Truth is, I don’t know where the last two weeks have gone to. The hospital stay rolled into coming home; us both thrust into this new world of Babydom called Parenthood. Even as I type this, I am wrecked with exhaustion from the insane schedule all newborns keep and the physical toll of breastfeeding on demand, the bleeding, uterine contractions and all the other physical stuff that makes me want to go back in time to sock Eve. Darn that woman.
As a person, I like to think I keep my emotions well under control. Whilst pregnant, I tried my best to not let the hormones get the better of me and I think for most parts I’ve succeeded. I was still reasonable throughout the long nine months and even while in the delivery suite, I think I kept my head quite well.
When Q was born- for the initial few days, I was fine. Sure, there was the stress of waiting for “milk” to arrive and the learning to breastfeed; latching, as all breastfeeding moms will tell you, is a bitch that causes far too much stress and pain. We opted to stay an extra day in the hospital to work on latching and it was a time well spent- at least by the time we went home, I was feeling a lil better about breastfeeding though Q’s hydration level was still a cause for concern. Gratefully, he didn’t lost too much weight in the days after birth (from 2.64kg to 2.4kg) and when we went back for his one week check up, he had put back some weight to 2.5+kg. Also, thankfully, his jaundice level remained low and mild all through out.
As we entered into the second week and the toll of insufficient sleep started to weigh heavy, I had to (finally) contend with the dreaded Baby Blues. Of all the new things that comes with being a new mother, nothing could have quite prepared me for the onslaught of emotions, self doubt and mind games that I ended playing with myself. While studies have shown that breastfeeding mothers tend to cope better, it was converse for me as the whole notion of breastfeeding successfully was the ONE thing that really caused me to unravel.
Too much milk. Too little milk. Is baby eating enough? Milk supply issues… All started to creep into my mind insidiously to the point that I was stressing out before, during and after each nursing session. Meaning, ALL THE TIME. It didn’t matter that people told me I was doing well. It didn’t matter that the lactation consultant told me I was a real champ. It didn’t matter that the pediatrician told me baby was gaining good weight and I was a-okay. It didn’t matter that my cousins and friend who were pacing me reminded me several times a day (each) that I had nothing to worry about.
I still fretted about breastfeeding. In fact, most times, when it all got a little much to bear (like a few times a day) I’d find myself on the brink of tears. The Boy was great in being supportive and setting me straight but its those quite moments that truly messes with you. Not helping was that I had somehow decided in my head that if I didn’t breastfeed (and opted to formula feed) it would make me a terrible mother.
Yes, logically, I know its not the case. I- and most in my generation- were raised on formula milk and we all turned out fine. But still…
Help- and alleviation- came in the least likely of places. An old doctor friend called to check in and caught me at a bad time. She set me straight. God truly works in mysterious ways and through the least likely of people. She explained that what was worse than not breastfeeding was my letting myself mentally unravel. She drummed into my head in the days after (till now) that the greatest gift I could give my son was to be in the best mental, physical, emotional and spiritual state possible. And that since we had crossed the 2 week mark and Q’s immunity system was up and running, I was, ok.
Once I made peace between breastfeeding and formula feeding (I had BIG issues expressing milk so that wasn’t really an option), I started to feel better about everything. My OBGYN kindly prescribed medications to help with lactations (I’ve not had to use them) and The Boy packed away the breast pump so that I would not be tempted to express to “check on levels.” Nursing became a lil easier, less stressful and I think, now that I am en route to getting my head screwed on properly and seeing clearer through the fog of the blues, I am learning to be a better mother one day at a time.
Leave a comment