Breastfeeding- Good for Dads Too

Occasionally I'll hear that someone's husband or boyfriend didn't want them to breastfeed.  The reasons vary but one thing I know for sure is how hard it is to breastfeed without support.  That's not all though, I know there are some pretty darn good reasons a guy would want his girl to give lactating a try.  So guys, I don't want to leave you out and neither does anyone else.

The real question is why wouldn't you want your partner to breastfeed your children?

I'm not a man.  For me to write about this perspective is complete conjecture.  Except somehow I manage to talk about breastfeeding with everyone, even my single male friends find themselves inexplicably discussing breastfeeding, the benefits of breastfeeding, the over-sexualization and objectification of breasts and women and what is normal and weird.  It truly is amazing how often it comes up not to mention all the conversations I've had with The Piano Man on the subject.  I've heard a lot from single men, dating men, married men, married and expecting, married with kids, and married with grown kids.  After the post 8 Unexpected Benefits of Breastfeeding one of my single guy friends was completely fascinated about points 4 and 7 in particular.  I don't know everything but I know a thing or two about several "selfish" reasons a guy would want the mother of their children to breastfeed.


Breastfeeding- Good For Dads Too- Why Guys DO Want The Mother of Their Children To Breastfeed

You are an important part of the equation
True, she may be the one with the goods but I promise you do matter.  Getting the baby ready to eat, setting her up in a comfortable spot with a glass of water, putting on her favorite music or starting a movie, rubbing her feet or shoulders while she's nursing, helping with some house hold chore, making her a snack or even better a meal and in general keeping her company or gazing adoringly at her and your child will have her falling deeper in love with you by the second.  You'll be a hero.  And this is good, you'll like the outcome when she is deeper in love with you, trust me.

More money for your toys!
Formula is expensive, I mean really, REALLY expensive.  Obviously, breastfeeding is cheaper than buying formula unless you qualify for free formula through WIC but the cost of formula aside, statistically speaking studies show that breastfed babies tend to go to the doctor less.  On top of all those money saving advantageous there's even the amazing healing properties of breastmilk itself.  Cuts, scrapes, rashes, eye infections and other ailments respond well to the application of breastmilk.  This means less money spent on co-pays and prescriptions or time missing work and more for that big screen TV and a pair of diamond earrings for her.

No weight lifting- lighter diaper bag!
Formula lightens your wallet and weighs down the diaper bag.  You won't feel like you're weight lifting every time you pick up the diaper bag if she's breastfeeding.  If the diaper bag is heavy see if she's sneaking bricks in there or something because all you usually need in the diaper bag of a breastfed baby is a couple of diapers, wipes, small blanket, change of clothes and maybe a toy.  No bottles to mix, no formula to lug around.

Late night store runs are limited to chocolate, beer and diapers
It's incredibly rare for a woman to run out of breastmilk, like seriously, almost never.  If it does happen it means something is wrong.  The entire system is demand and supply: baby demands, boobs supply.  This means no panicky runs to the store late at night because someone forgot to pick up a new can of formula and starving your baby is not an option.  Nope, if you're running to the store late at night it's for something else.  Like chocolate.  Or beer.  Or diapers... unless you're cloth diapering but I'll save that for later.

It's like a comedy routine
There are some pretty funny moments that come with breastfeeding.  Unexpected letdown, shirts with holes for nipples, strange bras, pumping experiences, spraying across the room and so much more.  You're bound to find yourself laughing at some bizarre experience.  Just be sure you're laughing with her, not at her or you might not get to enjoy some of those other benefits, you'll soon see what I mean.

Confidence is SEXY
Your girl is hot and sexy, right?  You tell her this and she glows but argues with you saying she's not and that is so not sexy.  Unfortunately media, the fashion industry, and a variety of other culprits have chipped away at women's confidence regarding their bodies.  Even though we know the standards of beauty and sexy are based on fake women, we our own worst critics finding every flaw, real and imagined and are continually disappointed in our bodies.  Oddly enough, many women find that childbirth and breastfeeding actually boost their confidence.  To see what their bodies can do changes their perspective and gradually their imperfections become just a part of the package that grew and now nourishes their baby.  Your baby.  Giving them more confidence than ever before.  Confidence is sexy, even sexier than she would be in any item from Victoria Secret.  And if she doesn't become more confident in her body through motherhood, let her know that you are confident in her body anyway.

Hell-O Boobies!
While I'm sure you love your partner's breast just the way they are, most women experience a bit of a size increase with pregnancy and when their milk comes in.  It can be like Miracle Grow for Boobs.  Larger boobs, who can complain about that?  They also get a little more firm in their lactating state.  Plus, you'll get to see them pretty much all the time since she's going to be breastfeeding every 2-3 hours, specially in the early days.  And if she is in the mood, they can be a lot of fun to play with, like a whole new experience kind of fun.  It's true that they may be a little different after breastfeeding, though you can't blame any sagging on breastfeeding, that's from pregnancy and genetics; but they are still boobs and hey, it keeps things interesting.

Here, let me help you with that
With all that growth and the new activity she's going to need some lotion and maybe lanolin, surely you wouldn't mind helping her rub some lotion all over those magic breasts, right?  And some women end up with serious engorgement and sometimes babies have trouble relieving it, rumor has it the milk tastes pretty good, like the milk left over after a bowl of cereal.  I'm willing to bet you could quickly figure out a good latch to help her find some relief and who knows, you might even enjoy "having" to help her out.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO!
I shared before in the 8 Unexpected Benefits of Breastfeeding that some women have their milk let down, leaking and spraying all over the place when they orgasm.  While I'm not always a fan of it myself, usually it's not a problem at all.  Actually it's like a standing ovation, a very wet standing ovation.  Just in case you weren't sure before, consider your milk shower a neon flashing sign and an announcement that you were awesome.  You can towel off knowing you rocked her world.  Don't let it rain on your parade, that's for sure, just turn it into part of the fun.

Something new to try
If you've tried licking chocolate or whipped cream of your partner, why not expand to breastmilk?  And I've heard breastmilk makes a fantastic lubricant which is good because it's not unusual for a woman to need a little help in that area after having a baby and during breastfeeding.

Hold the PMS please
Breastfeeding, specifically exclusive breastfeeding (nothing but breastmilk) helps keep a woman's fertility from returning.  Some women do have it return sooner but many women experience a delay in their cycle for at least 6 months, more often closer to a year and sometimes more.  This is Mother Nature's way of providing a spacing between pregnancy that is easier on a woman's body.  Of course, there are other benefits here you can enjoy, no PMS, no "off" times of the month, and saving money on feminine hygiene products to name a few.  You could get an extended break from finding tampons on the shopping list saving you from the awkward aisle at the grocery store.

Won't Need A Gas Mask for Diaper Changes!
It may seem hard to believe but there really are levels of poop and I love breastmilk poop.  Having done both breasfeeding and formula feeding myself plus changed countless diapers as a babysitter and of friends' babies I can say with confidence that while poop is poop breastmilk poop isn't nearly as shitty as formula poop.  It's all about the proteins, there is more in breastmilk a baby's body can use so less waste in their excrement.  Same thing with gas too, breastfed babies usually (there is always the exception to the rule) have less gas than formula fed babies and what they have usually isn't quite as rank.

