I AM Mom Enough

Moments after birth

Adelynn is now six months old. I can’t wrap my brain around how fast the months have gone by since her birth. She’s now a chunky, incredibly happy, very healthy baby.

Have I mentioned she made it through her entire first six months on human milk exclusively?

Donor milk

This is no small thing for a baby born to a mom with insufficient glandular tissue (IGT). I’ve talked before about our rocky start to breastfeeding, so I can skip past those details.

I’m going to be honest. I haven’t read the Time Magazine article, or any of the rebuttals, comments or commentaries. The cover picture pissed me off. I mean, I saw it and felt a rage bubble up inside of me. I sobbed uncontrollably every time the picture or something connected to it popped up in my news feed. I barely visited Facebook for a while.

You see, I called that photographer for our family to go out to New York for those pictures. And I can’t help but wonder how it would have been different if my family had gone. I like to think they could have used the same title on the cover, “Are You Mom Enough?”. Because, yeah, I like to think I am. In fact, I think I’m MORE than mom enough.

But I have never nursed a toddler.

I have done so much more than have an easy, long term nursing relationship. I have IGT. And I breastfeed.

I am a mother of two. The following applies to both of my babies unless otherwise noted.

As a sufferer (victim?) of IGT, I have: 

*Pumped every two hours (with my first) or every three hours (with my second) trying to stimulate further milk production as well as to gather every single drop I produce. I pumped like this for my first for six months and for my second for 5 ½ months.

*Suffered through poor latch which created blood blisters (and some open, bleeding cracks) on my nipples. My first had an undiagnosed upper lip tie. We worked hard on his latch and saw a chiropractor. My second had an upper lip tie as well, which we ultimately had clipped. She saw a craniosacral therapist and a chiropractor as well.

*Nursed through two bouts of thrush (one with each baby), both lasting for 6-8 weeks.

*Spent hundreds of dollars on golactagogues; Domperidone, fenugreek, Go-Lacta, Leptaden, brewer’s yeast, fennel, flax, ‘milk tea’, goat’s rue, and more.

*Spent hundreds on supplemental nursing systems (both the Medela SNS and the Lact-Aid trainer system).

*Consulted with various breastfeeding support specialists, spent countless hours researching low supply and made friends over breastfeeding issues.

*Researched formula to the ends of the internet, trying to decide what would be best for my baby, knowing just how inferior it is to breast milk.

*Driven over 1100 miles, all over the state of Wisconsin, to track down and tote home precious donor milk from 21 donor moms (for my daughter). Our donor milk for our son came primarily from local sources, 13 donors in all.

*Cried. Almost daily for several months, and too often even after that, for ‘failing’ my babies.

Three coolers full of donor milk and Otto

 

 

 

 

I’m not a martyr for a cause. I’m not bragging or even, really, complaining. I’m proud of what I’ve done for my babies, but I wouldn’t blame any mom in a similar situation for not wanting to do all of the things I’ve done for my kids. That said, it does nothing for the wider world of parenting to suggest that not nursing a toddler (or not being able to nurse a toddler) somehow makes a woman less of a mom.

I cloth diaper and fight for genital integrity (starting with 

protecting my own son from circumcision). I shield my children from toxins in their food and environment. I keep them close through infancy in a carrier against my chest. I cuddle close to them at night and never allow either to cry or learn to self-soothe. I encourage my toddler to think and act freely and creatively.  I exhaustively seek out resources to help me be a better parent and to help reassure me that the choices I am making are for the best and will help my children grow up feeling loved and needed, but still able to think independently.

But no. I am NOT "mom enough" to nurse a toddler. I would love to still be nursing my two year old. I would love to tandem nurse. I would love to feed my children the way nature intended and just trust that they are getting enough to grow and nourish their little bodies. Just because I cannot do this without an elaborate system of hoses strung from a bottle around my neck does not mean I am not mom enough.

I may be able to exclusively breastfeed my third (due in December). The nature of the IGT beast is that with every pregnancy, more glandular tissue grows. I have learned a lot through my last two pregnancies that I feel confident about tackling this next postpartum period head on. I am hopeful, but keeping myself braced for the very real possibility of having to supplement again. And, as big of a pain in the ass it is to track down donors and enough milk and to muster up trust for all these women I’m gathering milk from, I will do it again. Because, in my heart, I know that breast milk is important. I will give my babies every drop I have available and I will gratefully accept the milk other women offer to make up for what I cannot produce.

Out for a walk. I had to choose between two pictures. In one, I had a goofy face. In this one, she has the goofy face. I decided babies look better with goofy faces than I do. I mean, look at the hair I’m trying to pull off in this picture. In my defense, it was quite windy.

