How the anti-breastfeeding me ended up breastfeeding for 17 months… while enjoying it.

Ok, I have to precise something before I start.

When I say “anti-breastfeeding”, I wasn’t exactly against breastfeeding.

I don’t believe anyone can really. No matter what you think, you have to admit that breastfeeding is the most natural way to feed your baby.

Because that’s what has been planned by Mother Nature.

But for some reason, I have always been repulsed by this idea.

I’m not sure if it’s due to the fact that I have never had the impression that breastfeeding was a major thing in my culture or because of something else, but the fact is there: I have never been touched by the image of a mother breastfeeding her baby. I have never even found it particularly beautiful. And I have never been at ease in the middle of women breastfeeding their babies.

Good on those who could do it, that was great, but to me, there was no way I would do this.

Never ever.

But one day, I fell pregnant.

And I don’t know if it’s because my mother’s instinct started to grow or because I was living in Australia, and god knows how beastfeeding is advocated in this country, but I started to question myself.

I wasn’t so sure anymore that I wouldn’t do it after all. Still decided to resist but not 100% sure of my choice.

Not that no child is breastfed in France, of course not, but I reckon that you have much less pressure there. It looks like it's coming back these days though and you seem to have more and more women who decide to breastfeed. But still. It’s not as cultural as in Australia. And I’m not sure what choice I would have made in the end if I had given birth in my native country.

During my first antenatal appointment, when the midwife asked me if I was planning to breastfeed, I answered that I didn’t know. I told her the truth: that I felt that I had to but that I really didn't want to. That I was actually terrified.

And she smiled, saying that in that case I could certainly give it a go then, and she ticked the breastfeeding box on her sheet.

The box was ticked then, I had just been categorized as "breastfeeder".

Damn.

Just like that, in less than two minutes.

Even if I knew that the choice would still be mine in the end, I started to feel a lot of pressure from then on.

My pregnancy flew by and I kept asking myself the same question over and over again: do I do it or not???

I then changed slowly my point of view, going from “no way” to “maybe I could give it a go”.

And on the D Day, when I found myself in the delivery room, and that the midwife asked me if I wanted to breastfeed, I said yes.

Yes. I’m freaking scared but yes, I’m gonna give it a try.

I was actually planning to express mainly. A friend of mine had done that and she had had a great experience, so I thought that maybe it could be the solution.

Plus I didn’t want Flo to feel excluded. I wanted him to be able to feed his baby too.

When they finally put Slo on my chest and I tried to breastfeed her for the first time, I didn’t find it that terrible after all so I felt quite relieved, thinking that if it was as simple as this, maybe I could do it then.

But the second time didn’t go that well unfortunately and it started to hurt. I was probably not positioning my baby well.

And it kept hurting the subsequent times.

A lot.

Yes, I can confirm now: breastfeeding is not an easy thing, you need to be really motivated to keep going when you have a start like this. It was awful. It felt as if someone was cutting my nipples with a knife. I was bleeding.

How on earth such a tiny toothless mouth could do something like that?

It was so painful that I decided to stop and let my breasts rest for a while.

I gave Slo formula that first night.

And I felt terrible about it. So guilty because breast milk is the best that you can give to your baby and I couldn’t even do it.

I wasn’t giving my baby the best.

My so teeny tiny fragile little baby.

One of the midwives who was on call that night made me feel even worse actually. Everyone had been so nice and understanding so far, she totally scared me.

She was one of those who were 200% pro-breastfeeding and she made me feel like a total wreck.

She refused to give me formula and gave me a syringe and a cup instead, ordering me to express manually and to do my job.

She was rude, and rough. She made me cry.

Lucky me, I never saw her again and I quickly found some comfort among the other midwives who were there that night.

The next morning, I was not ready to try again but I decided to give the breast pump a go.

And it worked really well.

It wasn’t painful, alleluia. Perfect. I’ll do that then: breastfeeding, but formula when my breasts would need to rest and expressing as well.

I felt much better with this brand new decision.

Good. Except that it didn’t exactly go like this in the end.

Formula saved my first night at home as I didn’t seem to have a lot of milk. But then, I never used the tin ever again.