Sweet Baby Breath
Like poop it turns out there actually is a difference in types of spit up.  Pretty much all babies are going to spit up at some point, some a lot, some a little.  The good news is that breastmilk is easier to digest than formula which is great even for those babies with reflux issues.  Just like breastmilk smells more pleasant than formula, so does breastmilk spit up.  As an added bonus, the proteins in breastmilk spit up break down easier making for fewer stains.  Not that you're going to like it or anything, I'm just saying it could be worse.  And breastfed babies have super sweet breath, you'll be sniffing your baby's mouth it smells so good.


Healthy baby
Statistically breastfed babies get sick less often thanks to the customized specific immune boosters breastmilk produces.  There is always someone that will point out their formula fed baby was never sick but their friend's breastfed baby was always sick but generally speaking, the statistics point to a lower risk of illness in breastfed babies compared to formula fed babies.  And healthy babies are happy babies!  Sick babies cry... a lot.

More Zzzzzzz's for you
Yep, you'll probably get more sleep if she's breastfeeding than if you choose formula.  Even if you help get her set up to feed when the baby wakes, you get to go back to sleep.  And if you choose to co-sleep you may not even notice when she feeds the baby, dreaming blissfully and sleeping like… well, like a man whose partner is breastfeeding.  By the way, I wouldn't point this one out to your partner or you may find yourself keeping her company when she's having trouble sleeping and staying up feeding the baby.


You won't be a Schmuck
That's right, I said it.  If none of these things ever happen for you and your partner in the breastfeeding journey she's still going to need your support.  Supporting your partner in breastfeeding means you won't be "that guy."  The guy that put his wants, desires and supposed needs above those of his baby.  The guy that acts like he owns the mother of his children and her body.  The guy that can't handle being a grown-up, is afraid of making personal sacrifices to be sure his offspring are well cared for.  No, guys that support their wives or girlfriends breastfeeding are instantly hot, seen as more sensitive and she is glad to have him.  Guys that support their partner breastfeeding are the kind of men that are mature enough to understand the complex nature of family life and they and their families will likely thrive together as a result.

With all this you may find yourself turning into a lactivist.  It's ok, breastfeeding women think guy lactivists are sexy.  Not sure what a lactivist is?  Check out our list and see how you compare.  And I hope you have just as much fun discovering many more reasons why you would want your wife or girlfriend to breastfeed.  To read what my guy has to say on the topic, check out his post "Mammaries... I Mean Memories..."

How Breastfeeding Saved My Life

I'm excited to bring you another guest post, submitted by Star a WIC breastfeeding peer supporter and gentle breastfeeding advocate.  Star shares her story of the unexpected impact breastfeeding had on her own health and indeed her life.  I am honored to be bringing you this guest post and appreciate Star sharing her story.

I’ve addressed before how I’m sort of the reluctant lactivist who originally thought she wouldn’t breastfeed.  I talked a lot about how and why I changed my mind, and the struggles I faced to nurse my first.

But there was one crazily unexpected benefit that I didn’t discuss.

Rewind a few years to when I was 25, and pregnant with my first daughter.  I had a very high risk pregnancy.  Part of this was because I was classified morbidly obese.

If you just met me today, you probably wouldn’t think such a thing.  In fact, at 6 months postpartum with baby 2, and still carrying around an extra 10-15 pounds, I’m still within a very healthy weight range for my body frame/height.  In fact, people have been known to call me slim. 

But this was me then:

I was, at the end of my pregnancy with baby #1, slightly over 300 pounds.  Granted, I’m tallish for a woman – but not tallish enough that that much extra weight was even close to ok.  I’m also asthmatic, severely – so carrying that weight was a huge burden on my health in many ways.  I didn’t worry about it until I got pregnant.  And then one day, while looking at my chart, I saw the words “morbidly obese” notated there.

Those are NOT fun words to see on a chart describing yourself.  Like, at all.  Especially when you think of yourself as more like “attractively plump” or “large, but well-proportioned.”  But those two words are pretty effective at drying up denial quickly.

So I had my daughter – by c-section – something that I’ve always wondered if my weight had an impact on.  And then I thought about how I didn’t want to be the fat mom who couldn’t run around with her kids, or was the butt of their friend’s jokes, or anything like that.  And I certainly didn’t want to die young – which was a very real possibility with some family history and my obesity.  But I had literally no clue how to change things.  And I was having those aforementioned issues with breastfeeding and my daughter, which, quite frankly, made life too stressful to even attempt a lifestyle change.  So I put it off.

Then something pretty awesome started to happen.

Little by little, my jeans were looser.  My face was thinner.  I could button jeans that I’d only dreamed of buttoning in the past. 

“Well,” I thought, “I probably just lost a little more after the pregnancy.  No big deal.  It won’t continue.”

But it did.  And I bought new clothes and weaned off one of my asthma meds.  And I hadn’t done anything differently. 

It was 60 pounds later when I stopped just losing weight by existing.  Let me repeat that – SIXTY pounds.  Sixty.  Six Oh.

At a routine checkup, my doctor said, "So, what are you doing differently?"

"Nothing," I told her.  "I think I have a tapeworm or something.  Can you check for tapeworms?"

She laughed at me and flipped through my chart.  “You’re breastfeeding?”

“Yeah.  Is that ok?  Because, seriously, I’m not completely joking about the tapeworm thing.  Can tapeworms go through breastmilk?”

She shook her head at me.  “Your weight loss is likely caused by breastfeeding.  I highly doubt that you have a tapeworm or anything else wrong with you.  I can run a blood count if you’re really concerned that you have something wrong with you, but I see this a lot with breastfeeding women.  The weight just kind of melts off.  That doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t make changes to become healthier overall.  But this is a good start.”

I took that to heart.  And, yes, I did eventually have to work out and eat better foods and all that jazz to get to a good place, weight wise.  But breastfeeding kick started it.  And that kick start gave me the confidence to continue it.

Star after breastfeeding her first baby

I'm sure some of you will scoff at the notion that breastfeeding saved my life.  However, I don't think any doctor would argue that being morbidly obese sets you up for a whole slew of life-threatening ailments.  And when you add in all the *other* health benefits of breastfeeding too, well, it no longer seems like a stretch. Not to mention the 60 pounds it helped me to lose, it’s really probably not that far off from the truth.  Breastfeeding saved my life.

The author today, healthier, happier and breastfeeding her second baby.

A Note from Jessica

I love Star's story, it is beautiful, inspiring and full of hope and I am so honored to share it here.  Breastfeeding educators have long shared how breastfeeding can help a woman lose weight and recently the New York WIC caused a stir with their breastfeeding campaign that focused on weight loss as one benefit of breastfeeding.  This isn't a reason to breastfeed in and of itself but it is a potential positive benefit from breastfeeding and a dang good one at that.  At the same time it is important to note that not every woman will lose weight while breastfeeding and some, like myself, may even hold on to some extra padding until they wean.  Even if that is the case, breastfeeding still has so many other wonderful effects on mom and baby that it is worth continuing.  Be encouraged that either way you breastfeeding is wonderful for both you and your nursling!  To your health!