So when faced with the question, “Are you mom enough?” I can confidently lift my chin high and say, without a doubt, “Yes.”

It Only Takes One Time!

"It only takes one time."

My mom has said that to me my entire life regarding one thing or another. I'm not sure if your mom said that to you, but it seemed my mom usually said that when something could potentially go wrong, even if it hadn't a hundred times before.

"Mom, I've never broken a wrist riding my bike this way before!"

"It only takes ONE time!"

"MOM, I haven't been squashed in a mosh pit before."

"It only takes ONE time!"

So when I began to suspect... began to take note of funny little things... I could hear my mom's voice, "It only takes one time!"

About a month ago, I found myself craving junk food. FAST food. I don't eat fast food. I met a doula client at Burger King where her child could play while we talked. I wasn't even hungry, but I ordered a small fry.

Later that night, we were all sitting on the floor at home, playing with our baby and toddler. I poked my ankle.

"Shane. My ankles are kind of puffy."

He looked at me, wide eyed, "Isn't your milk supply dropping?"

I nodded, "My nipples hurt too.. I've been thinking Addie's latch is off and she might need a CST adjustment."

We kind of looked at each other for a second. I chuckled, "Maybe I should pee on a stick."

I put it out of my mind for the night. The next morning, I needed to run a few cities down to get donor milk out of my mom's deep freeze. I got it in my mind that I needed to POAS right. this. minute.

I ran to the dollar store, five month old on my hip, and bought one test. Since I needed to run to the grocery store for a few things, I headed there and right to the bathroom.

If you’ve ever used the dollar store pregnancy tests, you know they are the old fashioned kind where you need to pee into a cup then use a dropper to put the pee onto the test cartridge. Being in a public bathroom, I was short on cups, so I opened the foil package the test came in, took out the dropper, cartridge and moisture absorbency pack and peed into that. Do you have ANY idea how difficult it is to pee into an envelope? I peed all over my hand. It didn’t help that I was trembling violently at this point. 

After shaking urine off my hand, I dropped some urine onto the little pee-receptacle on the cartridge. I made sure the urine was creeping into the test space and pulled my pants up. I no more than had my pants up and I peeked at the test from the corner of my eye. 

No. Surely not. That is NOT two lines. TWO lines? Wait. Is two lines a positive? 

I checked twice. Just to be sure.

Of course I knew two lines meant positive, but I checked the instructions on the back of the box, JUST to be sure.

Yep. Pregnant.

I looked at my five month old daughter, laying on a fleece pouch on the floor. She cooed and smiled at me. I stifled a sob. Then let loose. I can’t imagine what the Pick and Save employee in the next stall thought.

I wrapped the test in toilet paper and tossed the packaging into the little garbage can. I have to be somewhat comforted by the thought that I wasn’t the only one taking a pregnancy test in a grocery store bathroom. Someone had discarded an E.P.T. box in the little garbage can. I wondered what her result was… what her reaction was.

After washing my hands and adjusting my baby into the pouch on my chest, I attempted to shop for the few items I needed. I think I bought a few apples, a salad from the salad bar and some peanut butter. I don’t think I needed any of those things.

I had to go visit with my mom for a little while and try to hide my emotions from her. I then packed my kids into the car and headed for home. I was craving tacos. I NEEDED a taco. So, I went to Taco Bell (don’t judge). I bought Shane his favorite, then pulled over in the parking lot and wrote him a ridiculous poem about seducing me and him becoming a father of three (listen, it seemed really clever at the time), then wrote “yep, I’m pregnant”. I wrapped his burrito in the paper and back up in the wrapper. At home, I gave him that burrito first then headed back out to the garage to get the baby. When I got back, Shane had a mouth full of burrito, agape. In one hand was the poem, the other, a burrito. He looked at me, wide eyed. 

“Really??” I nodded. He laughed.

Yep. At this point, it’s just funny.

You know why? Because a doctor told me we would need meds to conceive. Not three full years later, we’re onto number three.

You know what else? We had had sex twice. Just twice. AND we used spermicidal jelly. Fail on my part? 

Not realizing until afterward that jelly only has a some 73% effectiveness. Oh, and you know what else is really funny? I had just picked up my diaphragm a couple days before the positive. And here it sits, never even opened. 

And then I heard my mother’s voice, “It only takes ONE time, Chelsie.” 

We told our family a few days ago. My mom was shocked. To be fair, we don’t have a ton of money. We’re not poor. And babies don’t cost much the first year or two, simply because of our minimalist baby-raising style, but they do cost in the long run. And of course, now we have another midwife bill to look forward to.

