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My friend Mary Hawkins of Heartstrings Birth is at it again with this heartfelt and real post about why she worked so hard to breastfeed her son.

For those of us who breastfeed, we each have our own story of "how I did it." Some have an easy time, they slide right into breastfeeding like an inner tube on the lazy river. Others of us struggle, even beyond those first few tenuous weeks of simultaneously teaching ourselves and our babies this new skill. Low milk supply happens-sometimes because of work, when the abrupt end of our maternity leave cuts short our best opportunity to establish a full supply; sometimes due to physiological problems like inverted nipples or a tongue tie; sometimes because the frustration of those first weeks was met with scant support from family, friends, or even our larger culture.

Most causes of low milk supply can be mitigated with help. There are professional helpers out there to watch, listen, assist, support. Many wonderful books can be of service in developing a plan to build up a supply, and there are countless online and in-person support groups for breastfeeding.

I knew all these things, I did all these things. And yet my milk remained a drizzle when it should have been a spray.

And I carried on. I won't say it was easy! It definitely was not. But despite having a relatively rare condition where my breasts just don't have as much milk-making tissue as the average bear, I kept nursing (even though that meant nursing then bottle-feeding then pumping and catching even fewer zzzzz's than I imagined I would have been getting otherwise).

Why I didn't give up
  1. I felt very deeply that nursing was the best thing for myself and my son
I'm the first to admit, I was never a militant breastfeeding babe. I took a great childbirth education class and a breastfeeding basics class; I knew all the terrific reasons to breastfeed for baby's health and nutrition. I assumed I would breastfeed with the best of them, and that we'd stop when my son was ready (sometime around 18 months, though I thought it might be fun to breastfeed through 2 years…what a novelty!). I had the resources, I knew all the things, and it would work out even if it wasn't easy at first.

But that was most definitely not what happened, and yet I still had this deep and abiding feeling that nursing was the right thing for us. It turned out, I felt just as powerful and profound a desire to nurse to connect with my son. To comfort him, to have him close, to help him sleep. To make any uncomfortable thing instantly better. To make my body his natural habitat during the "fourth trimester," the way it should be. To be present to him, especially during those early months, in a way he could clearly appreciate and understand.
  1. I had options and tools
Someone who had to face insufficient glandular tissue (or any chronic low milk supply issue, honestly) without the resources I had, would be hard-pressed to breastfeed past the first week. Even though it was incredibly stressful and demoralizing at times, we always knew there was a next step. When that magical, golden colostrum started to change into milk (of which there was basically none) and my son was screaming in hunger for over a day, we knew what to do-we called the IBCLC.

We met with her and consulted. We went to the compound pharmacy for "Canadian Nipple Cream" (which, along with sleeplessness, translated into 'Canadian Dairy Ripple Cream' and had my husband and I bursting into giggles). We looked into online support groups and local breastfeeding meetings. I got a supplemental nursing system after meeting with my doula at her postpartum visit. I consulted a second IBCLC for good measure. I made a phone appointment with my therapist. I found the youtube videos about paced bottle feeding so we could use a bottle (so much easier than fingerfeeding!!!) while encouraging our son's natural sucking behaviors and good latch.

I could go on, but you get the idea. Having connected to the birth and breastfeeding community while pregnant, I knew there was always going to be someone to help me when I had once again reached the end of my rope.
  1. Strangers helped me
I have to laugh. I knew before giving birth that there was much breastfeeding support to be had, but I never imagined I'd be sending multiple nipple pics of the way my breast fit into my pump flanges via PM to a woman I'd never met! And yet, Fancy Pumpers was one of several social media support groups that saved my life. Generous ladies from all over the country (and even beyond!) helped me size my flanges, helped me know what tests to ask for when I was getting my hormone levels checked as a possible cause for my supply issues, and sold me their lightly used seasonal maternity clothes as I transitioned during those first months. Especially nice to know that someone else is always up at the same time as you, even when you are seeing a time of day you never thought you'd see after finishing those college all-nighters!
  1. I had a courageous nurse
"You may have breast hypoplasia." I was sitting up on my own a few hours after giving birth. The baby had latched and nursed several times during the golden hour--we had rested, and loved on each other (and one of us even pooped on the other…twice). Labor had been fast and natural, recovery was uncomplicated and comfortable in the birth center. My shower was one of the first steps toward us heading home into "real life" and first time parenting.

My nurse for the birth, who had been there to help with postpartum and observed our breastfeeding, was an IBCLC who was also my breastfeeding class teacher. She stood next to me, in a relaxed but earnest pose. "It may mean something, and it may mean nothing. But you have several of the physical markers for breast hypoplasia-your breast shape, the distance between, the lack of size increase."

It meant that there was a possibility I might struggle to breastfeed, she explained, but it also might not mean anything. She kept it light.

Thank goodness. That IBCLC I called when my son started screaming from (what we came to know was) hunger? It was her. I had her number already in my phone because at my class, she gave it to us. There was only one warning-she was an on-call nurse and so if we called at 3am, she was going to answer! Her courage to be available, to be honest about what she saw as well as what it may or may not mean, and her encouraging demeanor throughout made it so much easier to reach out for help.
  1. I felt a deep need to see it through
Not giving up, I have come to see, was simply meant to be my path. And while some of that deep need was my postpartum anxiety talking, there was an honest and healthy call in me to see this thing to its end, whatever that was.

The end started in July when my very busy 5-month-old began to become increasingly distracted during mid-day nursing sessions. Eventually, we were only nursing first thing in the morning and last thing at night, when he was sleepy and relatively uninterested in the rest of the world. And if I remember right, the last time we nursed was a surprise-a middle of the night teething upset when he refused the bottle and would only take my breast to calm down and sleep! You never do know when it's going to be the last time. That was our last. I had seen it through struggles and triumphs along with my husband and my community-friends, family, medical professionals, even strangers.

That was my path nursing him, and for all its ups and downs, it was absolutely perfect.

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Contact Mary, who teaches birth classes in the Chicago area, at her website here.

Photo credits: size4riggerboots and Nana B Agyei via Flickr/CC