Pregnancy & Baby Index: Real moms guide: Laugh Out Loud: The explosion: New moms and breastfeeding
The explosion: New moms and breastfeeding
Theresa Kane
A house with a newborn can be a crazy, busy place. When the infant first
comes home, your complete focus is on that baby's care -- and other things
like your social life don't rate at all. If showers barely rate, how can a
social life hope for attention?
Three months after our second-born, Justin, arrived, the time had come for
me to reclaim a little piece of my life, outside my role as a mother. An
invitation to two parties seemed like a wonderful reintroduction to adult
life. A Sunday brunch, followed by an elegant afternoon tea. How lovely!
This was more adult company than I had had in months!
In hindsight, it does seem like an ambitious plan, even for a confident,
experienced nursing mom. It was also a lot of social activity for him. Cute
as a button and good-natured, he was the center of attention at both
parties. Who could resist that smile and those big, blue eyes? His round
cheeks, at both ends, got pinched -- and he soaked in the love.
One party was joy for this milk-drunk child, but a second was too much. He
grew tired of the attention and did as all overwhelmed babies have done
before him. He sought comfort at my breast. He nursed and nursed and nursed
and nursed, and then when he was done, he nursed some more.
Monday arrived and Justin caught up on his sleep. Now babies like routine,
and it turns out that breasts like routine too. On Sunday, they had been
given the signal by Justin that he was really, really hungry. Monday, there
was a different signal. Frankly, they were confused.
The extra nursing on
Sunday meant that my breasts thought it was time to increase their milk
production. The extra sleeping on Monday meant that there was nowhere for
that extra milk to go.
Milk? Less milk? More milk? What do we do? What do we do?
By Tuesday, for a deceptive few hours, things seemed to be back to normal.
Justin nursed on schedule, but before too long, the whole thing wasn't
working: Justin was crying and cranky. And, my breasts were surprisingly
full. The milk didn't seem to have anywhere to go and Justin couldn't be
satisfied.
Now, even confident nursing-pro moms can panic and I am no exception. I
pulled out all my books. I scrounged for the training notes. I called
friends and applied every breastfeeding technique that I had ever heard of,
from hot compresses and even hotter showers, to cabbage leaves and the
dreaded nipple manipulation.
NOTHING worked.
By Wednesday morning, my breasts were the size of two large melons and as a
hard as granite. The right one, Justin's personal favorite, seemed to stand
at attention. Was it an infection? Was the baby sick? Had the milk turned to
shakes that were stuck in the tubes? The quick call to the experts at a
hotline confirmed the obvious: It was time to get some serious help! So,
Justin and I headed off to the clinic, trying desperately to keep up with my
breasts.
At the clinic, we took our seats among the many new moms who were learning
how to nurse for the first time. They gently held what seemed, in
comparison, to be tiny newborns. They tentatively uncovered their breasts
and the lactation consultant took them through the basics. It was a calm,
reassuring atmosphere -- the ideal place to nourish and bond with your
child.
Then, there was us.
The lactation consultant took one look at my super-sized breasts. The
"tut-tut-tut" that she muttered gave me some clue that this was serious
business. The verdict was clear.
"You have blocked ducts. The white specks here are not an infection. They
are dried milk. All we have to do it 'flick' this off and the milk will
start flowing. Let me get my 'tool' to take care of this."
Ours, apparently, was a case of exceptional educational value. "Would you
mind if I call in some of the consultants-in-training?" asked the
consultant. "We haven't had a case like this in a long time."
"Sure, that's fine with me," I replied. (Anything to get those breasts
flowing again was fine by me.)
One person in a lab coat entered this already crowded room.
Then a second. and a third..
There were others lined up outside who couldn't get in. And the parents of
newborns all gathered around, anxious to learn a trick or two that might
help down the road. I tried not to be embarrassed. Desperation, I've
discovered, can often be a handy mask for embarrassment.
The consultant took her "tool," and flicked at the dry milk spot - and it
started. Milk didn't leak out. It didn't flow out. It didn't flush out.
It shot out.
It shot out across the room, across the line of consultants, over the tired
mothers and the anxious fathers. It sprayed the filing cabinets on the other
side of the room, and it kept spraying for 20 minutes.
Justin was called into action. What better way to use breast milk than to
give it to the hungry child?
Now breast milk is a good thing, but there can also be too much of a good
thing. He sputtered. He spat and he couldn't keep up. Instead, we taped a
bottle liner on each breast and watched three bottles of milk spray from my
breasts. Then, and only then, was Justin ready to take up the challenge and
finish the job he had started.
If he grows up with a fear of fountains, I should be able to explain it to
him.