A Tale of Two Preemies

Leanne shares her story of journeying through her own physical problems and then her preemie daughters.  The differences in hospitals dedicated to getting human babies human milk is highlighted in this touching story of struggling to get preemies the milk they so desperately need.  I am honored to be bringing you this guest post and appreciate Leanne sharing her story.  Leanne has a personal blog, No Spelling Required, and she would love for you to come say hi.

I believe that sometimes we, as humans, go against what is or should be possible.  I am a prime example of that.  Genetics has not been kind in my family.  I've survived three genetic illnesses that are incurable.  Two being autoimmune.  Silent diseases that no one else can see, but I can always feel.  I was diagnosed with Juvenile Diabetes when I was barely 5 years old.  At the age of 17 I was then diagnosed with Grave's thyroid disease.  5 years later I had a secondary diagnosis of Fibromyalgia.  It's been proven that people who suffer from one genetic, autoimmune disorder often suffer from another at some point in their life.  I was also a rare case with the Grave's Disease because of my young age when it happened.  Most people who get thyroid disease don't get it until they are into their 40's and 50's.    The Diabetes I've always been able to deal well with.  The other two illnesses, on the other hand, have wreaked a lot of havoc on my life, making me sick for years on end and also causing problems with my two beautiful girls.

My first had breathing problems due to being born early and having underdeveloped lungs.  She spent about two weeks in the NICU back in '96 when she was born.  Surprisingly enough, she came out of it with flying colors even through the horrid radiation treatment I received while I was pregnant with her.  Her only mishap being that she had a heart murmur which had resolved itself by the time she was 6 months old.

Breastfeeding with Jordan was short lived.  The hospital at the time had taken total control of her feeding "schedule" and immediately put a bottle into her mouth when she was no longer feeding from her IV alone.  I never even had a chance to latch her on once.  This is the happenings of hospitals bought out by formula companies.  I tried repeatedly to get her to latch on and gave up quickly with lack of proper support and knowledge at the time to do much more to help her become used to breastfeeding.  I pumped for a few weeks afterward and still felt it was useless because of how little I was able to produce at the time.  Our entire breastfeeding relationship had been sabotaged right from the beginning.  I was only 20 years old at the time and did exactly what I thought every mom eventually did anyway and of course started her immediately on formula.  I regret every day that I didn't have the information I do now.  I would have made sure I succeeded at the one gift I could have given her that was so very important.  

After Jordan was born, I had also decided I didn't want to ever try for another baby as well.  I felt like I had been through enough with her to have her be my only little star.  In 2006 I knew I was never going to have more children and did something that, at the time, felt very right for me and had breast reduction surgery.  At 5 ft. even and being a DD bra size, it was way too much for me and I wanted to finally be comfortable, therefore I went through it.  For 3 years I was in love with myself all over again and felt great!  Little did I know that last Christmas I had a small gift in the beginning stages of pregnancy starting.  I found out two days before Christmas day that I was pregnant with my second daughter!  I just about went through the roof when we found out.  My first baby was now 13 years old!  I had not expected this ever.  Fate had different plans for me than to be only a mother of one though.

After the initial shock wore off, I spent many of my months of pregnancy doing a lot of homework, joining online mommy groups, and studying up on how I was going to attempt breastfeeding again after my reduction.  I dove into this feet first and learned how much things had changed.   I had the internet this time around to guide me and boy did I ever utilize this ability!  The thought of donor milk and milk banks had crossed my mind after learning about them, in case I couldn't produce enough.  I expected not to produce enough, but was adamant to make sure I was able to at least breastfeed a little this time around. Little did I know at the time how expensive buying breast milk was!  

Sam and I ended up have little Zoe almost 7 weeks early because of my illnesses.  Once again, I had another baby in the NICU.  Only this time with many more problems and a much more intense situation.  Zoe was born with thyroid issues as well.  She was another very rare case.  Something that almost NEVER happens to babies of women with thyroid disease did indeed happen to her and I.  The antibodies that I still carry in my body, even after treatment, had crossed over the placenta and started attacking her thyroid gland.  This is only supposed to happen with a woman who is actively hyperthyroid while being pregnant.  I was not.  My thyroid function has actually gone deeply the opposite way.  I can no longer produce thyroid hormone at all on my own due to I-131 radiation treatment I had received during my first pregnancy.  The case of this happening runs at only a 2% chance that the baby will be affected.  That would mean about 1 in 25,000 babies would be born with Neonatal Thyrotoxicosis like Zoe was born with.  The fact I was no longer hyper with my thyroid function makes this almost an anomaly type of situation as well and that much more of a rare case!

Zoe ended up spending a little over a month in the hospital to take care of these issues with her.  My heart just aches for her and what she went through prior to being born and after as well.  I remember having Thyroid Storm myself, and feeling like I was having a heart attack during the entire thing.  The anxiety it creates, the rapid heart rate, palpitations, loss of hair, and weight, all things I remember all too well.  To have to endure this when not even born yet, and have it affect you so badly your heart stops at birth as well as your breathing, it is so painful to my heart to know she had to go through this.  It is painful to never know how a normal birth would have been for her or my oldest either.  

The one wonderful thing about the hospital we had Zoe in was the milk banking they did.  Huge amounts of stored breast milk donated by local mothers for all these NICU babies!  I was petrified that I'd again be doomed to have to deal with formula pushers, especially after my previous experience.  This time I came in knowing exactly what I didn't want though!  I knew I wanted to breastfeed her exclusively for as long as I possibly could.  I knew I'd probably have to supplement, but I wanted to her to have MY milk first and foremost!  The hospital agreed!  I was so shocked when the doctor started trying to talk me into signing the consent form to have donated milk given to her.  I think I shocked him as well by grabbing his pen and signing the form before he even had a chance to finish what he wanted to tell me.  The lactation consultants were also amazing.  They knew the hard road that Zoe and I were facing with trying to produce enough milk after reduction.  They did everything they could to keep me going with pumping for her while she was in the NICU and when she was finally able to start latching on, they continued with the amazement.  Everything under the sun was tried to make this work for her and I including giving me my own SNS to supplement her with.  The consultants, nurses, and doctors were all so diligent in helping us succeed in this.  Zoe exclusively breastfed for a full month as well as she was on the donor milk.  I will be thankful every day for having that hospital staff during her traumatic birth just for the fact that they were so supportive of all our needs and wants.

I eventually gave them the go ahead to start bottle feeding her my pumped milk as well when I could not be there for all of her feedings.  As much as we mothers would love to move into the NICU with our babies, that's just not reality and there were times I had to go home too.  Nipple confusion amongst young babies happens very quickly.  It did indeed happen again in our case as well.  I'm OK with this though.  I had a choice to make, either feed my baby so she can go home with me finally, or salvage a breastfeeding relationship while she continues to be fed through her NG tube.  You can imagine what my choice was immediately.  I did choose the easier way out.  I wanted her to be home with us, not stuck in the hospital for a longer period of time.  I will not regret it.  She did so well breastfeeding even only for the 5 to 10 minutes intervals that she did in her first month.  For such a little baby, that is hard work!  Born at 4 lbs. 9 oz. and weighing just over 5 lbs. when she was finally able to go home, I was so proud of her for trying so hard.

