The Talking Heads’ lyrics ring through my mind as I write this..

And you may ask yourself, well how did I get here?

Seriously, though. I guess I should have expected this, coming from a history of health + anatomy sciences in my previous education years, along with the utter awe of what my body can accomplish. Although I am itching to divulge my birth story, I am here to put into words my experience with breastfeeding. To who am I writing this to? I guess to that mom who assumes it’s a sure fire bet that feeding your beautiful new baby with your boobs comes oh so naturally and to prepare her for what can and can’t happen. I am fully aware that this makes me no expert nor do I know much else other than what I experienced, but here I am eager to share my tales of the art of nursing.

Like many expectant mothers, I envisioned peacefully and effortlessly nursing in a field, in a flowy dress and my long hair, wind swept and perfectly at ease. View below-

This is a treasured photo, but my god is it far from the truth. I began struggling with supply with both of my girls around their 3rd week of life. I never understood why my boobs decided to call it quits around then, causing piercing screams from my newborns that still haunt me. I completely understand that I am exceptionally lucky to have had the chance to experience this bonding with my babies. I know that many women are not able to at all. This does not change the fact that breastfeeding was really fucking hard.

From taking teas, eating lactation cookies, drinking Guinness, supplements, upping my water intake, nursing on demand, power pumping, cluster feeding, nothing seemed to ever increase my supply enough for me to exclusively breastfeed my girls. The second time around, I felt that I HAD this. I would be more relaxed, more experienced and more prepared to conquer breastfeeding. I WAS CONFIDENT. I was off to a killer head start, with leaking boobs and what seemed like a thriving, weight gaining, happy baby. Until my dear, sweet Flora began screaming to the high heavens at my milk production. Her weight began to flat line. My worst worries about nursing started to come true. WHY. AGAIN?! HOW. I DON’T UNDERSTAND. FUCK EVERYTHING. …were my thoughts, to say the least.

I scoured the internet for a formula that wasn’t horrendous (most are) and found that US standards are garbage so I began to order formula from Germany and the UK. It was expensive which lead me to further curse my body for failing me, yet again. I even went as far as calculating the amount of money I would spend on formula because of my faulty boobs (it’s well over 2k, but who is counting #killme)

I know what you’re thinking. I am too hard on myself. Yada yada. But aren’t we all as moms? How can you not feel disappointment when the things that are supposed to come naturally to a woman; ie feed her baby, don't? I was exhausted, and made a promise to myself that if it did not work out, I would let it go. BUT DO YOU EVEN KNOW ME? I could not let it go. So I held on and nursed my last baby for as long as I could, meanwhile feeding her expensive ass German formula and pumping every chance I got.

Perhaps I could have chilled out, but it’s not in my nature. I felt like I had one last chance to do this, so I would do it to my best ability. Flora lost interest at 8 months, which broke my heart but I knew it was finito. And that is ok. I realize that this may seem like a blip (and it is) but when you are IN it, like really deeply in it, this is all that matters. It’s been an exhausting journey and I am so glad I was able to do it, even partially. I loved nursing. Some women hate it, but I really loved it. Maybe not every aspect of it (bleeding nipples, 3 am feedings, not being able to leave for longer than 2 hours, getting weird looks from people while you whip your boob out) but for the most part, there is nothing more bad ass than keeping a human alive. I guess birthing them might be first. But that’s another blog post.

I’m thankful I have these images that even though may not truly depict my experience, they are still real along with the emotions that come with them.

Cheers.