It was the afternoon following the day my son was born. The stitches on my tummy hurt me with every breath I took. Like a war wounded soldier I kept asking the nurse to inject some more painkiller IV along with the regular antibiotics that she was administering after every 3 hours. She refused. She had her orders while I had my ordeal.
It had been 24 hours since the birth of my child and I had been able to breastfeed him twice, for 3 to 5 minutes each time. 24 hours. What kind of a mother fails to nourish and nurse her own flesh and blood for a whole damn day? A mother like me.
When we tried to initiate the breastfeeding latch for the first time, right after he was born, I had everyone around me, I was scared of this new change. I had just recently been cut open, two hours back, to be precise. The anaesthesia might have hidden the pain but the body knew it was wounded, and so did my mind. There were two nurses, my parents, my husband, my family, all staring at me with anticipation as I lay with no energy and bare breasted waiting for the miraculous latch to happen.
As I lay on the bed, the nurse, pulled away my gown, I was too feeble to resist, it was pertinent we fed my son the colostrum, the first milk of the mother. But where was the colostrum? The nurse squeezed, pressed, pulled my nipple as I squirmed and bit my lip. This must be the only way I assumed, so hoped and hoped. At last, a few drops emerged, two tiny bubble like drops of a yellowish whitish tinge, and immediately my baby was thrust into the breast. I couldn’t hold him or even see him, as I lay there on my back with the stitches,embarrassed,self-conscious.
“Is he drinking?”, I asked my mom, and she replied in the affirmative with a smile. This went on for exactly 3 minutes, after that the baby wailed, I was confused, everyone tried to attach him back and then the buzzer was rung and the nurse calmly took him away to feed him formula.
That was blow no.2, yes, I had faced the first blow when I was told it will be a caesarean section surgery.
But the exhaustion and hormones were setting in. I had no happiness, no reason to celebrate. I was an obese pregnant woman who had given birth without any labour pains or pushing. Apparently, the whole world around me had this notion of one method of birthing being worse/ easier than the other. Today, I believe c-sec or normal, a mother suffers immense pain and doubts and fears in both these deliveries, so I am no one to judge.
However, that day I judged. I judged myself in the most gruesome manner. I was a failure, as a pregnant woman. That day, in my own eyes, I was the weakest person, a joke. I did not have a “normal delivery” , On that day, it never occurred to me that a mother is a mother regardless of the method of delivery, but…hormones.
Add to this the situation where my lactation glands decide to underperform on the day that they are the stars of the show! Great going messed up body!
By the end of the day, I had visitors, aunts, grandparents, neighbours, well-wishers, and it was all good till it was feeding time again.
Let me give you some visiting etiquettes if you are visiting a brand new mom! Wait outside. Whether you are a woman who had fed 1 kid or 6, whether the new mom shared everything with you all her life, whether you are a doctor or a priest! It doesn’t matter. There are a million things going in the mind of the mother especially if she had encountered a hiccup like I did. So, let us be a little empathetic and leave the room, give her and the baby sometime alone. That may help for her to calm her overanxious, crazy, no mercy hormones down, what does not help are advises. Free advises. You mean well, but there is a time for everything and that is not the time. Neither is this the time for empathy or even sympathy, she knows quite well that there is a challenge and a hungry baby at hand, and she does not need to be reminded of the neighbour’s daughter who faced similar trouble. Nope, making out her case to be just like anyone else’s does not add to her confidence at all!
The best thing, as I said, is to walk away. Smile, say you want to give them their time, and wait outside. If she wants you to stay, she will ask.
So, in my case, I still had the sofas around me full and occupied, while i struggled with this 2.5 kgs screaming new-born. The chaos that ensued was unimaginable, I was shy, but the nurse was adamant I remove my gown to feed, the oldie foggies were waiting to pounce in on the opportunity to correct my form or question what was wrong with me, the elders were trying to calm the oldies, trying to tell them nothing was wrong, and she will manage, I was freaking out because I wasn’t able to manage and there was something wrong! How can someone trivialise this! There was something gravely wrong!
Well, I wept into the night and woke up the next day feeling sore, engorged and miserable. I remember sitting at the edge of my bed, wearing the purple maternity gown, one hand resting on the bedside, and the other stroking my new born baby in his crib.
I told my mother with tears in my eyes, that I was not a good mom.
I howled uncontrollably saying just 2 things over and over again. I had a caesarean and I couldn’t breastfeed my child. Mom cried too. I wonder today, if she cried because she too thought she was a bad mother because her daughter was breaking in front of her? Was that why she cried?
Today, I have learnt after one year and 5 months, that us, mothers are way too cruel upon ourselves.
WE denote everything that goes wrong with ourselves. We smile through our happy moments, often forgetting to pat ourselves on our backs. It took me some hugs from my mom, a couple of counselling sessions to get my mind back on track.
I took help for my lactation issue, it worked wonders for me, and I am still feeding my 15 months old day in and day out without any pains and troubles. In my case the first few days took away a lot of joy that maybe a new mom experiences, mostly because of unrealistic breastfeeding expectations set by me and the world around me. I still consider myself fortunate as I found the right amount of support and care at the right time.
So, if you know of a new mom, struggling or otherwise, please give her a hug. Tell her she is doing the best and she should just go on. Tell her you are there if she needs you. Ask her if she would like something, food, feeding pillow, a comfy chair. Help her with the chores. Help her by taking the baby away for a bit so that she can get her rest. Assure her that she has the best baby and she is the best mother.
These might seem like very mild suggestions but to my mind, they go a long way. Maybe if this kind of support is given to a new mom on time, she won’t repeat the words I uttered, of not being a good mother…
#StandByNursingMoms #Breastfeedingchallenges #Breastfeedingweek #newmompsyche #twoandstillbreastfed
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article sponsered by Northern Michigan certified lactation consulting and Mother Hubbards Country Cupboard
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