Vicky
Knowing from the outset I did not have breastfeeding up my sleeve (or down my blouse) I was finding other ways to settle him.
I was apprehensive at first when Dani asked if I would like to contribute a story to this collection. I am a devoted mother, but I did not carry either of our beautiful children, and nor did I breastfeed. My wife was always very certain that she would like to experience the wonders of childbirth, but I was not so brave. After 20 years of enduring very painful and heavy periods with multiple tests and laparoscopies along the way, I had developed very complex and negative feelings around my body’s ability to ‘perform’ as it should. In my early 20s I had also nursed my mother through a very aggressive cervical cancer that would take her life after just nine months, the trauma of which only cemented these fears.
Our first child was a beautiful boy. My wife had a natural birth in the water and straight away, our son was searching out her breast, for comfort and nourishment. The birth was truly magical, my wife was like a mighty warrior, breathing life into the world! I was in awe of her and head over heels in love with our little boy. We left the hospital a day later, feeling the full weight of responsibility that laid out before us with this tiny human, but also believing that the hardest part was behind us. I don’t think either of us were prepared for the weeks that followed, and for my wife the cloud cast by those first few weeks would remain for some months, eventually eating away at her confidence and leaving a void that post-natal depression would later fill.
Upon returning home our son cried, a lot. We tried everything, bouncing, patting, singing, swaying, walking, winding, nursing. Nursing again. Nursing again and again and again until my beautiful wife would look at me with broken, scared eyes and cry “Why isn’t this working? What’s wrong with me?”. Over the days that followed, our little boy was not growing at the rate the nurses were comfortable with. My darling girl kept persevering, navigating a myriad of conflicting medical advice and opinion. Nothing helped. The nurses who insisted she keep trying, the nurses who insisted she stop. Are you expressing enough? Is his latch correct? Don’t force the latch, just let him root. Are you eating the right foods? Try this supplement. Try this technique. Are you relaxed enough for your letdown to come? Try reading a book. And so it went for 10 desperate days. With every visit to the hospital came new advice, which always brought a glimmer of fresh hope. And so, we continued.
My wife threw herself into breastfeeding wholeheartedly. She was a very informed mother who had planned and controlled every aspect of the pregnancy and delivery, but we had not once discussed a plan B for breastfeeding. It was not something we had ever heard other parents struggle with; it was not something we had once considered would be an issue. You either wanted to breastfeed or you didn’t, and Dani wanted to – passionately. We would not find out until some years later that she had a supply issue caused by insufficient glandular tissue, but in those early days we were none-the-wiser.
Amid everything, I was finding my own groove with our son. Knowing from the outset I did not have breastfeeding up my sleeve (or down my blouse) I was finding other ways to settle him. I would bounce him and sing Simon and Garfunkel songs softly for hours, massage his little feet and clenched up fists, and smooth his furrowed brow until he would finally relax and drift off to sleep in my arms, or on my tummy. Perhaps it was because he couldn’t smell milk on me, stirring his hungry tummy. Perhaps it was because I was more relaxed at this stage than my wife, who was desperately trying to find a solution for her letdown and his latch.
Outside I was getting all kinds of advice from dads at my work, many saying to take the decision out of my wife’s hands and introduce a bottle without her consent. I was shocked that this was not just a mindset, but also something they may have done when their wives’ milk hadn’t come in within a couple of days. It seemed bizarre to me that anyone would feel it ok to make that decision on behalf of a new mum – unless the child was in danger from prolonged hunger. On the first night our son was born I had raised him to my breast to comfort feed him while my wife slept. The call and response of which felt so instinctive as a mother. I have experienced, even as a woman who has never carried a child and never produced milk, the overwhelming desire to nurse your baby. It is ancient and strong.
In those early months an incredible bond developed between my son and I, which I know my wife would have struggled with a little but was too generous to show. That bond lasted for some years, until at the age of four his sights were firmly set back on mama Dani! As much as I had longed for my wife to be able to breastfeed, for her sake more than anything, I also loved bottle-feeding our little ones. Some of my happiest memories are their little hands clasped around my fingers as they pulled the bottle to their lips and gazed lovingly back at me. It made my heart soar and something I feel so thankful to have experienced.
My wife’s milk supply did not come in for our daughter either, born two years later, and even though she had an immense bond with both our children from the outset, she seemed to allow herself to enjoy nursing more this second time round. Maybe a pro by now, but I believe she was prepared to face difficulties and refused to spend the same amount of time anguishing over it. Instead, she poured her energy into enjoying those first few months, more flexible in her approach and forgiving of her body. She enjoyed ways of soothing and bonding, beyond nursing, and blos- somed as a mother because of it. I had never seen her more confident, which has remained to this day. It was beautiful to see the healing journey my wife went on with our daughter – who still gazes at her mama as if she were the stars and the moon! It was I who struggled this time, but that is a story for another book – a book that speaks to the lack of support on offer to us parents who are expected to return hastily to the workforce and the pain that leaves behind.
Our children are now six and four. They are healthy and strong and brimming with energy. After all the heartache she endured, all I know is this: my wife created and birthed our amazing children. Her body is strong and beautiful and everything her family needs. Our children adore her and still slide their chubby little hands down her chest for comfort when they feel sad or tired. She has judged her body harshly for letting her down, but all we have ever seen is a magical woman whose body holds us all up. And we love her breasts, very much!
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