One of the most real moments of breastfeeding was two weeks post-partum.I had been exhausted from the constant latching.
My husband was trying to hand me our newborn son but I held out my hand, asking for a minute. Then, I muffled my cry because I couldn’t take it anymore.
My nipple was sore and cracked. I was in pain.But I felt so guilty because I knew my baby needed me.
The following week on our way home from a check up, I had to breastfeed with my cracked nipple and I punched the passenger seat.
I broke down.
I realized that it wasn’t about me and my vanity to satisfy the pressure of breastfeeding him, it was about feeding him. It was all about him. I had to realize that my body would only produce milk if I accept what it can and cannot do, and work with what I have.
So I decided to make it work, forgive myself when he’d cry and couldn’t nurse him immediately; decided to buy a nipple shield until I healed properly.
Side-lying was the only position that worked, and my husband held him when I was too tired.
In the end, it worked out because it wasn’t about me, it was all for him.
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