The next day, I succeeded in expressing and I slowly started to stock up the magic potion in my freezer.

I had found the perfect balance then. Flo and me were both feeding our baby.

Breastfeeding has been very hard the first 2 weeks. But I held on and it became easier with time and practice.

I was expressing as well, which was great because everybody could feed little Slo.

But when she was 2 months old, something unexpected happened: she started to refuse the bottle.

Usually, it’s the opposite that happens apparently. Babies tend to prefer the bottle as it’s easier than the breasts. That’s why they usually recommend to wait at least 6 weeks before introducing a bottle.

But the opposite happened to us. Slo refused the bottle. Completely.

Each time we offered her one, she started to scream like crazy as if we were trying to kill her.

And she looked angry.

Desperate.

And sad.

She wanted her Mummy.

How could I be annoyed with her?

So after a couple of weeks of dramas always ending with a relieved and content baby on a boobie, I decided to stop trying and gave up the bottle completely.

Because after all, there was no need to force her, I didn’t need bottles as I wasn’t planning to go back to work or anything.

And it turned out to be a pretty good thing.

Very handy.

Much easier.

Much quicker.

I've had mastitis several times though (2 where I took antibiotics, 3 that I avoided by massaging and expressing as often as possible).

Mastitis is terrible.

It makes you so sick. It feels like a big flu, with very painful breasts. Quite terrible when you have to take care of a baby at the same time. You can’t even let yourself die in peace. The baby is the best remedy though. Feeding her as much as possible is the key.

But apart from that, we can say that this breastfeeding thing went perfectly well (you can't have everything anyway, can you?)

I started to express again when Slo was 9 months old because I wanted to stop breastfeeding her to sleep. I started to give her a bottle instead.

And to my great pleasure (and relief), after a couple of days, she accepted it.

I expressed actively until she turned one, and from then on I started to put less pressure on myself.

I kept expressing but I reduced a little bit, I didn’t force myself to fill 3 bottles a day anymore. I started to add cow or goat milk when I didn't have enough. And I was still breastfeeding in the morning.

Because expressing is a pretty tiring thing.

It takes so long.

And I don’t know how all the other mothers do, but personally I couldn’t do anything else at the same time. So I spent I don’t know how many hours sitting on the floor, with a bent head, a sore back, and a sore neck, waiting for the magic liquid to come out (Ooohhh, the things you do for your kids...)

Anyway, I stopped expressing completely when she was 14 months old.

And we kept the morning ritual until she was 17 months.

By then, I could feel that I had less and less milk. At the end, I had nothing left on one side, and barely anything on the other one.

So one day, when I was starting to think that it would be soon time to stop, the naughty Slo dared to bite me. The poor thing got probably frustrated because there was not much milk left in there.

I decided then that it was it, no more breastfeeding.

I was ready to stop, and so was she.

17 months in total then.

Not bad for someone who didn’t want to do it in the first place, is it?

From “No way”, I went then to “Maybe I could try”, to “I’ll probably do it for 3 months”, to “Let’s go to 6 months”, to “I’ll stop when she’ll be one”, to “Oh my, how am I gonna stop this? I’m gonna be one of those mums who still breastfeed their 8 years old!!”

And to be honest, to have this past of “anti-breastfeeder” has quite weighed in my favour.

Because let’s face it: yes, our society wants mothers to breastfeed, but not for too long. After 6 months, a year, you start to hear things like “But, you’re still doing it? It’s maybe time to cut the cord now, time to let go”.

But me keeping going was more seen as a joke like anything else.

So people didn’t really dare to say anything to me.

“Oh wow, you’re still breastfeeding??? You???? Wow, that’s a miracle!!!”

“Yes, I’m still breastfeeding. Can you imagine that I was anti-breastfeeding before? Hahahaha”.

So anyway, all this to say that yes, I was repulsed by breastfeeding, and freaking scared, but still, I did it for 17 months.

And I enjoyed it.

A lot.

Yes.

And I think that I’m gonna give it a go this second time around.

Moral of the story: never say never.

YES, LIFE WITH KIDS IS FUN

#breastfeeding