are at the eleven month-mark, and I have stretched that ultimate weaning goal to one year and a half. Will we make it to that point?
How will we let go of those emergency night feeds, the kind that involves a hungry, thirsty, or terrified baby who needs that sense of closeness that the breast gives, the soothing quality of suckling? How we move on from that with grace, I do not yet know.
The CoVid era for new mothers
It was a tough year for many. Some human beings did not survive the virus. Businesses collapsed. Families and lovers were separated. Single people had no avenue to meet someone they could grow to love.
But despite all these challenges, I realize that CoVid restrictions had become a blessing in disguise for me. My husband had to work from home, a set-up that kept getting extended, to the point that we had to set up a proper office space for him, with a big corner desk and a vast curved computer monitor.
Every two hours or so, when he needed to catch his breath or collect his thoughts between meetings, he would leave his desk to sweep baby up in his arms and play “helicopter.” Each “flight” was met with giggles from baby, and it was my chance for a brief break from my mama duties.
Parting with breastfeeding will be sweet sorrow
A lactation consultant a few months ago helped me take apart why baby breastfeeds in the first place. We were discussing the next step in my weaning journey. Was it due to hunger or a need for comfort that baby breastfed? How could I replace the latter that baby obtains through the act of breastfeeding? What did baby need? Was it the scent of me, the warmth of me, the sound of my heartbeat? As we explored my small one’s need to snuggle up next to me, I couldn’t help but have tears well up in my eyes. Baby and I just need to nestle into each other. I want to give my young one that closeness, freely, without having to hold anything back.
Breastfeeding is a gift, a thing of beauty and astonishment every time I see beads, streams of milk come out of me. It is a saving grace for whenever baby has been upset or sick, a powerful immune booster, a miracle, and yet so temporary.
To all the mothers out there who have tried to breastfeed their baby, whether they managed two months or two years, whether they enjoyed it or not, here’s to you. You are doing well, mama.