My son, Baker, was born on October 17th, 2024 at 4:02 am. He cried for the first hour and a half of his life, clearing his lungs, held firmly and safely against my chest. When I first saw him, I recognized him immediately. I’d dreamed of being a mother since I turned thirty, and five years later, becoming a parent has been, by far, the most transformative experience of my life – simultaneously alien and familiar on a primal level.
In the first two weeks of Baker’s life, we experienced days on end of crystal clear skies, unseasonably warm weather and brilliantly colored leaves drifting to the ground. My husband and I got to know our new baby amongst the changing of seasons, wrapped in our cozy cocoon of new parenthood. We slept, ate, snuggled and stared at our new baby in awe of what we’d created. Becoming a parent is universal and individual, as aware as one is that the experience is not unique; it doesn’t prepare you for the rush of emotions that feel singularly important. I felt my senses and perceptions of what it means to be human elevated to a completely different level of consciousness. Primarily I felt a deep sense of gratitude, well being and joy despite the physical wear and tear of pregnancy, birth and sleep deprivation.
Despite all of the joy, my son and I immediately found ourselves on a rocky road to breastfeeding. Feeding my child wasn’t something I’d spent hours thinking about before his arrival – in fact I’d spent almost no time at all contemplating what appeared to be a straightforward process. When you have a newborn you quickly realize most of your time is spent thinking about exactly that: feeding. I’d read books on pregnancy and childbirth, assuming that when he arrived he would latch instantly and away we’d go. Without going into the history of breastfeeding in American culture, there is a clear double standard – “breast is best” however society will not necessarily support you if this is your vision of being a mother. The pressure to breastfeed is strong – and the pressure I put on myself was even stronger. The pressure to do right by my son, to provide the necessary nutrients and antibodies to set him up for a healthy life meant I, like so many mothers, would do nearly anything to achieve this goal.
Like many smart women before me, I intuitively reached out to my community of female friends for support and encouragement. Friends soon recommended I talk to other friends. We exchanged hundreds of texts, Face Times, check ins, during all hours of the night and over the course of many days. The patience and love from this expanding group and network of women allowed me to stay committed to solving the puzzle of breastfeeding.
Many friends were protective, making declarative statements like: “a fed baby is a happy baby.” My husband constantly reassured me that if we had to switch to formula, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. To me, feeding my infant son formula meant defeat. It meant there was something lacking in my ability to mother my son. Although I was able to recognize this as irrational, it didn’t stop me from wallowing in this head space. I reached out to doctors, lactation consultants, and breastfeeding support groups. Several women manually manipulated my breast tissue into my son’s tiny screaming mouth. I took long walks with Baker and wondered why my baby wasn’t interested in the most fundamental of baby activities: sucking. As time went on, several key pieces of information revealed themselves. As Baker grew we became aware he was suffering from a tongue tie which inhibited his ability to draw milk from the breast. We released the tie and two days later he was happily latched.
The more I talked to my particular of women, the more I realized what a struggle breastfeeding can be. My struggle is the same struggle as any other experienced by a new mother. The details are irrelevant. The emotions are the same. I realized I was not alone. Despite my sadness, frustration and confusion, I formed a newfound respect for my immediate community – the care, love and encouragement received for both me and Baker gave me the ability to keep moving forward.
I’ve been a mother for one month and the profound lessons I’ve learned both about myself and women in general have swept me off my feet. In a world in which the rights of women hang at a precarious balance, I’m reminded that all is not lost. No matter what government intervention we endure, the wisdom, strength, guidance and sheer determination of mothers is ancient and indestructible. I know that as long as the knowledge mothers possess is shared, I can trust in the inherent goodness of the world my son is entering.
Author
