World Breastfeeding Week: On Leaving My Nursling

World Breastfeeding week ended yesterday. I was out of town for most of it but I tallied them up and I've been breastfeeding for 169 consecutive weeks.

That sounds like a long time, even to me. Twenty months with Roscoe and almost seventeen months with Merritt, so far. With some overlap.

Merritt wasn't quite one year old when I bought my BlogHer ticket back in January. I hesitated to make such a huge commitment so far in advance for fear of leaving a nursling at home, but I convinced myself that fast forward seven months our nursing relationship would be on the down swing, maybe even over.

Winter came and he tapered off the frequency of daytime feeds, and then in early spring he night-weaned, which meant that in a given twenty-four period he nursed only twice. My plan was working out nicely, but August was fast approaching and so in June I nudged him along and he gave up the afternoon comfort nurse.

Summer finally arrived, and it has been a hot, hot, hot one. Maybe correlated with his hydration needs, Merritt started to ask to nurse at frequent and random intervals throughout the day. After snack, before stories, before nap, after nap. He "asks" to nurse with an endearing little bark from the back of his throat, a cough with the cadence of a cry. Even though he uses words to communicate on a regular basis he hasn't yet found a word for nursing. But I know what he means.

I almost always accommodate his requests although I was convinced that routine and comfort seeking remained his primary motivations--I really did not think that he was actually getting any milk.  In the weeks leading up to BlogHer he ramped up his demand, which (in a slight panic) provided rationale for outlining detailed instruction to Andy about facilitating ritual around the morning nursing session, to include quiet face to face time and a sippy cup of warmed cows milk, just in case.

What I didn't anticipate, at all? My supply. I left Wednesday morning and by Thursday evening I had that heavy, tingling sensation of engorgement. This odd realization was met first with surprise then sadness--my little guy was at home and I had his milk!  Unsure how the rest of the trip might play out without access to a breast pump, I decided to hand express before heading to bed that night.

I first learned to hand express in the NICU, and it really is a great skill for nursing moms. You never know! Taking 10 minutes twice a day served me well in preventing a plugged duct (or worse), maintaining my supply, and staying comfortable while in New York.

Once home I headed straight to our bedroom where Merritt lay sleeping, enveloped by darkness and the roaring whirrs of a sound machine. No words needed, he nestled into his familiar place and nursed for thirty minutes before falling back to slumber.

If you've been following along here for a while, you'll know that Roscoe's nursing path was abruptly cut short by Merritt's month-long NICU stay and my subsequent absence from daily home life.

I wonder if Merritt will naturally wean around the same time, or if he'll choose to nurse longer? Either way, it feels just right that this aspect of our relationship will have the opportunity to run its natural course without interruption.

2 ounces of sanity

Last week I received the breastshields I ordered from Hawaii--they arrived 4 days early in a crumpled box tossed on the back stoop. A brief bolt of fear struck through me as I envisioned my shields cracked, or worse. To my relief, they were in perfect condition.

That night after nursing Roscoe to sleep, I hooked myself up to the pump and immediately realized the difference in having a breastsheild that fits: suction.

Just a few minutes into the expression phase and the milk was flowing. The first let-down! Unfortunately, it was the only let-down. My 20 minute pumping session produced one let-down and a little less than an ounce of milk. One single ounce.

I was panicked. How can I workout if I can't leave the baby? I re-channeled my anxiety and committed to pumping once every night with the hope that my body would begin to make more milk in order to cover the "feeding". I've pumped every night since, and slowly but surely, I've been able to produce more milk--last night, 2 ounces which = 1 feeding.

What's even better is that I've been to the gym 5 times since I joined, and on the night that Andy braved it alone, he fed Roscoe a bottle and lulled him back to sleep. I arrived home to a quiet house, a long hot shower, and another pumping session.

It's hard to describe how it feels when everything works. Roscoe seems to be mellowing out and I'm back at the gym. I think I'm getting the hang of being Roscoe's mom, and I'm finally starting to feel like myself again. My life: different but improved.

Here's another note of thanks--I'm grateful for technology that allows me to mother the old fashioned way, and still keep up with the modern day.

The last to know.

Kickboxing has been my sport of choice for years. I took my first kickboxing class in highschool, but I really fell in love with the power and the sweat during undergrad. In the world of fitness there are few things I like more than weightlifting, plyometrics, and kickboxing. Oh, and rowing. And running, but only races...seriously though, my heart remains with boxing.

I recently learned that there is an LA Boxing gym in my area. It's tucked in a place where no one would find it, and in fact, when I looked for boxing gyms a few months ago I completely missed it.

Now that I know it exists, I can't stop thinking about it, and I've suddenly found something worth leaving Roscoe for.

Back to the Pump!!

I haven't even attempted to pump in the last three or four months. It was so much work for such little milk, and I found ways to workout closer to home so there really was no need. Still, I figured that something might have changed in the last few months and when I pulled out the pump two nights ago, I had visions of pumping a half bottle with ease....but instead I pumped an ounce. TOTAL. I guess that's what I get for having a baby that nurses every hour, 24 hours a day.

So I turned to the Internet to help me troubleshoot, and I know there are so many variables involved in this equation, but I believe that I definitely have the wrong breastshield size. This article helped, but why is the importance of proper breastshield size not common knowledge? This is a pretty important piece of the pump (there are only three parts!)!

I had to order the shield online because apparently no one in the DC area needs a small breastshield. It's shipping from Hawaii so I have to wait until the 20th to get it. Which is a big fat bummer.

Yipee!

With the help of this I pumped 3 whole ounces of liquid gold. Who knew something so ugly could be so useful!

While pumping "hands free" I enjoyed a bagel, a banana, a nectarine, and a magazine. Prior to pumping, I even managed to take a shower--all this and it's only 7:00 am!

Today is going to be a good day!