I continued to pump when I got her home.  Eventually it became too frustrating for me to pump like crazy and only get, on average, 10 ml for both sides.  I was taking Reglan from the doctors, Fenugreek, and eating oatmeal like crazy.  I would produce the milk and become engorged like a mad woman, but never be able to get anything more than tiny bits at a time.  Throughout a 24 hour period I'd pump just barely enough to fill a full 4 oz. bottle.  It was too stressful at the time to continue to do this.  I did give up completely.  However,  I was then on the search for a donor.  Two weeks ago I finally found the lady for my little girl!  A woman who had donated before to an adoptive mom and is willing to donate to Zoe all the extra that she gets.  She fills her freezer up, and I come when she calls and take it off her hands.  It's an amazing, beautiful gift that this lady has give Zoe and I and I could never be thankful enough to find someone like her to help us.  It takes someone so very special to be able to part with something so personal such as breast milk.  I am completely amazed every time I meed such a selfless person in my life such as this lady.  She gives such a precious gift to my little girl of her own free will.  For that, I am just plain thankful, again amazed, and completely honored.

Through all of this, and with the help of everyone who has in the past few months given so much to us, we are coming out on top.  The antibodies of mine that invaded Zoe's tiny little body are finally starting to die off.  Hopefully by the time she is 6 months old they will completely die.  Until then, we will continue to care for her special needs and delicate situation.  The amazing people who have joined us in keeping up with what's best for her will never ever be forgotten, even when I grow old, I will always remember.  Zoe may not, but I will always be forever thankful!

The Red-Eyed Breastfeeding Monster- Mastitis

Smunchie AKA Mastitis Relief Worker at 9 months old

She looked annoyed, as annoyed as a 9 month old can look.  I gently shook my boob with my hand, hoping to tempt her but she just looked away as if she couldn't be bothered to eat right now.  Obviously she had places to go, things to do, playthings to discover.  Please eat, please, please, please nurse again I begged her.  She all but scoffed at me.  There was no need for the boob right now and we had clearly established long ago that if she needed it she'd ask for it.  Offering it when she wasn't hungry or in need of comfort was just down right insulting.  Biting back tears I mentally called her a brat and immediately regretted it, she wasn't a brat she just didn't need to eat right now and she knows how *this* works.

But I needed her.

This wasn't an emotional need, no, this was a desperate physical need.  Early in the afternoon of that day last week I had the early signs of mastitis and by the evening it was full blown with a fever, aches, breast pain and red streaks across my breast.  The help of my baby was crucial to my recovery.  Since she wouldn't nurse at that moment I decided to hand express into a bowl of warm water.  I nearly cried into that bowl too.  The red-eyed breastfeeding monster had struck.  Mastitis.

Mastitis is interesting.  Not really, actually, it's quite painful.  My friend describes it as a form of torture and thanks to my refresher this past week I'm inclined to agree.  In talking to The Piano Man about it from the shower where I let hot water run over my breast for as long as I could stand it, I realized that a doctor would describe mastitis as "uncomfortable" and then would go on to explain the treatment measures as "uncomfortable" as well.  Meaning: hurts like hell and will feel like someone is kicking you in the chest repeatedly and it's the only way to get better.  I've been told I have a high pain tolerance but the truth is I would rather give birth au naturale than have mastitis.  That may have nothing to do with pain levels however and just reflect the fact that I can be a tad bit goal oriented.  Let me break it down for you.


Labor + child-birth = baby with a bonus that the pain and physical discomfort comes to an end.


Mastitis + frequent painful feedings and massage = get rid of infection and end the pain which hopefully won't reoccur.


It's simple math, I prefer labor.

Antibiotics are the commonly prescribed course of treatment for mastitis but I really wanted to avoid them given that the last time I had antibiotics I wound up with thrush.   When I first suspected at 12.30 pm that Tuesday that the bra I wore was actually a little too tight (why the heck are these things still growing?!) and that missing a feeding on my right side was more than just uncomfortable (by my standards, not what a doctor would say) I immediately took my bra off and tried to convince myself that it would be no big deal once I nursed Smunchie.  But the pain didn't go away.  By 2 pm I was just feeling yucky and my breast hurt more.  Still, I was in denial though I caught myself several times subconsciously massaging the painful breast and thinking "please don't be... please don't be..."  I wouldn't even say the word in my head.  Four o'clock rolled around though and it was starting to hurt to lift my arm, I ached in all of my joints and I just didn't want to even move.  At 5 I finally said that I had the early signs of mastitis.  Ha!  Early signs my foot.  Heat radiated from my breast and pale pink streaks snaked across it and up my chest, getting an angrier shade of red by the minute.  I felt like I could barely move.  When I took my temperature at almost a quarter after 5 it was over 100 and my boob was hot enough to sense the heat through my shirt.

Fine, I'm fighting mastitis I decide.

I took a hot shower, staying in there as long as I could.  Feeling so terrible all over I sat down on the tub floor and shivered against the cold ceramic while hot water streamed over my right breast and I massaged from behind the painful area gradually moving the pressure down toward the nipple.  Eyes glazed over with pain, Smunchie asleep and the big girls distracted with a movie (a rare treat on a week day in our house) I have no idea how long I stayed in there.  Long enough for my butt to be cold and my chest and tummy red from the hot water. 

The rest of my evening was a blur of near tears pain (I would have cried but didn't want to scare my daughters into never being willing to try breastfeeding their own children), breastfeeding, PB&J dinning courtesy of my 7 and 9 year old, getting hit in the sore boob with a wooden toy sword (I'm sorry, wooden knight armor is not welcomed to co-sleep with us right now!), a temp of 103, and desperate texts to The Piano Man at rehearsal:

"Come home soon..."
"When will you be home..."
"My boob hurts..."
"I'm not sure what to do about dinner."
"Can you leave early?"
"The girls are helping, they made dinner."
"There's PB&J all over the kitchen, sorry..."
"OMG I hurt all over!"
"I think the girls made dinner on the floor, sorry."
"I feel helpless..." 
"I just feel so sick."
"I'm sorry I'm so whiney"
"Have you left yet?"
"Call me"
"My temp is 103.2..."
"I think I need to see a doctor..."
"What's worse than having a raging infection in your boob?  Getting hit with a SWORD on the boob with a raging infection."
"Where are you?"
"I really can't take it any more."
"Please tell me you're almost done."
"I can't do this..."
"Can't even pick up my baby without horrible pain."
"You haven't called yet, does that mean you're not on your way?"
"I hope you're on your way..."

You may read those texts and think I was being melodramatic.  Maybe I was.  Or maybe you've never had mastitis.

