This pretty much sums up my feelings on breastfeeding after 9 days.
I will no longer claim that things are getting better or that we've turned a corner or that I know what the hell is going on. Each day is a totally different challenge. A few days ago, Melissa mentioned that engorgement might make the baby scream like that, and even though I didn't think my boobs were really hard and though I had tried pumping off to no avail, I considered the possibility, I started to realize that he was doing the scream after each time that I slept. I would wake up with sore upper arms and he would scream. So I tried pumping off more and it seemed to work. We thought we had figured it out.
But then there was yesterday and suddenly that wasn't working anymore. In fact, I started to think I didn't have enough milk after pumping and that even if he latched he wasn't staying on long. And then my midwife told me not to pump too much because then I would just make more and it would lead to more engorgement. This sounded wrong to me, because I am so paranoid about his weight, but I considered it.
And then he'd only gained 2 oz at the pediatrician yesterday. We have to go back on Monday. They were non-alarmist and said he looked great, but I felt like I had done a lot of work for very little result.
Last night I became the most raving lunatic yet - Wes and his mom went to walk the dog and pick up dinner and no sooner had they walked out the door than the baby started to scream and not latch. There had been no nap on my part. No sore arms. Just inexplicable boob screaming. They were gone. The pump was unplugged and involved a lot of bending to plug in. The pump parts were in the kitchen and I needed to heat up a little expressed milk in order to tide him over by dropper as I pumped. I cried and he wailed as I wandered around trying to get all this in order. Then Wes came home and I punished him by not eating my dinner. Ha.
The next feeding was going the same way. Beck screamed. Wes droppered. I pumped. I felt like I wasn't getting very much and started to feel a panic come on. I wept loud and long. Wes suggested that I not pump the other boob, that maybe it would work this time. I wanted to hit him but tried it. I wanted to hit him even more when he turned out to be right.
One of my biggest faults, I think, is that I take what happens once or twice and solidly believe that this is now how it will be. With an infant, of course, this is ludicrous.
Since then, I haven't pumped and have fully embraced 'on demand' feeding. Except I don't like to call it that. I prefer 'I'll feed you when you want IF I feel like it.'
It's a toss-up - do I prefer no sleep and constant baby-on-boob but relative peace in the home? Or a schedule (sort of) that seems to lead to random screaming and a lot of time trying to soothe the fussy. I reserve the right to change it back tomorrow. Especially because it doesn't necessarily follow that my vague schedule was creating the screaming boob beast.
I have no idea how many times I have fed him today. I only know I am typing one-handed because bouncing with Grandma on the birth ball (one of the limited number of options other than sleep or eat) is suddenly not as fun as demanding constant boob.
The latch hurts a gazillion times less. Thanks for all your help on that and everything else.
Finally, to wade out of my self-involved haze, I ask that you give some love to Asia and Jeremy who are waiting for CVS results after a scary nuchal. My thoughts are with them at all times today.
