Battle of the Boob

The Battle of the Boob - 2014

The battle of the boob - by far the most talked about challenge for women post birth.

Midwives prepare us in the months leading up to birth, reminding us of all the wonderful things our boobs can give to our unborn babies. We hear how we can provide our immunity to illnesses to our babies, prevent eczema, fend off breast cancer ourselves and best of all it is free! By the time we are in hospital most of us are already sold on this phenomenon, eager to give our little ones everything they need. The same midwives encourage us to get our babies to latch on shortly after birth, helping us and guiding our way. For a short time we are in the hospital bubble with midwives to check that we are still feeding and there to support us in doing so.

And then we are out. Back at home it's a war zone. Nappies sprawled across the room, spit up everywhere, projectile poo flying across the room and the sounds of newborn cries filling the house. Mummies desperate to settle their little angels hope and pray they will latch. Daddies are there to support them in whatever way they can, having heard how support of breast feeding in those early days is necessary.

Luckily at some point the feeding seems to get a little easier. You get the hang of how to position yourself and your little one. You realise you don't need to eat every five minutes to survive the feed and most of all the baby is thriving. Fait complete, non?

Nope. Not even a little bit. Because just at that point your worst nightmare arrives - The Growth Spurt. The Growth Spurt comes in very early on when it is still pandemonium in your house and you have no idea what is going on. It is the 3 week Growth Spurt that is much more problematic for mums. The feeding never ends. When your baby isn't feeding they may be sleeping or needing a nappy change but the time in between seems so short it hardly feels worth it to get dressed. Breast pads are used, lasinoh is bought in bulk and ice packs are at the ready.

For me it was around this time that I noticed my very Dear Hubby (DH) loose faith in breast feeding. Having spent my entire pregnancy supporting me in every way possible and the first 3 weeks of baby's life championing my successes he suddenly seemed to find the whole process bizarre.

I watched in wonder as he started talking about the benefits of formula. I was amazed to hear that he was eager to implement bottles and I was saddened to realise that hubby wasn't "on my side". The feeling of failure was rife. All insecurities that I felt about my feeding were realised hearing them come out of DH mouth.

To say it brought a rift between us would be putting it mildly. After approximately 4 weeks of no sleep tempers were ripe for the loosing. We were happy to snap at each other over something as simple as what variety of pasta we would be eating that night. And yes, it was always pasta that could cook in under 10 minutes! To give us something real to argue over was nothing short of a god send.

So it started. The Battle of the Boob, 2014. As I struggled with my self confidence and abilities as a mother my DH struggled to understand why I wanted to make life harder for myself. As he sang from the bottle feeding hymn sheet I started to wonder why I was battling a booby at all.

Nipples bleeding, Breast pump to hand and a lactation consultant later I realised I had been right about my Dear Daughter (DD) all along. It was tongue tie that dunnit. She sadly struggled to get her little mouth to latch and it turns out I was fighting a war on two fronts.

Armed with yet another reason I shouldn't be breast feeding her DH seemed triumphant. He had won the Battle of the Boob, surely? Well yes in part. At this point - 6 weeks into DD's life I decided he could give her a formula bottle for her 11pm feed and I would rest up. Combination feeding began.
We watched in wonder as my little lady lapped up her night feed and didn't give two hoots it wasn't mommy's finest. I even slept better for a few days!

Then something strange happened. The 11pm feed became 12am, then 2am... And DH wasn't as excited about that feed anymore. For if he had to get up for work the next day he couldn't really be up at 2am for a feed, could the poor chap?

So back to mommy it was! I tried desperately to keep up the bottle feed but something else was happening to me..something unexpected and remarkable... I could breastfeed! Gone were the days I winced in pain as DD latched on. Bleeding nips were a thing of the past and oh my goodness I had said farewell to cluster feeding! Suddenly I was sad to say sienara to my time with DD at my breast, we were just getting the hang of it. Hubby may have won the battle but the war was far from taken. With a more relaxed mommy my baby seemed happier and chubbier, than ever.

It seemed all that was left to do was to have a final dig at the Hubster. Just to reiterate that he was wrong, nothing sinister, of course. I chose my time wisely. Waited until he was exhausted from a long day and ready to go to sleep. Retaliation and reward for all the nights he promised to do a night feed but conveniently couldn't wake up.

Fighting sleep he heard me calmly explain how upset and hurt I was he didn't fight on my team anymore and that I had finally won my own Battle of the Boob so didn't want to keep fighting his. There may have been a gentle reminder that despite not using formula I had managed, Hans Solo, to get DD into a 4 hour feeding routine. Take that Hubster!

With that we put the battle to bed.

Because after all, what is triumph without a healthy dose of guilt attached?