My aunt and cousin cracked up. My cousin asked if we knew how babies were made.

My mom asked why we weren’t using protection. I told her because I didn’t think my cycle had come back since I had not had a period and we DID use protection. AND we only did it once (sure, sue me, I lied to my mom.. it's only a half lie, right?).

And sure enough. She looked me square in the eye and said, “Chelsie, it only takes ONE time!”

I said it right along with her. Then told Shane, “See, told you she’d say that.”

So there you have it. Another Crunchy Convert pregnancy adventure. After some bouts of crying for a week or two along with extreme jolts of anxiety and worry, I settled into the idea of loving being pregnant again. And extremely grateful for being so blessed with fertility and healthy pregnancies.  We’re looking forward to adding number three to the brood sometime mid-December.

Failure to Thrive

(For a full understanding of my breastfeeding history, I have linked relevant posts.)

I had all kinds of issues breastfeeding my son, Flynn. However, we got our relationship started under some pretty rough circumstances. I had never heard of IGT. I was never told PCOS could affect supply. I *was* told that only 1% of women couldn't breastfeed so not to worry about it. So, when, despite trying everything I was told or read to do, I was completely unable to bring my supply up to anything significant. My son nursed until he was 7 1/2 months, at which point he self-weaned. I doubt he got more than 3 or 4 ounces a day from me if he was lucky. I blamed my failure to exclusively breastfeed my son mostly on the hospital, but I also spent a lot of time blaming myself for failing my son. Because of him and a fluke incident at a LLL meeting, I found myself plunging feet first into the world of milk sharing. All told, Flynn had the milk of 13 mothers, myself included.

With my second pregnancy, I was so excited to have the opportunity to nurse again. I thought for sure that I would be successful, after all, I blamed the hospital for my failure with my son. I began producing colostrum around week 32. I was thrilled. I thought for sure this meant I would breastfeed. I did have lingering doubts, though.

Adelynn was born at 10 pounds, 2 ounces. Within a few days, she dropped to around nine pounds. At some point, she hit eight and a half pounds. My midwife was checking her weight weekly. She recommended I start supplementing at week two with no weight gain. I was hesitant. I figured I was just under so much stress with the fella having left for work out of state two days after her birth and adjusting to life with a newborn and near-two year old. I dropped my toddler off with my mom and hunkered down for three days of skin to skin and almost constant nursing. I became aware of this creeping feeling of dread and disappointment. I had a feeling by week three that my supply was not keeping up with my poor daughter. I posted on my personal Facebook profile asking friends if anyone had any extra milk they would consider sharing with Adelynn. Two friends showed up with milk within the next two days. I started taking Go-Lacta in addition to the mother’s milk tea I’d been drinking since her second day of life and used the SNS (Supplemental Nurser System) to deliver the milk to her as she nursed. She seemed to nurse to contentment, often spitting up or just falling asleep and not appearing hungry for at least an hour and a half to two hours, a time period I considered normal for a newborn.

Adelynn’s latch left something to be desired. She had a severe upper lip tie that left her latch very shallow. By the third day of her life, I had blisters on both nipples that made nursing excruciating. I fear this didn’t help matters with my supply. I hated to have it clipped. I did some reading and talked to some friends who’s babes had had a lip and/or tongue tie and felt that, with some work, her tie could stretch. I sought out a craniosacral therapist (in addition to weekly chiropractic adjustments beginning four days after birth). After two sessions with the CST, my nipples seemed to heal overnight. Her latch was still shallow and required vigilance on my part, but it was much improved. She was still squashing my nipples though and I felt my supply couldn’t compete so I chose to have her tie clipped. (Have I even mentioned that I was dealing with thrush for a good two months during all of this? Yeah. Yuck.)

When we first began supplementing with donor milk, we were really only using about four ounces a day. Adelynn just didn’t seem to need anymore than that. I was frustrated that I couldn’t bump my supply those measly four ounces, but felt lucky that it was only that much compared to my experience with her older brother. I kept noticing hard spots within my breasts and worried that she still wasn’t fully draining the milk. I had begun pumping around week three, following up after she nursed to make sure all the milk was taken (I typically only pumped a few drops). I did breast compressions as taught in the Stanford videos and pumped between sessions as well. But these hard lumps would remain most of the time. Other times I couldn’t find a single one. I contacted a lactation consultant.