The next 36 hours I breastfeed Smunchie as often as possible, I took hot showers and massaged my breast as hot water ran over it, I took more Ibuprofen than I did after I was in a car accident, I draped hot wet washcloths around my breast, I canceled everything and pretty much laid in bed for 24 hours, I ate PB&J made by my kids, I researched treatment options and read them multiple times praying reading them would somehow cure me, I nursed in different positions every feeding and sometimes more than one for a single session, and I seriously considered burning that bra.  Sleep that night was fitful, I couldn't sleep on my stomach and for the first portion of the evening I couldn't stay asleep thanks to the fever.  Wednesday morning there was no fever but still the red streaks and slightly less achy all over I had hope that I could beat this on my own.  A low grade fever came back late morning but I hydrated, took a nap, put heat on it, did some hand expression, and breastfed Smunchie again and again and by the time 2pm rolled around I felt confident that I was out of the woods.  By Wednesday evening I felt well enough to brave going into my kitchen and tackling sticky spots with a rag and some elbow grease from the girls' meal-time help.  Thursday I was able to get back into my routine with only faded red streaks and some soreness in my breast to remind me of the previous 40 hours.  I felt a bit like a survivor, like I felt when I completed a pregnancy mostly intact.  There was a taste of bitter victory from having passed a test I wasn't expecting, a test that cost me even though I succeeded.

In the couple of days I pushed through mastitis I found myself thinking "I wish I could quite breastfeeding."  Call me weak, point at me and question my commitment but when I felt so terrible I couldn't prepare a healthy meal for my other children and I knew that even if I kicked it this time there was no guarantee that I wouldn't get it again I wondered if putting the needs of my youngest not just above my own needs but above those of my other children was really worth it.  Though I had signed on for sacrifice in becoming a mother 5 times over, was it fair that they had too as well?  These thoughts aren't new to me, I have them any time I'm pregnant or any time I realize that we all do with less because we have more.  The difference this time was that I had a community, education and experience that I would get through it that it indeed would be worth it.  My friend Sue checked on me and took Lolie to ballet so I could stay in bed and my little online community gave words of encouragement, shared links and information, personal stories and tips and asked me how I was doing.  Even for me, as an experienced breastfeeding mom of 5, I find a huge difference in my breastfeeding experiences between when I had very little support and when I had a lot of support.  In our new way via the internet women have found the community that used to be present in our villages and families, swapping breastfeeding advice, reminding each other how it is, and troubleshooting from a well of experience that is as deep as it is fresh.  While I don't think it makes up for in person contact and community completely I do feel it stands in the gap, a gap left by bad advice and marketing of formula to women that didn't need it a few generations ago.  I love my little community.  It is my hope that every breastfeeding woman can find a community that encourages and supports her breastfeeding.

Here are a few tips and some of what I did to help prevent my mastitis from getting worse and cleared it up.  Please note that

"Heat, Massage, Rest, Empty Breast" if you even suspect mastitis, chant it with me... it's good to go ahead and start this protocol.

• Heat. Moist heat- I liked to stand in a hot shower, or lie down with warm wet towels or a clean warm wet diaper wrapped around the breast, soak your breasts in warm water either in a bowl or in the tub. 
• Massage. Massage the breast gently, you may need some lotion or oil to keep from irritating the skin. The massage can help clear a plugged duct by starting behind the lump or painful area and massaging it down toward the nipple.  This is particularly helpful following heat and done while the nursling is at the breast.  
• Rest. Rest is crucial, the body does most of it's healing repair work when we sleep.  If you can, go to bed with your nursling, plan to breastfeed and sleep doing heat and massage in between.  If you can't go to bed to stay for the day, set up an area for you and your nursling and other little ones that may need you.  You need to rest so movies, drinks, snacks, books, toys, diapers, wipes, even a change of clothes for your nursling so you don't have to get up except to use the loo.  If you work outside the home, treat this like the flue and call in sick.  Trust me, if you don't at first you will be later and it will be longer and much worse.  And doing housework is not resting.
• Empty Breast. Breastfeed as often as your nursling is willing, start on effected side first each time and check for a good latch.  Don't cut back on frequency, in fact, increase it if you can.  Even though it may hurt more to breastfeed cutting back will only make things worse.  If your little one isn't interested in helping as often as you need it, hand express or pump to keep the affected breast as empty as possible.  Remember though, your nursling is far more effective at this than any machine will be.  Use breast compressions either way.

Dress for Success. As soon as I feel pain or any hardness in the breast I change into soft, unrestricted clothing.  I prefer PJs myself.  Going topless is good too, particularly if you're able to stay in bed with your nursling. 


Fuel. You still have to eat even if you don't really feel like it but you need it to give your body some fuel to work with not only to feed your little one but also to heal itself.  Hydrate often to help your body fight back.  If someone is willing to bring you food so you can stay in bed take them up on it even if it is just PB&J and you'll have to clean the kitchen later.

Medicines.  Ibuprofen, seriously, I don't take meds often or easily but this helped get me through and the inflammation reducer was an important piece of my recovery. I did 400mg every 4 hours from pretty early on.  If my symptoms had persisted without improvement for more than 24 hours or if I had become acutely ill I would have headed in to the doctor for an antibiotic.  Remember, most antibiotics are safe while nursing but if you and your doctor aren't sure you can check here, here or here.

Herbs and natural options. Obviously, breastfeeding, massage, heat and rest are natural but there other options to try as well.  I did green cabbage leaves, keeping them in the fridge and put them on for 20 minutes at a time but for no more than a couple of times in a 24 hour period.  The coolness felt so good after all that heat too.  I also greatly increased my garlic intake as garlic helps your body to boost it's own antibodies and beefs up your immune system.  To get my garlic in I crush a few cloves raw on a baked potato, slather it with plain yogurt and sprinkle on some cheddar cheese along with salt and pepper and maybe some green onion.  I also swallowed a couple of cloves cut in half.  I didn't use any herbs this time around, just some Arnica but a few Leakies suggested Phytolacca and Pokeroot.  I don't know anything about these but have heard good things, be sure to get the help of a trained professional before using any medicines and herbs.  Lecithin can also help clear it up and help prevent it in the future.  If I had ended up on antibiotics I would have upped my probiotic intake and completely cut refined sugar from my diet to minimize my chances with a candida yeast over growth.  When Leakies started talking about Lactation Cookies on Facebook I didn't ask anyone to make me some and I didn't eat oatmeal or any other known galactagogue.  While I didn't want to diminish my supply I also don't want to increase it as this could make things worse.  So pass on the oatmeal until your feeling better.

At The Breast.  Alternate feeding positions,  I've been mostly using the cradle hold,  so I mixed it up with some reverse cradle, football hold, side-lying, side-lying upside down (feet going in the direction of your head), baby sitting up in my lap, and hands and knees with Smunchie underneath me (think cow for this one) to name a few.  And because I'm so devoted to breastfeeding education I even had a helper take pics of my on all fours showing off my stretched out belly (x5) and sick face smiles just to demonstrate this position.  I was feverish and weak, this wasn't nearly as fun as it looks.  And I apologize for the quality, since I wasn't feeling up to locating the camera these were taken on my phone.

Smunchie didn't mind our creative positioning

Dangle feed position for breastfeeding allows gravity to help drain the breast

Prevention.  Sometimes the causes of mastitis are clear, others not so much.  If you can identify why you developed the red-eyed monster destroyer of breastfeeding in the first place you can hopefully avoid it in the future.  That bra?  Yeah, I won't be wearing it again until my breasts have either gone down in size or I'm no longer breastfeeding.  It's just not worth it.  The La Leche League link below has a great list of possible causes.


