When I was pregnant with my first son, I wanted to be as
prepared as possible for my foray into parenthood. As a physician, I was
committed to breastfeeding until age two, to guarantee my child the best
possible health. As a psychiatrist, I was ready to give my child the most
appropriate challenges for his developmental stage. As a diligent Jewish
mother-to-be, I was already scoping out the preschool at the local JCC where
they promised to teach my son how to “become a mench.” What I was not
prepared for, was for my son to have his own plans from the start.
I thought I had a birth plan.
I had a birth plan in hand by the time the two lines
showed up on the 6th pregnancy I took (somehow 5 tests wasn’t
convincing). I was in the best physical shape of my life when I got
pregnant, and looked forward to using my powerful abdominal muscles to propel
my son out of my body on the first push. Well, I learned there are pros and
cons to having strong abs. On the plus side, I had very little discomfort
during this pregnancy, my back never ached and I felt strong. The down side,
was that my belly was so tight that my little guy was unable to turn around,
and he was breech – butt first! My doctor believed an external version was
doomed to fail, and very likely could cause a rupture, since my little one was
so tightly cradled in my never-before-been-occupied womb, covered in layers of
muscle. So my dream of an amazing, powerful, (possibly) natural birth became a
scheduled c-section. This was heart-breaking, but I reminded myself that the
most important outcome of childbirth was a healthy baby and a healthy Mommy, so
I exhaled, accepted the news, and chose a date. I chose Groundhog's Day so I
can forever tell the joke that I hoped he wouldn't see his shadow and crawl
back into my womb.
When my son was born, he was truly the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. He
had long lashes and beautiful big eyes and a precious little mouth. I cried
with joy every time I looked at him. I never once thought back to my birth plan
with chagrin: he was perfect, everything that brought him here was perfect.
I thought I knew how to Breastfeed.
When I came out of recovery, I immediately brought him to my breast and he
instinctively latched on…tightly. I really thought I was ready to nurse: I had
taken breastfeeding classes at the hospital, I had read the book by the La
Leche League, and I had watched numerous videos on nursing. I looked forward to
the beautiful, placid moments where I would gaze at my newborn while he
contentedly nursed on my breast. It looked as though my baby was latching
properly, even the lactation consultant at the hospital said so, but it was
excruciating! I still brought him to my breast every 3 hours on demand, in
spite of the pain, because I knew he needed my milk. I had resolved I would
never give him synthetic formula with toxic corn syrup and cow milk proteins,
when my own breasts were producing plenty of milk. I figured it had to
get better, right? When we got home from the hospital, my husband confided in a
friend about how I cursed like a sailor every time the baby latched, and she
provided the name and number of her (blessed) lactation consultant. She came
the very next day and stayed for 4 hours. I cried, I practiced, I cried some
more. With a few adjustments I was able to latch my baby with minimal pain, and
she taught me some tips on how to nurse while I was healing, so I never needed
to give him the dreaded formula, nor interrupt his learning about nursing by
confusing him with a bottle. Finally, things were looking up, and I anticipated
the calluses the lactation consultant promised would form by 6 weeks old.
I could finally look forward to those peaceful happy nursing sessions.
I thought I had Breastfeeding Locked in.
And things did get better. 6 weeks was indeed a magic number; suddenly nursing
was no longer painful, and my baby and I were doing great. I was planning to go
back to work part-time when he was 4 months old, so at 3 months we started
introducing a bottle of pumped milk. A few weeks later, something happened. My
previously content nurser was having episodes of crying during feedings. He
would eagerly latch as if hungry, then cry when the milk came. It was only once
in a while at first, and then escalated to every session, finally culminating
in a day when he literally cried every time I showed him my breast. The only
way I could nurse him was by rocking him until he was almost asleep and then
latching him. One night, my baby was hungry and crying, and couldn’t be
soothed. My husband finally suggested we try a bottle. Sure enough, he happily
sucked down the bottle of pumped milk and went to sleep. I was so
frustrated! After everything we had been through to learn how to nurse,
now he was rejecting me for a bottle!The next morning, I called my ever-on-call lactation consultant. She determined
I likely had an oversupply of milk. The bottle offered a steady
predictable flow of milk, while my breasts were literally choking him! She
insisted it was vital to get him back on the breast and told me to stop bottles
and try to nurse him when he was the most relaxed. I followed her tips for
reducing supply, but breastfeeding was still a battle. This was really
stressful for both of us, so one day I decided to give us both a break, and
have a skin to skin day home alone with my baby. Lying there cuddling with my
sweet baby boy, I had an epiphany; the most important thing to me was not that
he nursed, but that he got my milk. Of course it would be more convenient and
enjoyable to nurse him myself, but what really mattered to me was that he would
be healthy and strong, protected from illness. I realized that there would be
many struggles over the course of his life, but this issue didn’t have to be a
struggle. I could let him win.
The next day I started pumping full time and feeding him by
bottle. My stressed out, crying baby turned into a happy, content baby.
True to my original plan, I pumped him breast milk until he was 2 years old. On
his second birthday, I elatedly retired my pump. Many people think it’s crazy
that I pumped for 2 years, but if I were crazy, I would know it, being a shrink
and all. It was an exhaustive effort, and I did things I never imagined
doing; like pumping while driving (a real conversation-starter if you get
pulled over), in bathrooms, and even at the gate in an airport. I did it
because I was determined to give my child the best chance at health and because
it made me feel like a good Mommy.
I learned to Let go.
So what is the most important lesson that I learned from
this, and continued to learn? That as parents and parents-to-be, we must make
plans, we must educate ourselves and decide what we would like to happen,
whether it's our birth plan, feeding plans, schooling or any of the other many
decisions we face as parents. Then, we must be willing to let go of those
plans, and let our children guide us to what we will actually do. With planning
and willingness to let go, there is harmony and space for all of us to grow.
Brooke Goldner, M.D. is a board certified physician
specializing in psychiatry. She currently works from home using Skype to treat
patients living in California, so she can do the job she loves while still
getting to nurse her second baby and play Star Wars with the oldest between
patients.
You can contact her at www.SkypePsychiatrist.com or DrG@SkypePsychiatrist.com