I’m going to summarize what happened next. It’s extremely emotional for me to talk about those few days between the lactation consultant and our family doctor. I feel almost as if I should defend myself as a precursor to telling this story, since this bit is what has kept me from writing this post for several months now. As I’ve mentioned, my partner was out of state. I had a 22 month old who was adjusting poorly to his father having just left and his mother’s attention suddenly shifted so much to this new baby. I was running on an average of three hours of sleep a night and was extremely strung out from postpartum depression. Adelynn’s first six weeks are a blur, but as each week went by, I was sure that we had found a solution and she was getting enough milk (her supplement intake was slowly going up between week three and six). She would outgrow clothing also. So, you can imagine that I truly thought that we had overcome difficulties and that she was gaining each week, only to be disappointed to find out that she was static.

After a before and after feeding which revealed that Adelynn had taken less than an ounce during her feeding and being given an official IGT diagnosis, the supervising MD came into the room and insisted that I go see our doctor the following day. She said she would fax over a recommendation to get us in immediately. We saw our doctor the next day. I went in shaking and was crying within minutes of my doctor walking into the room. She is, thankfully, an extremely breastfeeding friendly doctor who was happy to hear we were using donor milk (she has never suggested formula with either baby). She reassured me that I wasn’t a bad mom but asked that I basically start ‘force feeding’ her more milk after each feeding (though I did it during with the SNS) to help her gain weight. She ordered labs just to rule out a metabolic condition or other disease (all negative) and asked to see us the following week for a weight check. She did say that Adelynn likely had reflux and so it was no surprise for her to be ‘urping’ up part of her feedings, regardless of how underfed she was.

Upon leaving my doctors office, I started my search for more donor milk. I picked up milk from a mom who had given us milk for Flynn also. I got milk from a friend who I met when she donated milk to Flynn. A friend I met only weeks before having Adelynn came to my house a couple times a week following her birth. She brought milk for baby and food for mom. I posted on Human Milk for Human Babies and Eats on Feets and found milk locally. I posted on The Crunchy Convert and found milk in Wyoming. My midwife connected me with a friend of hers who was happy to give us a boatload of milk. Adelynn went from around 2.5 ounces of milk after/with each feeding to 3 to 3.5 ounces within about two to three weeks.

At our recheck the following week, Adelynn had gone over nine pounds. Within a few weeks, she surpassed her birth weight. Around six weeks, I started introducing a bottle and gave up on the SNS after she was comfortably taking the bottle around eight or nine weeks. I was stressed out enough as it was and the SNS was making me crazy between having to clean it after each feeding and having to work with her still-poor latch. I pulled the SNS out every now and then when I felt like it, then made a goal of using it once or twice a day. At around 15 weeks, I went back to using it almost full time.

We have traveled across our state, and to our state’s capitol then south and through Milwaukee, all for milk. At 12 weeks, I made this picture to celebrate making it three full months without having to use a drop of formula. Even with a mom incapable of producing enough milk, my daughter could boast a virgin gut.

Sixteen weeks had been my mini-goal when I first realized how much we would have to supplement. Shortly after passing the four month mark, we picked up close to 1300 ounces of milk from three different donors, enough to get us to six months, my long term goal. At 15 weeks, Adelynn weighed 15 pounds 8 ounces. She is 17 ½ weeks old as I write this and has had milk from SIXTEEN moms! Amazing.

I went through a seriously deep depression with a weird sort of guilt when I found myself unable to meet my daughter’s needs. I cried several times a day and questioned what kind of mother I could be if I couldn’t even feed my children. The guilt is immense… It’s not my fault that I can’t breastfeed, but I feel bad that my kids were born to a mother who couldn’t give them the very best.

I don’t think that I’ll ever not feel guilty or saddened by our situation. I stress about going through this again with another child, although IGT is a funny thing and I could possibly EBF my next child. I’m adjusting to life attached to the SNS, and psyching myself out to start using it when I’m out and about. I have no qualms over nursing in public, but the idea of hooking myself up to the SNS and showing off the tubing and bottle as I nurse in public is, for some reason, extremely intimidating. But I’ll get there. I’m grateful that my daughter is getting the very best start I can give her, even if it’s not my own milk (or at least, for the most part). We are both benefiting from the comfort and bonding associated with breastfeeding.

There was a point when we were shuffling between IBCLC and MD that I thought “Fuck this. Seriously. So many women just stop if it doesn’t work. Why can’t I? I wouldn’t be a bad mom for it.” I really considered not nursing anymore. It just didn’t seem to be worth the angst anymore. But, I woke up the following morning and looked down to find myself belly to belly with my precious baby girl. Her head was nestled in the crook of my arm as she nursed. She looked at me and cracked a smile, and my heart melted. THIS is why I breastfeed. It isn’t about food. It’s about love. Other mothers pick up my slack, but moments like that morning are uniquely mine and Adelynn’s.