I hope you are never a part of the 20% of breastfeeding mothers that know the feeling of mastitis first hand but if you do join our club (sorry) don't hesitate to go to your sister breastfeeding mothers for encouragement, help and advice.  As always, be sure to seek medical advice from your health care provider in addition to reaching out to the sisterhood of breastfeeding moms.  Whatever course of treatment works for you, the sisterhood understands and cheers you on and we totally understand the manic texts.


Some helpful information and resources for dealing with mastitis or a plugged duct that may become mastitis.


Kellymom's plugged duct/mastitis chart
Dr. Jack Newman on Blocked Ducts and Mastitis
La Leche League Mastitis-Plugged Duct information

Edited to Add: If you have any helpful links to share, please do so, I'd like to add them here.
The Breastfeeding Network (UK) PDF

Love and Nutrition At My Breast

Today I am thrilled to have Cindy share her breastfeeding journey with her 4 children and the way it unfolds with each baby and how the whole family becomes involved.

The author, Cindy, nursing her son Alex at about 3 months old, 2002.

I don't remember ever seeing a woman breastfeed during my childhood and teen years. I must have been aware of the existence of breatfeeding, though, because I asked my aunt if she was planning to breastfeed her soon-to-be-born baby when I was 12.

She was about seven months pregnant, and she and my mom were talking bout the cost of formula.  I piped up. "Why don't you breastfeed? It's free!" She looked shocked and said, "Oh, honey, I couldn't do that!"

A few months later I was with her after the baby was born. We went to the store to buy formula without my baby cousin; a baby cried in the next aisle and she soaked her shirt. She was mortified, but all I could think was, "well, looks like she could breastfeed. That's a lot of milk!"

I now have four children; my oldest is 8 and a half, followed by a six-year-old, a four-year-old and my youngest, who is three months old. Three boys and a girl. Let me tell you my favourite nursing memories for these amazing children with whom I have been blessed.

My oldest child, Alex, learned to sign as a baby, and his favourite sign was the one for milk (we used it for nursing.) He would run to me, little fist out, fingers pumping in and out, mouth open. I loved that. He would kiss and cuddle my breasts often.

Cindy nursing Alex after his baptism, Feb. 2002. 

"I was 24 years old in this pic with my first baby, and so proud I was BFing!"

When he was about six months old, he and his daddy made up a breastfeeding game. Alex would latch, and Clayton would pretend he was going to steal the other "baba." Alex would immediately cover my other nipple with a hand and grin. If Clayton made it near the breast, he would laugh and push him away. They would play this until I kicked them both off my chest.

Alex once completely undid my shirt buttons at a restaurant when I wasn't looking. He wanted dessert, I suppose.

Isaac, my second child, was cuteness personified. As a baby, he would pat and caress the beast as he nursed. Once he was older, he showed his good manners by often offering the other breast to his brother or other children, the way you would offer to mix a drink for a friend. (Um, no thanks, Isaac, I'm not a milk bar!) He had a great sense of humour even as a baby, and would often try to nurse upside down as a toddler. When he learned to walk, he treated me like a drive-in, and always wanted to nurse while standing up.

Isaac at about 5 months, in the sling.

As a toddler and pre-schooler, Isaac "nursed" his dollies.

My pregnancy with Naomi, my only daughter, was not normal; I had hyperemesis gravidarum, a rare pregnancy illness that causes severe, unrelenting nausea and vomiting. I felt betrayed by my body during that pregnancy; breastfeeding started the healing process for me. My body could nourish my baby. It could work properly. I was not a failure.

Naomi at birth.

The first time I breastfed her, I was in the recovery room after my C-section, and the nurse had never seen a mother nurse ten minutes after surgery before. But my husband was holding her, and I was alert, so she was game. Naomi learned to latch perfectly; the nurses dragged new moms into my hospital room for days afterward so I could help them with latching.

Naomi was fiercely possessive of my breasts. They were HERS, and no one else better touch! Nowadays, she just wants her own set.

Edward was born in May, and is the only baby I've ever had who has baby fat and rolls upon rolls. After three slim babies, I'm amazed my breast milk can do that. Eddie has also been eager to teach me I don't know everything. He is the laziest latcher ever. EVER. He will open his mouth into a rosebud and expect me to stuff the nipple in. Um, no, Mr. Man. Open that mouth.

Edward's first latch!

It's funny how breastfeeding a new nursling brings back forgotten memories of the others before, I had forgotten that funny sound of expectation babies make as you get the breat out, the "ahuh, ahuh, ahuh" just before you offer the breast. I forgot about the funny satisfied sounds, too, as they drink the milk, "hmm. hmm."  Nursing Eddie means I can relive it all again, and remember my big kids when they were tiny and helpless and got their love and nutrition at my breast.

It also means the older children can watch exactly how well-loved they were as babies. It's funny, breastfeeding is so normal for Alex that he will get right down and kiss Eddie with his own head touching my breast, and he doesn't even think about it. Giving my oldest son these memories of breastfeeding is gratifying. I know that if he has children one day, he will support and love his wife as she breastfeeds, and think nothing of that, either.

The Best Laid Plans

Today I'm so pleased to get to share this guest post from Maureen Alley, a regular on TLB Facebook page and forums. A real life story of making plans, seeing them change and learning to adapt. Struggle, hope, reality, and support all play important roles in her tale. We need to hear more stories like this, I hope you love it as much as I did! Maureen originally wrote this for a blog contest on Mommypotamus and I appreciate the opportunity to share it here and as always, if you have something you'd like to submit for a guest post just e-mail me at theleakyboob@theleakyboob.com.

I had a plan. I had a couple different plans, actually. There was one for the year leading up to getting pregnant—switch to organic foods and all natural soaps and lotions—and there was a plan for during the pregnancy, which was all about glowing, gentle yoga, and cute maternity clothes. I had a birth plan too, of course, which involved no drugs, perhaps a water tub, and a general celebration of birth and my body’s abilities. I also had a plan for after the birth day, which was a bit vague. (I knew it involved breastfeeding, but I didn’t think much beyond that.)
Everything was going according to plan, right up until about the tenth week of pregnancy. I had a blood test that showed elevated levels of hormones, which hit my internal panic button. In an effort to allay my fears, my OB sent me in for an ultrasound. My husband and I were waiting anxiously to hear the confirmation that our baby was ok, and there was nothing to worry about.

“Do twins run in your family?”

I didn’t think much of the technician’s first question. I figured it was routine, something she asked everyone. So I answered, “No, why?”

“Because I see two babies in there!”

At first, I thought that exhilarating news meant the end of my best-laid plans. My OB began tossing around words like “elevated risk”, “c-section”, and “prematurity”. I realized that I had two choices: I could acquiesce to her plan for me, or I could find a way to create a better reality for myself and my babies. So, I signed up for a natural-childbirth class, fired my old OB and found a new one, one who had conversations with me instead of talking at me.

I attended my childbirth classes, Le Leche League meetings and kept practicing yoga. I befriended a midwife, and collected positive twin stories. I got acupuncture, prenatal massage, and super-fruit smoothies. I visualized the birth I wanted, I talked and sang to the babies who were stretching my womb and my imagination. I woke up every day of my second trimester smiling and rubbing my burgeoning belly. My original plan was altered but still basically intact.

