The Breastfeeding Saga Continues

I didn't expect to love breastfeeding as much as I do (there is absolutely nothing more endearing than feeding your child and watching their impossibly small fingers wrap around your hair), nor did I expect it to be so complicated.

The second night in the hospital I had a major wake up call. I knew that newborns had to eat a lot thanks to those newborn tummies, but I assumed "a lot" meant--maybe--two or three meals to my one.

That second night I was so looking forward to sleeping. Finally. Actually, not so much looking forward to it as desperately, deliriously, on-the-verge of breaking down needing it. So I sent Adelyn to the nursery around 9 p.m. Kissed her little pink forehead goodbye. And then the nurse said she'd bring her back in two hours to eat.

I almost cried. I had to rationalize with myself not to argue with this nurse, that surely this every two hour thing was just one of the countless motherhood unknowns.

Two hours and no sleep later, she was back. And, yes, I nearly squealed with delight when I heard the nurse opening the door. I love her more than I knew possible--it's just the lack of sleep I detest.

It's getting better, though. We started supplementing with formula last night. Jason offered her two ounces out of a Dr. Brown's bottle (I'd read that they were the best for breastfed babies) after I'd already fed her for thirty minutes, and she gobbled it up. I'm talking grunting, drooling, eyes-wide gobbled it down. I bawled my eyes out watching (they're not lying when they tell you about postpartum emotion), realizing that she really, truly hadn't been getting enough to eat.

We invested in a good breastpump from the hospital. That's not going so well, though. Again, my naive-self had extraordinarily unrealistic expectations about pumping. I thought, you know, ten minutes of pump-pumping and I'd have a full bottle. A couple of times a day of that and I'd have a freezer-full in a week.

In reality, I spent the first week pumping twice daily for twenty minutes right after I fed her, watching in frustration as the tiny little driblets barely reached a quarter ounce in the bottle.

On Monday I started pumping more (three or four times a day) and getting slightly better results. Then I pumped first thing this morning, since Jason had already fed her with a little bit of formula before I got up, and I got a whole two ounces out of each breast. (Those of you contemplating pregnancy, take heed that these are the kind of things that will thrill you after your baby arrives--feeling like a cow hooked up to a creepy sucking machine.)

I now have a modest stash in the freezer, about five four ounce bottles. Soon, I hope that we can supplement with extra breast milk rather than formula, and then hopefully she'll plump up enough that I can go back to breastfeeding exclusively. I also ordered some fenugreek thanks to some of your wonderful suggestions.

It's all starting to feel like a mind-numbing algebra equation. I'm trying to figure it out, piece by piece.

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