So before little Bradley arrived, I read all the books I could find about breastfeeding. I know its many virtues; the nutrients, the antibodies, the bonding time, etc etc etc. I was bound and determined that this was what I was going to provide for my baby. I had visions of sitting in the rocking chair, baby to breast (lying on my deluxe breastfeeding pillow I got on sale), gazing with that "motherly look" out upon the beautiful Rockies view that nearly all windows in Canmore afford.
Yeah. Right.
Baby was 5 minutes old when suddenly I was bombarded with this great responsibility: getting Baby to "latch". Didn't seem to be a problem, except that Baby didn't understand that after latching, you need also to "suck". Seems like a simple concept. Nuh uh.
I had every nurse on shift, as well as my doctor, shoving my boobs into little Bradley's mouth, squeezing, pulling, yanking, pinching colostrum into his little mouth, blowing on him, wetting him with wipes and THEN blowing on him some more, poking and rubbing his little cheeks to the point where he (like anyone else would, I guess) wound up being not only hungry, but pissed off.
Burping baby with a disapproving nurse looking on.
With the nurse shift change, I got a new nurse who came into my room and said, "How's breastfeeding going? Mind if I watch?" I took out my boobs. She crossed her arms, appraised them skeptically, and then said, "Oh. You've got flat nipples. Have you got a pump? Let me get you one." Now, it needs to be stated here that the hospital rooms are kept at a balmy 35 degrees Celcius, and NOBODY would have perky nipples at that temperature! Exit the nurse. Re-enter the nurse with a vintage-looking breast pump that would make a cow turn and run for cover. "They're flat because it's hot in here," I countered weakly. "The other nurses said I was doing ok." "Hmmmph," she answered, and hooked me up to the machine. I won't describe what happened next. Needless to say, it was degrading, upsetting, and somehow reminded me of the farm.
The "MACHINE"
With each new shift change, I hoped for a more neutral nurse...instead, each new nurse who came in would introduce themself as my new nurse, state that it said I had flat nipples on my chart, and that they would like to see me breastfeed, then offer "tips and hints" that completely refuted all the advice given from previous nurses. I was a happy girl to arrive home two days later to try to figure this out on my own. It's definitely a trying experience and I'm still figuring it out, but here are some new terms that have entered my vocabulary:
The Latch Game - This happens each time baby tries to latch to your breast. It goes something like this: baby latches onto the nipple. Suck....suck suck suck suck PHLWAAH! Spits it out. Try again. Baby latches. SUUUUCK suck suck suck...suck suck...PHLWAAH! Nuzzle nuzzle, latches. Suck suck phlwah. Cries in frustration. Repeat.
The Boob-Induced Coma - Once baby has latched and managed to consume enough milk to partially fill the stomach, some kind of drug/hormone found in the breast milk takes over baby's system, and baby promptly falls asleep. You can try as you might. You can try any of the methods mentioned above (squeeze, pull on, yank the boobs, blow on baby, wet and then blow on baby, poke/prod baby's jaw or cheeks to "remind" him he should be sucking). You can even burp the baby (see "GAS") or try to psyche baby out (see "The Psyche-Out) but to no avail. Baby is tapped out. At this point, just give up, swaddle the baby, and try again in an hour or two. Or five.
The Psyche-Out - This is a method for getting some last, desperate sucks in before you de-latch your baby: pull the nipple out of his mouth as if you're going to take it away. Unless baby is in a deep state of comatose (see above), he will try a few desperate, strong sucks. Great way to get baby back on track if all other methods are failing.
GAS - Never before has this word held such meaning. When you or I get gas, we might bloat up a bit. Fart a little. Be embarrassed about it. Try to hide it. Excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. When baby gets gas, it is CATASTROPHIC. When baby gets gas, it doesn't just fart and not say "excuse me". The whole body contorts; the back arches; the face distorts to such a degree, you think it won't straighten out again; the legs straighten as if experiencing some kind of electric shock. And just when you think there might be something permanently wrong with your baby, a little "brrrup!" comes from its rear end, and all settles back into normalcy. Incredible. You can try to stave off this gas attack by periodically burping baby during feeding, but then he just looks at you with this pissed off little look like, "Um, I was finally latched and now you interrupt me for THIS!?!?" and may not even burp at all, in which case you've ruined a perfectly good latch AND managed to make your baby angry AND need to try to latch him again. Well done.
Phlanged - pronounced flange-d. This is a word I got from What to Expect When You're Expecting. Apparently it means that your baby's lips are flared out around your areola, resembling fish lips (as if there was indeed a fish attached to your nipple). Hilarious. Although I will say that you can make your baby phlange its lips all you want...getting it to suck is another story. See above.
I hope this has cleared things up a little for everyone. And just a small note to end my story...the Bow Valley sends out a nurse to visit you in your home the day after you arrive home from the hospital. So this nice nurse shows up, comes in and sits down on my couch, takes out her notes, frowns and says to me, "So how's the breastfeeding going? It says here that you have flat nipples..."
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