Because my husband and I decided to stay within the medical establishment, I also saw a perinatologist. He was a specialist in caring for mothers of multiples, and he won my trust with honest answers to my copious questions. So when Dr. M dropped the “b word”, I listened. Bed rest?! Bed rest would ruin my hope for an active pregnancy, but I decided to plan for it accordingly. I squared away everything at work, found a substitute for my class, and checked up on my short-term disability policy. I honestly thought that if I worked so hard at preparing for bed rest it would never happen. However, right before I hit 24 weeks, I was put on modified bed rest due to a structurally unsound cervix.

I was devastated at first, but I decided to roll with the punches and enjoy the quiet weeks I had before my babies arrived. I had a lot of weeks to go, but I truly enjoyed my first Friday of bed rest. I rested, reflected, and fidgeted. I was feeling “off”, but attributed that to the fact my professional life had just ended for awhile and I was anticipating being bored. I spent that Saturday turning and readjusting myself on the couch. I was irritable and short with my husband. When, around seven pm, I started cramping in my low back and getting a feeling of heaviness in my uterus, I called my midwife friend. I explained how I was feeling and she told me to go the hospital. Really? Well, if the midwife-who-hates-hospitals tells you to go, you go.

Once at the hospital, getting hooked up to a contraction monitor was the first step in a nightmarish journey through pre-term labor. I learned all about—and experienced—terb, mag, and the chilling dread brought about by a visit from the neonatologist who told us what to expect if our boys should be born so devastatingly early. At this stage, all my energy and focus went inward, to convince my body to keep those precious baby boys on the inside. They were not done cooking, and I was determined to let them finish.

For the next ten weeks I stayed still, literally and figuratively. I prayed and bargained and hoped against hope that we would make it to 38 weeks. I kept up the visualization, but after every subsequent visit to the labor and delivery floor, every new plunge of the needle, every time I hooked myself up to the home contraction monitor, I grieved for what I was losing. I knew I would not have a peaceful drug free birth. I had lost the pregnancy I wanted, but I still had my babies, and for that I was grateful with every fiber of my being. I clung so hard to that fact that I didn’t allow myself to feel much else.

Just before I hit 34 weeks gestation, I had to go back to the hospital. Never in my wildest dreams did the drugs not work. All of my imagined scenarios told me that if I had to be readmitted, the magnesium sulfate would work and the contractions would stop. This time, they did not. I was delivered of my babies on February 9, 2010 at 2:07 and 2:08 pm via c-section. It was everything I did not want. The next three weeks were a blur of pain, hormone-driven despair, leaving my babies in the hospital NICU when I was discharged, endless visits to that very same NICU to see my babies, and pumping.

My mother—my angel, my guide, my support, how many names do we have for mother?—made me pump my breast milk for my babies every two hours, day and night. My supply soared, and I delivered the “liquid love” faithfully to the nurses to give my boys. I latched on to breastfeeding as eagerly as a baby to a breast. It was the one thing I had left, the last shred of my plans that I could accomplish. I was grieving the loss of the pregnancy and the birth I had so desperately hoped for. I realize that this may sound selfish or petty. My babies had been born successfully, and barring some serious reflux issues, were healthy. I had everything to be joyous about, but try telling a post-partum mom how to feel! It would have been easier to scale a mountain than regulate my feelings at that point.

Pride was one positive emotion that permeated the cloud. I was so proud of being able to pump 6 ounces per session! My husband and I learned how to feed premature babies from slow flow bottles, and we brought each of them home in due time. My babies were getting optimum nutrition, but I still felt something was missing. That something was undoubtedly sleep, but it was also a stronger bond with my babies that I was craving. Finally, one day my mom told me, in essence, to “Sit down and nurse your babies.” Their mouths were big enough at this point, and they were more than eager. By some miracle of chance, there was no nipple confusion at all. Both of my squally squirmy squeaky baby boys took to the breast like pros. Because they were! They wanted the comfort and fullness of mama’s breasts. And it gave me unspeakable joy to give it to them.

Maureen's little guys at 7 weeks, already defending their b@@b and nursing like pros!

I nursed my babies when they were hungry, when they were sleepy, and when they were hurting from the reflux. Nursing became the only thing that soothed my fussier twin, so we had marathon nursing sessions, the longest of which was four hours straight. I was a zombie shell of a woman, but my children were thriving and growing. I was a mama.

Now, seven months into this crazy adventure, I am still nursing my boys, day and night, although we are all sleeping more. My confidence grows with each day, as do my boys. I have become very adept at juggling two wiggling bodies when it’s time to nurse, and I’ve managed to accomplish tandem feeding just about everywhere we’ve been, including in the (non-moving) car and on the beach. But my favorite nursing sessions are the quiet ones at home, with both boys snuggled around me like commas. Their sighs and hums are my favorite music, and my heart melts every time one of them stirs to check and make sure I’m still there before drifting off again. The miracle of hormones, those that I cursed just a few short months ago, is that nursing makes me feel so good. The love-chemicals get released each time one of my boys latches on and they go to work, easing the tension of the day and softening the ragged, visceral edges of my memories of the early days.

I didn’t get the pregnancy I wanted, and I certainly didn’t get the birth I wanted, but I got the children I dreamed of. I got two healthy, happy boys, and I get to nurse them every day. Breastfeeding has eased my heart while providing for my children. I am lucky, I know I am. It couldn’t have worked out better if I had planned it…

Still going strong!

Breast Nurting: A Re-lactation Story

For our WBW blog carnival on "Perspectives: Breastfeeding From Every Angle" we are pleased to host guest posts from various contributors. Today we hear the perspective on breastfeeding from Rachel, a mom that re-lactated after medical reasons led her to wean very early. Rachel has a re-lactating blog chronicling her journey.


When my son was almost 4 weeks old, I began my relactation journey. I stocked up on medication, supplements, information and support. You see, he was formula fed at one week old. I was hospitalised overnight with severe anxiety attacks and extreme insomnia when he was 6 days old and was not in a state to breastfeed so he was given formula feeds.

I then allowed my milk to dry up as I focused on getting better mentally. After finding out that I had lost my first pregnancy early in the second trimester, I understandably was anxious during my second pregnancy and beyond. As a result, I had postnatal depression & anxiety all surrounding the fear of losing my son and not being a 'good enough' Mumma to him.

I so desperately missed breastfeeding - not only for all of the health benefits to him and myself but because I loved it.

I started being very conscious of eating well, drinking loads of fluids, resting, and nursing him as often as possible. He would latch on but got increasingly frustrated because I was producing next-to-no milk. I was taking several galactologues and started pumping regularly. I stayed in contact with a lactation consultant and ordered a Supplementary Nursing System. Some beautiful, generous Mummas are donated expressed breastmilk to us as well.

To say I was determined is an understatement.

I was so blessed to have a cooperative baby and an extremely supportive husband. I went from expressing literally a couple of mLs from both breasts at a time to producing more than enough breastmilk (750 mL in a 24 hour period) in just seventeen days!


