The Glue That Binds Us

First of all, I just want to be clear that this post might seem disturbing or perhaps offensive, but I feel that it is important to be truthful. I think that if we, as mothers, don't share our experiences as they happened with other mothers then we are just setting each other up to feel helpless and alone. No mother should feel that way. We need to support each other in every way possible. Including sharing information.

Now, let's talk about bonding.

It seems as though while I was pregnant everyone talked about how they felt instantly bonded with their baby at birth. It was just so natural after having carried this sweet, squirming thing inside of you for 9 months and then enduring the process of labor and delivery to then fall deeply in love with it at first sight.

The hospital classes mentioned that skin-to-skin contact was very important. They told us that we (the mother) needed to hold our newborn skin-to-skin for an hour after birth. Without interruption. We were told that we should initiate breastfeeding during that period while the infant was awake and alert. It was explained that the baby would recognize our voices after hearing them for so long in the womb and find them comforting. The father (apparently) was to hover close and talk to the baby while the mother was bonding, but not interrupt for fear of inhibiting the breastfeeding relationship.

Supposedly, if we did all of these things we would instantly feel unconditional love for the child that we just brought into this world.

Of course, it isn't always possible to bond immediately. If the baby was born ill, premature, or by c-section you can still manage to "catch-up."

In my mind, I pictured giving birth and cuddling my newborn who would be instantly calmed by my voice and magically falling deeply in love and feeling completely bonded with this tiny creature.

In reality, I felt nothing.

I had an unmedicated vaginal birth which, by the accounts given to me in the hospital's birthing class, should have increased my chances of instant bonding and successfully establishing breastfeeding. It was a very surreal experience for me. Amazing. But very surreal. Everything went fast and smoothly. My son was born healthy and handed to me as soon as the cord was cut. I snuggled him and talked to him. Stroked him and kissed him. And he cried. And he cried. And he cried.

No amount of talking or cuddling seemed to make any difference. He was clearly just uncomfortable and overwhelmed with this new position he'd found himself in. I kept up the snuggling and the talking and the attempts at comforting, but all I could think was "I'm his mother. Shouldn't he know me? Why can't I soothe my own son?" He was minutes old and in my mind, I was already failing.

Breastfeeding did not go well, either. He wouldn't latch. I was told I had flat nipples. I felt like it was my fault that he couldn't eat because my body was inadequate.

He slept in the bassinet next to my bed because I knew it was dangerous for him to sleep with me. But I couldn't reach him. I'd torn badly and my stitches pulled and hurt every time I tried to move. He would start to stir and I'd think "I should get him.", but I physically couldn't get myself up to the standing position I needed to be in to get him out of the bassinet and care for him. My husband didn't seem to hear our son's cries and at night, I couldn't seem to rouse my husband from sleep to help me, either. It would take me what felt like eons to even reach into the bassinet and touch him. And once I'd reached him, I couldn't get the leverage I needed to lift him out. So instead of attempting to hold or breastfeed him, I frequently settled for talking to him and "rocking" the bassinet or patting him as best I could. Only when he started to get really upset did I get myself into the standing position required to lift him out of the bassinet. I was tired and in pain and alone. And I started to resent my son's presence.

We went home, nipple shield in hand, before he ever successfully latched on and fed from my breast. Once we were home, I did get him to eat with the nipple shield. I'd been told that a newborn would be expected to eat every 2-4 hours. So I figured on every 2 hours and when he was crying in between I assumed it was because of something else. He wouldn't sleep in the bassinet next to our bed and it wasn't safe for him to sleep in our bed, so I put him in his bouncy chair. He would cry. I would kneel gingerly on the floor while he sucked on my finger (pacifiers would definitely cause nipple confusion) until he fell asleep. He would sleep for 15-30 minutes and wake up crying again. I was frustrated and just wanted to sleep. The nurses had been adamant that I feed him in the football hold, so I'd never been shown how to do side-lying position outside of an illustration in a book. I could only get him on in the cradle hold and I had to sit up to do it, which hurt--a lot. I tried to latch him without the shield and he'd scream into my breast. I was so frustrated that I'd shove his little screaming mouth onto my nipple and plead with him to just eat so we could all sleep. He would only eat with the nipple shield in place, furthering my feelings that my body was inadequate and I was a terrible mother. I couldn't even feed my own child as nature intended. I resented him for keeping me up all night and crying all the time. I resented him for rejecting me. I wanted him to go away. He was an intruder on my space and my life and I didn't feel like he was even mine.

I wasn't feeding him often enough. The books may say every 2 hours, but before my milk came in, he needed to be eating more like every 30 minutes. He became jaundiced. We were made to take him into the hospital to have labs drawn every day. We had to keep him in nothing but a diaper, wrapped in a bili blanket as many hours a day as possible. I couldn't cuddle him with the blanket in place. So he was moved from my arms where he'd spent day 2 and 3, to his bouncer on the floor at my feet. I stared at him while he slept, dreading the moment he woke up hungry and the fight to nurse him would begin again.

"Mommy loves you." became my mantra. It wasn't true. I didn't love him. But I didn't want him to know that. So I repeated it to him all the time. Like a loving robot.

<meta charset="utf-8"></meta>My mother-in-law knew we were struggling, so she offered to take him over night so I could get some sleep. She thought I would mind. But I felt nothing when she took him. She lifted him from his bouncy seat at my feet and took him away for the night. I went to bed and slept without thinking about him at all.

