Thanks to all of you who have emailed with suggestions to help my waning milk supply. I am now officially drinking stinky tea, popping herbal pills and trying to visualize milk flow while pumping, and it seems to be working a little. I have returned to those crazed first days right after Clementine and I came home and I was alternately trying to get my milk in by pumping, pumping, pumping and getting her to latch by putting her to my breast every 10 minutes. I was hardly ever clothed. Yesterday was a nightmare of similar proportions, though I was clothed and at my desk as I tried to pump every two hours and still didn't get enough to keep her fed. Luckily, I have freezersful of reserves, but that's cold comfort after a month because I'm pretty sure that's about how long it would all last (which provides for some interesting perspective. I could have filled an Olympic swimming pool by now with all the milk I've produced. Wow.).
After reading a lot online, I felt like there was no earthly reason this should be happening. I decided it had to be my pump and made an appointment to return to the Breastfeeding Assistance Program at the hospital so they could test the suction and make sure everything was working OK, which of course it was. I was apparently grasping at straws. While the tech was working with my machine, though, the lactation consultant on whose shoulder I cried when Clementine was 4 days old and hadn't yet eaten a thing asked me questions about my stress level, which I assume is generally low because my job isn't hard, no one I know is dying/dead, my marriage is great and I'm not having any angst about anything (except my mom visiting tomorrow, but that is another story...or is it?).
LC: Are you under any stress lately?
ME: Nope. Things are going great.
LC: Has there been any change to your routine lately?
ME: Nope. Everything is as it usually is, and I pump at the same times every day.
LC: Are you sure you're not stressed?
ME: Yup.
LC: Work isn't stressful?
ME: Nope. I don't have much to do right now.
LC: Was this week any different from last week at work?
ME: Well, last week I was off, so it was a little different. (DING!)
LC: How long were you off?
ME: Two weeks. (DING!)
LC: And are you happy to be back at work, or do you wish you were still off?
ME: What do you think? (Ummm...DING! Why didn't I think of that?)
LC: Do you like your job? Is it important for you to get there and have adult interaction? Do you feel happy when you're on your way?
ME: Ummmm....
LC: Can I take your blood pressure?
SO, apparently, I'm a stressball. My BP was elevated, and she's convinced that I'm stressed and my milk supply is suffering. She told me it's very common in working moms, even if they have been back to work for some time. She also said that as long as I'm demanding, there should still be supply unless a factor such as illness, poor nutrition or STRESS interferes. "Should I quit my job?" I asked, desperate for her to say "YES--go follow your passion and find something new to do!" but of course she advised yoga, meditation and visualization. 'Cuz I have loads of extra time in the day to do that shit, especially now that I'm once again tethered to my breast pump every two hours. But I'm trying to relax, chill out, not freak out, etc. I'm trying so hard I might even be stressed about not being stressed. it's a vicious cycle.
Ah, breastfeeding. It's just the most natural thing in the world, isn't it? How easy! How perfect! How lovely! Why doesn't anyone tell you how ridiculously hard it can be? And while I know that no one will DIE if I can't keep giving C. breastmilk, I still feel compelled to keep trying. I know healthy, wonderful babies have been raised on formula, and I know that I'm a little off my rocker to be such a slave to the pump since C. never got her latch. I get it, but I keep going. I'm all down with people making whatever decision works best for them (one of my mom friends recently weaned because she had given enough of her body and sanity, and I applaud her for knowing and setting her limits), and I know I'll be fine if C. doesn't get a year's worth of milk from me. And yet I still feel a little pang every time I see a mom nurshing, actually nursing, her baby the right way. I feel sad, a little like a failure. WHY?! Where is this coming from?
One of my favorite emails from yesterday was from my funniest mom friend who should have her own blog but doesn't. Whenever she emails me, I end up guffawing at my desk out loud like an idiot. At the risk of pissing her off, I have to share a part of her note. We were talking about the shame cycle that comes along with any struggle to breastfeed and how it can be self-defeating (she also had a problem with her supply and had to wean earlier than she wanted):
"I have some other thoughts about this issue (many of them related to how books like The Nazi Art of Breastfeeding and schlock hippie rags like Mothering contribute to establishing a superficial definition of "successful" motherhood and then guilt women when they can't conform); but this is sort of off topic and my point is that this is NOT WORTH stressing about, because life is too short and your body has a will of its own (the heart wants what the heart wants, to paraphrase Woody Allen, my guide in all things both moral and maternal--or in this case, the boobs don't want what the boobs don't want)."
It's so helpful when you have friends who can put it all in perspective for you. I also have a lovely husband who may be the butt of the jokes in his company's IT department as he surfs the web looking for answers to my lactation woes. We were out running errands yesterday and he was full of little tidbits about "healthy lactation." I wonder if he Googled it. He also keeps sending me links to cures, tips, etc. What a guy--buying tampons is really just the warm-up, isn't it? The things that man has had to do for me since I birthed our little cherub....
So, too late for a short version, things are looking up. I'm getting a little more milk and being careful to go surf the web or think about shopping when my job gets to be too much.
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