Cheers to Righty and Lefty: An Ode to My Boobs
Almost three months ago to the day, Sutton breastfed for the last time. I knew it was coming. She’d been latching for about 30 seconds and then arching her back to wriggle away and play. She simply got too busy and began to prefer a quick sippy-cup so she could get back to the many things she needed to explore.
The last time she breastfed, she barely latched at all before looking up at me and telling me clearly that she loved me, she was grateful, and she was done. Thank you, next. I forced her to snuggle for a moment, wiped my tears and fastened my nursing bra for the last time.
In honor of World Breastfeeding Week, I want to pay tribute to the old girls, whom I affectionately refer to as Righty (aka Good Boob) and Lefty (aka Slacker Boob).
Of all the unknowns before having a baby, breastfeeding was the thing that stressed me out the most. There is simply no way to truly practice. There are no simulations or breathing exercises. I did take a class, which involved a stuffed nylon with a sewn on nipple that the teacher had me hold to my chest, while also holding a baby doll. The message in the class was loud and clear: BREAST IS BEST.
I was so anxious about breastfeeding. I knew I wanted to try but I did not want to fail. And I was so worried that if I wasn’t able to breastfeed my baby, I would be labeled a bad mom right off the bat.
The pressure to breastfeed is insane. Equally insane is the lack of resources for moms, including the lack of adequate public places to nurse or pump, the lack of education, the lack of support in the community, and the prevalence of misinformation and downright judgmental, even nasty, people. If you don’t breastfeed, you probably don’t love your baby. But if you do it in public, you better cover up. Fun!
Luckily, Sutton took to the boob like a national hot dog eating champion on the fourth of July. She latched within moments after being placed on my chest. She was so natural. She eased my fears and I did feel that amazing, instant rush of love. I could continue to serve as her life source now that she was out in the big, scary world. And that made me feel better.
Before we left the hospital, we had multiple lactation consultants in and out, showing us the football hold and the cross hold, and bringing me various ointments and compresses for my sore, achy (cracked) nips. But the overall message we heard was that Sutton was doing great and I left the hospital feeling as ok as possible, at least where breastfeeding was concerned.
Sutton was a great eater, but I was not a great producer. We were able to exclusively breastfeed for almost 12 weeks but her weight gain was stalling out and I eventually had to begin supplementing her with formula. I nearly lost it. I loved my baby. I was doing everything I could to increase my supply. But I was going to have to give her chemical powder, and only moms who don’t love their babies do that. I fell down a serious rabbit hole researching organic, European formula and into a deep spiral of postpartum anxiety and depression.
That is not okay. When I began supplementing, Sutton was receiving three to four ounces of formula. A day. She was still getting 95% of her nutrition from my breastmilk but needed some extra calories. The shame I felt in that is a feeling I wouldn’t wish on any woman.
We have to do better. Breastmilk is an incredible substance, truly worth its weight in gold. But it is not worth the mental health and wellbeing of mothers and babies. Your baby loves you whether you exclusively breastfeed, supplement, bottle feed or if you knew breastfeeding wasn’t right for you and you went right to formula.
One more time for the people in the back:
Your. Baby. Loves. You. No. Matter. What. You. Feed. Them.
Eventually, we got into a good groove with supplementing. I met my initial goal of breastfeeding for six months and decided to go for my secondary goal of breastfeeding for one year.
I breastfed Sutton on airplanes, in the backseat of my car, in front of the Pacific Ocean, in front of the Atlantic Ocean, in four states, at the zoo, at the museum, inside, outside and upside down (once, to try clear a clogged duct. 0/10 do not recommend). I bought nursing bras, nipple cream, and hand pumps. I pumped at an axe throwing bar, and in the bathroom during a Nathaniel Rateliff concert.
It was beautiful. It was precious. It was hard. I was prone to painful clogged ducts. She began getting teeth and started using my boobies as teethers. She started giggling when she would bite me. She drew blood. More than once. We almost quit. More than once.
Nevertheless, Lefty and Righty persisted.
As Sutton’s first birthday approached I began to slowly wean her. I was tired of having to think about my boobs all the time. I was tired of planning my days around emptying my boobs of milk and my outfits around easy access. I was tired of feeling like a dairy cow. I was tired of making sure I had a pump in my purse.
On the one boob, I was lucky because Sutton was completely okay with this. But on the other boob, it was sad to know this part of our relationship was coming to an end. Then COVID happened and I was willing to continue for as long as Sutton would tolerate because then at least if the world ended, I’d be able to feed her something. Plus, antibodies.
We made it to her first birthday and for a few more weeks after that. She was ready but I was not.
When she unlatched for the last time, we had breastfed a grand total of:
1,865 times
58,346 minutes or 972.43 hours or 40.5 days
Average duration 21 minutes; longest 91 minutes
Lefty clocked in around 90 hours and Righty at 882 hours (I told you Lefty was a slacker).
Pumped 146 times for an average of 24 minutes each time, yielding around 371 ounces
So here is to Lefty and Righty. I’m sorry if I got frustrated with you sometimes or if you didn’t enjoy being pulled out in public, in cold weather. Neither of you are the same as you used to be, but it’s okay. I’m not either. We’re better and stronger now, even if we look a little different.
Thank you for giving Sutton your all.
