Sometimes Breast Isn't Best



Have you had breastfeeding problems? Share your comments below.

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For the four days I was in the hospital, he latched on exactly once, and that was after an hour of help from a lactation consultant who was burly and bossy and so seemingly rough with my son's head that my husband had to leave the room for fear of punching her directly in the face. Upon my discharge from the hospital, I took with me a nipple shield to help me nurse (it was the only way he would latch on) as well as a photocopied sheet that listed all of the reasons why this nipple shield was a terrible, terrible thing that I needed to wean him off of ASAP or else risk the health, and possibly the life, of my tiny helpless newborn. That thin piece of silicone was enough to start chipping away at what little confidence I had. I felt like I was already failing, and I wasn't even five days in.

At home, nursing was just plain hard. I hated feeling like I was trapped on the couch 24 hours a day. Nursing sessions always lasted upwards of 45 minutes, and every two hours at that. I started to dread the feedings; started to feel panicky whenever the clock ticked closer to the hour when I was supposed to nourish him with my body once again. I cried a lot in those first four weeks. And then four weeks turned into eight weeks, and everything I'd read had said I would know what I was doing by eight weeks, and everything I'd heard from other people made me think I should have been feeling comfortable with things by eight weeks, and instead I was nothing but miserable and frustrated and depressed. But mostly, I was tortured with feelings of guilt.

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