In the fitness world people often talk about non-scale victories. They are usually talking about inches lost or energy gained, but this momma discovered a non-scale victory I was never expecting when I started my weight loss journey.
From the moment I looked into that squishy face with bright blue eyes and a head full of wispy dark hair, it was clear that he was my new obsession. What I didn’t know was that over the next few days, another obsession would take over, and it would haunt me for months to come. That magical “liquid gold” that I was producing to sustain him would consume me. Was I making enough? Was my love of all things dairy giving him gas? Why was my right boob such a superstar in comparison to my left boob? Why am I so engorged? Holy crap! Why am I no longer engorged!?
To be fair, squishy and I had a rough start to our breastfeeding relationship. There were some concerns after he was born that caused us to miss out on the “golden hour” (Why does everything involving infants have to be gold?). Just moments after he was placed on my chest he was whisked away to the nursery. He was about 9 hours old when I had the first opportunity to nurse him, and he would only latch with a nipple shield. That shield would soon become my nemesis, but that’s a whole other story.
When I returned to work, I found myself in some sort of alternate universe where co-workers took multiple smoke breaks through the day with no problem, but I was reminded repeatedly that the time I took to provide nourishment for my nine-week-old was to be done on my time.
Over time, my pumping output decreased, and I was desperate to get it back. I longed for the days of getting nine ounces in a single pump which I would then photograph and proudly text to my husband, who would respond with ‘that’s great, honey!’ even though he secretly thought I had lost my mind. I longed for the days of rushing to my office to relieve myself before my son’s meal soaked my shirt for all to see.
I tried everything. I researched galactagogues. I ate oatmeal every morning. I drank Mother’s Milk tea. I put brewer’s yeast on everything. I made lactation energy bites and ate one after every pump or feed. I quit eating dairy. I ate more dairy. When I got a new job, I added two more pumping sessions. It wasn’t working. None of it was working. I was trapped.
I had set a goal to breastfeed until squish’s first birthday, and those who know me will invariably tell you one thing about me—I am stubborn as all hell. When I set a goal, I don’t let go.
Not only was my supply in the shitter still, but in obsessing about what I could do to better care for my son, I became paralyzed with fear if I even so much as entertained the thought of taking better care of myself. I had been flooded with information about breastfeeding mothers needing 500 extra calories per day and stories about moms who’s supply tanked when they tried to work out or change their diets. The messages coming at me were that if I tried to take care of myself, my baby would suffer because my supply would drop. I couldn’t afford a drop in supply. I needed the opposite to happen. I resigned to being overweight and unhealthy until I stopped breastfeeding.
But, then something happened. The closer I got to my son’s first birthday, the more I realized that I may want to do extended breastfeeding. This was never in the plan before, and it also meant I needed to reconcile the fact that I was not taking care of me. I couldn’t go on like that for another year or two. So, I decided to ditch the fear. I researched and talked to other breastfeeding moms who had managed to get into healthy lifestyles post-baby.
In the end, I decided to give the 21 Day Fix a try. It appealed to be because it had a modification for breastfeeding and several of the moms I had talked to had good results with it.
Here is what no one told me and what I never expected. By the end of the first week, I found myself sitting in the lactation room at the office with these beautiful bags of creamy goodness staring at me. It was enough to feed squish the next day without supplementing any formula while I was at work, plus an extra ounce for the freezer. It had been six months since I pumped enough to put anything in the freezer.
I cried great big, happy, hormone-driven tears that day, but I also realized that I was officially learning a lesson the hard way. Everyone had told me, but apparently it didn’t sink in. You must—no exceptions, no excuses—take care of yourself in order to take care of others.
In retrospect, I think I was just so hard on my body with all the junk I was eating and the lack of exercise that it was struggling to keep up. It wasn’t failing me or my baby. I was failing it.
My weight loss journey is ongoing, but this non-scale victory is priceless to me.
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article sponsered by Northern Michigan certified lactation consulting and Mother Hubbards Country Cupboard
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