Getting my supply back was only half the battle. It was then a matter of getting him back to the breast. 11 days later, after much frustration and a few meltdowns (from both him and I) my baby boy had his first of many feeds from the breast... and we haven't looked back. That was over 5 months ago and my 'boobah' loving baby boy is so happy.

It was trying, don't get me wrong. I had to hand express at first and expressing so regularly and constantly was draining both physically and emotionally. I had all the normal duties of a first time Mum to contend with alongside postnatal anxiety, an exhaustive pumping schedule, painful nipples (hello nipple thrush, meet hospital grade double breast pump), the financial cost and it was so time consuming. But it was beyond worth it.

I spent most of my free time (hah! Free time with a tiny baby?) researching relactation on the internet. I searched for success stories, blogs, articles, anything that would tell me that it was not only possible but that it was worth it. At one point I remember saying I just want someone to come to me from the future and tell me that this will all be worth it. Well, it is. It really really is.


I didn't just want to breast-feed. I wanted to breast-nurture. I am a relactation success story. I just want to be a voice for relactation to say that it is achievable and gaining back our breastfeeding relationship has been so very rewarding.

Mammaries...I mean Memories...

A few weeks ago I had invited The Piano Man to contribute something for World Breastfeeding Week. It didn't seem like he was going to have the time but he surprised me with this and I'm so glad he did. A guest post by The Piano Man, the greatest support a Leaky B@@b like me could ever ask for.

The Piano Man and Squiggle Bug Fall 2009

It’s fascinating to me how perspectives vary from culture to culture, region to region, or even from person to person; how you can discover that you have so much in common with someone who lives half-way around the world, or surprisingly opposite views with a close childhood friend or family member. I’m not sure how much of the way I see the world fits with each of the different cultures (and subcultures) I’ve been a part of - French, American, family, conservative christian, liberal christian, secular university, classical music, etc. It is a complex tapestry of many sources and I won’t try to unweave it here to show where various threads find their origin. I wish to simply share some of the impressions, memories and thoughts that come to mind when I think about breastfeeding.

The first memory that pops into my head is that of a church potluck in France, where I grew up. This particular gathering happened to take place in my backyard. It was a beautiful afternoon, sunny, not too warm, and we had plenty of shade from the trees we had in our yard. Lunch was over and my Sunday school teacher’s baby girl communicated it was her turn to eat. A short asian woman, her mother was my teacher throughout my middle school years, and was always so full of wisdom. In the most relaxed way, she just put her baby to her breast and met her baby’s need in what struck me as a very natural, unceremonious way. I was very aware, in my junior high state, that breasts also serve sexual purposes, but in that moment they were intended for something much more meaningful.

The Chateau by The Piano Man's childhood house (seriously, this was basically his backyard).

I am aware that my mother breastfed all 4 of her kids, but being the third, I have virtually no mammaries - sorry, memories - of it. Sorry, our neighbor across the street has made mention of a certain man’s club nearby (I refuse to associate the word “gentleman” with it) called Memories, and every time he does he slips up and says “Mammaries” instead, which, ironically, while pointing out just what type of club it is, also completely desexualizes it for me.

As I was saying, one of the only memories I have of my mother breastfeeding happened a couple of days after my little sister was born. Back then, in France, kids were not allowed in Labor and Delivery, but my Dad figured out a way for us kids to meet our newest sibling. My mother’s room was on the ground floor and looked out over a grassy area right outside her window. I remember the ground having steep hills, but perhaps they were steeper to me as a 5 year old than they would be for me now. Steep grassy hills would be something that would stick in a young child’s memory. So we walked quietly up one of the hills, admonished by our father not to disturb the other patients with loud voices. When we arrived at the top, we approached an open window and looked into a white room where my Mom was sitting up in bed, holding a bundled baby to her chest. I was afraid to get too close, acutely aware of how unwelcome I was at the hospital. The room seemed very uninviting to me, all white, sterile, with a hint of pink which must have been the blanket my little sister was wrapped in. My mother looked very tired and happy, gently holding our newborn in nursing position. Perhaps seeing my little sister breastfed contributed to my positive views on breastfeeding, having it modeled in such a comfortable environment by people I loved and trusted.

Oh to be sure, I also developed a "healthy" sexual view of breasts as well. They are one of the most obvious physical differences between men and women, and I think it’s in those differences that our fascination and curiosity with the opposite sex start. My wife, Jessica, and I have had many conversations about why men have such an obsession with breasts. For brevity’s sake, I’ll share just a few of my thoughts on the matter. The aforementioned obsession appears to be an American one. Nowhere else in the world does there appear to be such a preoccupation with body image. We could spend all day listing off examples (like how I am assailed by images of perfect bodies every time I visit the grocery store). Breasts are primarily and almost exclusively perceived as sexual in the US. In complete contrast, Jessica mentioned an article where some women belonging to an African tribe where women don’t cover their breasts were interviewed, and they laughed out loud at the thought of grown men being into breasts, the idea being so foreign to them, in fact, that their reaction was to picture men wanting to breastfeed like babies! I place myself somewhere in between these two extremes.

Jessica, Squiggle Bug and The Piano Man, December 2008

The Piano Man feeding Smunchie a bottle of Mommy-milk, March 2010

Seriously, our culture has this sexual-only view of breasts so ingrained in its psyche that I wonder how our babies would survive if formula suddenly disappeared! What a major adjustment that would be in our way of thinking!

The Piano Man providing support in labor, December 2009

When we had our first child, Jessica and I discussed what we would do to feed our baby. Though breastfeeding seemed the natural choice to me, I was also acutely aware that it was Jessica, not me, that would be the one to sacrifice her time, her convenience, her desire for solitude and privacy, in order to give of herself physically to her baby, facing discomfort, frustration at times, and even pain. I realized that the benefits would be hers as well, the closeness and intimacy, the cuddles, the many many moments that would become beautiful memories, and more. But as I wasn’t equipped to make that sacrifice myself - that commitment, if that’s a more comfortable term - I was in no position to demand that she do what I thought was best. Fortunately, we live in an era where there are other options available. (It just now struck me that if formula weren’t available, there really wouldn’t be much of a decision to make for most people!) As to the view that her breasts were “mine,” if they cannot fulfill both functions in the same season (I’m sure I don’t have to tell any of you that this isn’t a problem for many women!), assuming that they are meant for both, then to me it comes down to pitting the distinct benefits of breastfeeding for our baby (and for her mother too!) - her NEED - against my desire to enjoy her breasts for my pleasure (and hers too!) - a WANT. Need VS. want. Need I say more? After arriving at that conclusion, it was just a matter of deciding how long Jessica would breastfeed, a decision that I felt was Jessica’s to make, and which she has reassessed with every baby. My role has been to support these decisions and provide encouragement in every way I can.


I had planned to write something light and sweet, but I guess I have some pretty strong opinions on the matter! But I’ll finish with light and sweet. My favorite part of Jessica breastfeeding our babies, health benefits and all other arguments aside, is how darn adorable they are together. The sweet communion they share, those tender cuddles (I admit I am a big fan of cuddling!), the milk-heavy smiles; those moments they share where they obviously draw into each other a little further, getting closer beyond the skin to skin, in those moments, when I take a moment to observe, I feel myself getting drawn in as well, to both of them, and it. is. beautiful.