When I found out my baby probably wouldn't be able to nurse, I was really disappointed. This was going to be my last baby, and I wanted to be able to enjoy one last time those sweet, quiet moments in a back room, gently rocking in my chair while my baby was latched on to me and quietly drinking. Parenting a new little one is hard, a time where there is hardly any sleep and a whole lot of crying, but those quiet moments of providing nourishment for an eager little mouth brings a calm satisfaction that makes it all worth it. Was I really going to be denied this? There was still a sliver of hope since other moms of cleft babies had been able to nurse, but just in case, I was able to get a double electric breast pump. I was told that if I went to Alpine Home Medical, my insurance would provide a free pump. It was a pleasant surprise that would save me well over $100. I went for the Rumble Tuff brand.
After I had delivered, I tried nursing, but it was fruitless. His cleft was far too severe to even hope for a shadow of a suck. I was going to be bound to a cold machine that would extract my milk for an entire year instead of the warm suckle of my baby's mouth. I had planned on rooming in with my child, but ended up returning by myself since he was whisked away to the NICU. It was lonely in there, and I was left alone with the pump. For fifteen minutes, I was squeezed painfully, and when I finished, I anxiously looked to see how much colostrum I had produced. Tears welled in my eyes when I saw the pathetic amount.
I determined to be diligent at pumping every 2-3 hours, but reality hit hard. I was going about every 5 hours, between trying to find time to visit my baby, shower, eat, talk with different hospital staff, and make those phone calls to family and friends. And each time I pumped, I got less and less. I burst into tears on day two, when 15 minutes of pumping produced only 2-3 DROPS. It felt absolutely, completely hopeless. I told one of my nurses how pointless it felt, but she assured me that if I kept at it, my milk would eventually come in. So there I was, sitting at my machine 6-8 times a day, and pumping practically nothing. I hated it. It wasn't fair. My baby was downstairs in the NICU, eating formula that I wasn't producing, and not getting any of my colostrum.
By the time I came home, my milk had come in, but my son refused it. I tried mixing it half and half with the formula he had been used to, and he ate that. Talk about a slap in the face. It took about two weeks before I was able to wean him completely off the formula, and get him on my own milk. The good thing about my pump was that it was strong enough to only take 15 minutes. Add on the fact that my baby was a champ at eating from his bottle (takes less than 10 minutes), I was actually saving time by pumping instead of nursing. With 6 kids, any time saved is a big bonus.
Again, with thirty-five kids--oops, I mean six--it was hard to stay consistent with pumping. I still had to take kids to school, feed my toddler, make my OWN meals, feed the baby, change the toddler's diaper, change the baby's diaper, visit the bathroom MYSELF (if I'm LUCKY), shower (talk about low odds!), pick the kids up from school, fix dinner--eek!--clean out baby's blowouts, wash my OWN clothes, feed the cats, change their litter box, help kids with homework, carve out 3 hours once a week for orthodontist visits, change the NAM, comfort my screaming baby, comfort my needy toddler, pediatrician visits, parent teacher conferences,...and STILL try to find time to pump. There are days I only manage to pump like 5 times.
Pumping is just HARD. The first four months were excruciating. My husband wasn't even ALLOWED to look at me "there" because I could feel his eyes, and it hurt. My machine might be efficient, but it was painfully so. Once I finally got used to the suction, it wasn't so bad, but that's just physically. Emotionally, it's exhausting. After running around, trying to stay on top of all of my regular duties, I'll catch myself thinking, "Hey! I can finally bake some cookies, or read, or play the piano! HEY! I can SHOWER!!" and then my eyes rest on my pump gear, and I groan in annoyance, because, NO, I CAN'T DO ANYTHING until I pump. But by the time I finish, the baby's awake again! I'll sometimes plop onto the sofa for some down time, only to be reminded by the pump that is resting on the arm, and honestly, I get so mad sometimes, because it feels like my life is round-the-clock pumping. It's all I ever do, I feel like.
And then there's the money. Besides wanting to give my son the milk I can produce myself, let's be honest. It's a lot about saving money. But that's just not so. I buy milk storage bags maybe twice a month. Do you have any idea how much they cost? It's about $24 for a case of 100, which comes to about $50 a month. Formula costs about $35 for a huge canister, which babies go through in what, a week? Anyway, so pumping doesn't actually save a whole lot. Add in the fact that my inconsistent pumping has caused my milk supply to REALLY drop, so now I have to supplement with formula, which I'm now buying milk storage bags AND formula! It's really just frustrating all around.
I guess the only reason I still pump is that I'm hoping it will create a bond with my son. I want to know that I am still capable of providing for him, and even though it is hard, I'm going to keep doing it. I pump because I love him, and it's the best I can give him. I pump, because I can do hard things.
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