When the jaundice was gone we moved him into his crib. My husband was annoyed that I felt one of us should go to him whenever he stirred. What if he was hungry? Wet? It was our job to care for him, we needed to do our best. But I was tired and I let my husband convince me that if he wasn't screaming, he didn't need us. So I'd lay half-awake listening to him fuss over the monitor (probably wanting warm arms and a sweet breast in his mouth) until he'd fuss back to sleep. He'd go through that cycle 2-3 times before he got uncomfortable enough to truly start crying. At which point I'd go in get him. He'd come with me to the living room, where he'd take anywhere from an 1-2 hours to nurse. I'd watch television. I couldn't sleep sitting up and I couldn't nurse laying down. I needed my space to sleep and he wouldn't give it to me. I hated that. I resented him. I repeated, "Mommy loves you."

We'd put him down in his crib at night and I'd think to myself "What if he dies of SIDS? Would I care? Would I feel sad if he died?" And I couldn't answer that. I honestly didn't think I would feel sad. I didn't think I'd feel anything. Maybe less tired. Or maybe on his deathbed I'd suddenly find the love I couldn't feel while he was alive.

My husband would find me crying in the living room holding a crying baby. Both of us helpless. At one point he asked what was wrong. I said, "All he does is eat and cry." He didn't sleep unless he was at the breast. He didn't snuggle unless he was at the breast. I was nothing but food to him. He didn't love me and I didn't love him. I repeated, "Mommy loves you."

Eventually, I got used to our situation. It wasn't ideal, but he ate with the nipple shield and slept in his crib at night. He napped&nbsp;occasionally&nbsp;in his swing or during tummy time. He had no semblance of a schedule. I felt completely trapped, never knowing when I'd have a minute to do dishes or wash clothes. Never knowing when he'd wake up again if he did go down and dreading his consciousness every time I laid him down. I took pictures of him doing cute things (mostly sleeping) and posted them for everyone to see.

When he was two months old, I stumbled across a lactation consultant who helped me get him off the shield and onto my breast. Breastfeeding was suddenly a completely different experience.

My mother-in-law continued to take him over night almost every week. One night, when he was about 3 months old, I found myself thinking about him. Wondering how he was and what he was doing. I missed him. I MISSED HIM. I told my husband who didn't understand my excitement. I finally felt bonded with my son. I finally felt like I loved him.

"Mommy loves you." I say it all the time and know that he'll never know how true it is.

Is Breastfeeding Sometimes TOO Easy?

It seems to me like the women I know who had an easy time breastfeeding in the beginning are the first to give it up and switch over to formula for the "vainer" reasons. Which makes me wonder--why?

No, these women didn't have to fight for it, but theoretically the actual experience is the same. The closeness with the baby, the bonding, all those perks of breastfeeding that we see listed over and over again are the same for everyone, aren't they?

As human beings, do we need to feel like we "won" in order to fully enjoy the reward we receive? Is it that those of use who struggled in the beginning want to make the most of what we have because we realize how close we came to losing it?

I do not begrudge a woman the right to her own body. Trust me, when I go out without the baby for a night, no matter what the destination, I'm sure to put on "normal" clothes. I actually make an effort to wear something that isn't easy to nurse in. Anything that's cut too low, or that zips or buttons up, or is loose enough to raise easily is out of the picture. Nursing bras are left behind. That necklace my husband bought me last Valentine's Day that scratches up Lukas's face when he lays his head on my chest goes on. It's not because I want to hide that I have a baby or pretend that he doesn't exist for one night--it's because I want to feel like my body belongs to me and I can do with it as I please. I get that.

I also understand that pumping is a pain in the you-know-what. I've never met anyone who enjoys pumping. The only time that I personally didn't hate pumping was when I was pumping every night before bed for physical comfort and that was my 10 minutes of alone time to read and unwind. I can't imagine how annoying and unpleasant it is for working mothers to have to pump on breaks and at lunch. To feel rushed and inconvenienced and just plain stuck. It must be very burdensome.

But I also know how amazing it feels to nurse my baby after being away from him for a long stretch. It's so great to be able to reconnect physically through nursing. I can't imagine feeling as though I need to give that up because I wanted to wear "normal" clothes all the time or because pumping was so inconvenient.

There are other reasons I've heard, as well. Bottle feeding's just easier, for example. Nope. Think of all that extra work handling bottles and preparing food. Breasts are right there and the milk comes ready-made with no expiration date or extra handling required.

Formula-feeding helps the baby sleep longer at night. Not true, either. Trust me, while we were struggling in the beginning, Lukas got formula at night. He slept just as terribly those nights as he did the nights he received breast milk.

This is not meant to bash formula-feeding moms. As I've stated before, I completely understand that breastfeeding does not always work out. What I have yet to understand is when it is working out (very well, in fact), but the mother decides to stop because she thinks it would be somehow more convenient or easier on both parties if she were no longer nursing. The strange justifications I have heard honestly confuse me and I often wonder whether the mother is trying to give her reasoning to me, or justify the decision to herself.

I find it hardest to hear about babies and moms who were nursing well but stopped and then the baby began struggling with intolerances to formula, gas issues, constipation...any number of ailments that were avoided while the nursing relationship was still going strong, but have now been (unnecessarily?) thrust upon the infant.

Is lack of information the problem? Lack of support and understanding? Why do mothers who obviously wanted to nurse--who had a good, sound, joyful nursing experience suddenly feel the need to give it all up? Is there an outside pressure that's being put on them? Is it even a problem at all, or am I just reading more into it than is there to read?

Do we all just need to have a harder time nursing in order to want to keep nursing?