Just six months.

When I became pregnant with my son I never even considered formula feeding. I was the biggest breastfeeding advocate. I was always talking to other expectant mothers about the benefits of breastfeeding for both mommy and baby, one of those pregnant mom who feels that they are already a part of the nursing mamas clique. I had read all the articles about the challenges of early breastfeeding, but really, how hard could it be? The breast goes in the baby's mouth and the milk comes out. Period.

Then my baby came screaming into this world.

After an hour and a half of pushing, an episiotomy and a tear later I was holding my beautiful baby boy. I immediately pulled off that hideous hospital gown and put my son to my breast to nurse. He nursed for an hour, and I smugly thought to myself "See how easy it is?"

I gave birth at 10:55 pm, so after the next two or three hours of "recovery" time I was finally wheeled into the room I would sleep in. I got about 5 minutes of sleep before the nurse came back bearing my beautiful baby, hungry as a lion. When I went to latch him on something went very, very wrong. He clamped down like a barracuda on my nipple, causing not only an excruciating pain but shock to me. What happened to my little champion nurser? From then on it was all downhill. I lost control over my baby's latch, and he wanted to do nothing but bite the heck out of me. For the two days in the hospital I struggled alone with my baby, with my mother's guidance, my husband's well-meaning encouragement, my mother-in-law's assurance, and a Lactation Consultant that seemed more eager to give my baby a bottle than actually teaching me how to breastfeed. She convinced me that my baby needed to learn how to latch on a bottle instead of my breast. She hooked me up to a pump, having me painfully pump out what little colostrum I had. Then she hooked me up to the little tube system that taped to my breast and told me to have my baby latch onto my breast with this little tube of formula. They wouldn't let me leave the hospital until I had shown her that I knew how to properly use this tube to feed my baby. I faked it like I knew how, and despite a complete lack of acting talent, they released me.

Now don't get me wrong. All these things may be effective for some people, but for me they were not. I was frustrated and sleep-deprived, my nipples were on fire and my breasts ached with my incoming milk. At 1:00 am my first night home, I lost my mind. My son would only latch onto the tube and not my breast, the tube kept falling out of his mouth and squirting formula everywhere, the tape wouldn't stick to my skin, my new nursing bra was covered in spilled formula, my baby was screaming to be fed and I was a wreck. I broke down in uncontrollable sobs. I was so done breastfeeding. I had failed as a nursing mom...heck, I had failed as a mom period. Was there anyone else in the world who couldn't nurse their baby? Was there anyone else out there who knew what I was feeling? So much for being smug.

I cried and cried and finally called my mom for advice. I told her I was throwing in the burp cloth, that my breastfeeding days, though few, were OVER. She told me that what I needed to throw away was that tube. She told me to give my son a bottle of formula, that I was no good to him if I didn't get some sleep, and that tomorrow would be a new day in which I could try again. Just because I couldn't breastfeed him one night didn't mean I couldn't breastfeed him ever.

I did just that. I slept a glorious four hours (waking up once more for a feeding, of course) and felt like a new woman. The following morning I snapped on my nursing pillow, sat down, and put my baby to the breast. Lo and behold, he latched on and ate for an hour! Yes, it was still painful, but I promised myself that I just needed to nurse for six months. Just six months and I would consider myself a successful nursing mom.

Here I am, my baby is eight months old, and I still prefer to breastfeed him over giving him solids! I love our snuggle time, I love his little coos and groans while he eats, and how he looks up at me with his big brown eyes with such love and adoration. No, my trials did not immediately end. I wound up with mastitis in both my breasts, clogged milk ducts, but it has ALL been worth it. I truly treasure every moment that I get to nurse him because I know it won't be forever. There is so much I would have missed out on had I given up and chosen to stop nursing at only two days old. I think about this special bond that only my baby and I share because of breastfeeding, and I am utterly thankful. This was definetely a lesson in humility, perserverance, and patience for me, but I came out smiling! I can now say with much more certainty than before I had my son that I will happily breastfeed all my babies!

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