This is what breastfeeding looks like to one mum... and it's incredibly raw
Breastfeeding is a time of incredible bonding, of being with Baby, of nourishing your infant – and it has a very special place in mum-of-two Carolyn Fultz's heart.
But it is a different experience for a lot of new mums.
While some have no problems nursing, others can struggle with supply and/ or baby latching on, and it can be tough.
Carolyn recently took to the Facebook page Breastfeeding Mama Talk to share what breastfeeding looks like for her, and it's pretty eye-opening.
Here is her post in full:
'I think that it’s sad when a woman tells me that the most meaningful experience of her life is becoming a mother,' I was told by a woman while I was in college.
I don’t remember much else that she said. I remember every detail of the cold November morning that Eli was born, and the warm April night when Holden was born.
I nurse my newborn son, Holden, as my toddler, Eli, uses my legs, arms, and even my head as a race track for toy cars and makes me meals made of plastic food.
I watch him in awe as he talks about different dinosaurs and even thinks to ask me how I’m feeling.
He was once so new and needing just like his little brother in my arms — nursing on demand and teaching me about filling and emptying in more ways than one.
I could hardly talk about weaning for a while without tearing up, but now that I am once again nursing, I've reflected back on breastfeeding my oldest.
I realise that weaning can be so emotional because breastfeeding isn't just about feeding a hungry baby. I was mothering through breastfeeding for two years and then I was not.
We both had to learn what that looked like, and we did.
Late last night I was reflecting back on our breastfeeding journey and wanted to write down what it looked like for us…
Breastfeeding looked like holding my minutes old newborn with awe as he instinctively latched.
Breastfeeding looked like milk stained everything and waking up at many midnights to feed my needing baby.
Breastfeeding looked like learning that the needing cries of my baby that could only be satisfied by nursing were not always made because of physical hunger.
Sometimes, the hunger was for comfort, love, and connection. And that was okay.
Breastfeeding looked like carefree outings with my baby without extra supplies needed.
Breastfeeding looked like rushing home back to Baby with a milk stained shirt from being separated too long.
Breastfeeding looked like pumping in the hospital waiting to get a simple procedure done that kept getting delayed while panicking knowing that my 3-month-old was refusing the bottle at home.
Breastfeeding looked like both the burden and beauty of being the one person for much of the first year who could feed my baby.
Breastfeeding looked like a paediatrician laughing in my face to just wean my newly one-year-old.
Breastfeeding looked like a new paediatrician genuinely smiling and saying, "Great job! He's a healthy breastfed baby."
Breastfeeding looked like sitting in the ER trying to decide if I should get the scan if it meant not being able to nurse my baby for 24-48 hours afterward.
Breastfeeding looked like the ER doctor telling me it wasn’t a big deal to stop breastfeeding and just “give him a bottle.”
Breastfeeding looked like my husband researching and standing up for me as I sat in tears because I couldn’t imagine how instantly stopping nursing my son would affect him nutritionally and emotionally.
Breastfeeding looked like advocating for myself and my son and saying, no, it was a big deal.
Breastfeeding looked like a nurse coming to my side, telling me she totally understands, and researching on my behalf only to find that it actually was safe to nurse immediately after getting the scan.
Breastfeeding looked like breaking down in tears to friends because recurrent clogged ducts and mastitis made me want to wean.
Breastfeeding looked like eventually weaning completely which was met with tears of sadness, joy, and gratitude all at once.
Though the breastfeeding journey ended with my oldest, and will end with every baby after him at some point, the metaphorical daily practise of filling and emptying will not.
I did not know to ask the woman who I met while I was in college this at the time, but I’d like to ask her now: “Is it sad because one of the most meaningful experiences of my life, mothering, requires me to be emptied?”
Now, breastfeeding looks like feeding my almost 3-month-old while my 2.5-year-old makes me 'lunch' at his play kitchen. I say, "Thank you for making me food!"
He responds, "You feeding brother. Thank you, mommy".
And I am filled once again.