baby feeding thoughts
Warning: The following post contains the word "breast". If this offends you, you shouldn't read it. And you should probably consider vacating most of western society.
I love breast-feeding. I love having a little baby snuggled up next to me. I love how they drift off to sleep with milk dribbling from the corners of their mouths. I love the way their little fists beat me until that first gulp of milk, and then grasp at my t-shirt in a non-verbal way of letting me know that they ain't letting go. Conor just started doing one of my favorite things that I remember from Taryn and Ashlin. He'll be nursing away, and then he'll meet my gaze, and then he'll get a big smile on his face. Then of course that breaks the latch, so he'll get all serious and back to milk. Then soon he'll look at me again, and smile. That game can go on for quite awhile.
I was thinking about how people talk about feeding babies. Some urge it to be regulated as part of discipline. Others advocate "demand feeding" or use a more pleasant sounding "cue feeding" phrase. It struck me one day that we almost seem to be missing the point of it all. Feeding is not just about responding to hunger, or comforting or even attachment. Feeding is what keeps a baby alive.
When Taryn was born, she seemed to be nursing all the time, and I mean all the time. Basically, if she wasn't sleeping, she was at the breast. And she lost that initial weight that all babies lose. And she lost more. And then more. Turns out that while she appeared to be sucking, she wasn't. And as a new mom, I didn't understand just how it was all supposed to feel. So then my milk supply started shutting down. When I started to get help from a lactation consultant, I described what I was seeing in Taryn's diaper. She called it "Starvation poo." Starvation. My baby, my precious little daughter, was starving.
An electric breast pump, syringes, finger feeding tubes, a supplemental nursing system and some formula were some of the tricks of the trade to getting things right. We stumbled upon the solution - one day when the LC was checking where Taryn's tongue was during nursing by putting her finger under Taryn's chin, I realized that Taryn was sucking right. So all I had to do was hold my finger under her chin while she fed and she was fine. Was soon able to abandon formula and all the paraphenalia and breastfeed like a "normal" person.
She breastfed for about 21 months, I think. Ashlin about 19. Healthy, healthy kids. I love that I helped make them that way.
And as a breastfeed Conor, I feel really privileged, not just to share the cuddles and smiles, but privileged to be his source of LIFE. Can't schedule him. Nope. Life is there for him whenever he wants.
I love breast-feeding. I love having a little baby snuggled up next to me. I love how they drift off to sleep with milk dribbling from the corners of their mouths. I love the way their little fists beat me until that first gulp of milk, and then grasp at my t-shirt in a non-verbal way of letting me know that they ain't letting go. Conor just started doing one of my favorite things that I remember from Taryn and Ashlin. He'll be nursing away, and then he'll meet my gaze, and then he'll get a big smile on his face. Then of course that breaks the latch, so he'll get all serious and back to milk. Then soon he'll look at me again, and smile. That game can go on for quite awhile.
I was thinking about how people talk about feeding babies. Some urge it to be regulated as part of discipline. Others advocate "demand feeding" or use a more pleasant sounding "cue feeding" phrase. It struck me one day that we almost seem to be missing the point of it all. Feeding is not just about responding to hunger, or comforting or even attachment. Feeding is what keeps a baby alive.
When Taryn was born, she seemed to be nursing all the time, and I mean all the time. Basically, if she wasn't sleeping, she was at the breast. And she lost that initial weight that all babies lose. And she lost more. And then more. Turns out that while she appeared to be sucking, she wasn't. And as a new mom, I didn't understand just how it was all supposed to feel. So then my milk supply started shutting down. When I started to get help from a lactation consultant, I described what I was seeing in Taryn's diaper. She called it "Starvation poo." Starvation. My baby, my precious little daughter, was starving.
An electric breast pump, syringes, finger feeding tubes, a supplemental nursing system and some formula were some of the tricks of the trade to getting things right. We stumbled upon the solution - one day when the LC was checking where Taryn's tongue was during nursing by putting her finger under Taryn's chin, I realized that Taryn was sucking right. So all I had to do was hold my finger under her chin while she fed and she was fine. Was soon able to abandon formula and all the paraphenalia and breastfeed like a "normal" person.
She breastfed for about 21 months, I think. Ashlin about 19. Healthy, healthy kids. I love that I helped make them that way.
And as a breastfeed Conor, I feel really privileged, not just to share the cuddles and smiles, but privileged to be his source of LIFE. Can't schedule him. Nope. Life is there for him whenever he wants.
posted by Jude | 12:45 AM
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