Breast Can Be a Pest

So it’s #worldbreastfeedingweek and tonight Channel 4’s #Dispatches is airing a documentary into the pressures, pains and stigmas of breastfeeding.

I have heard so many opinions in the last few days as to what is best etc etc and I wanted to share my own thoughts too.

Whilst I categorically do not deny for one moment that #breastisbest, I hated breastfeeding. Absolutely hated it and gave up after a few days. Cue the lynch mob!

I fully understand why the NHS are encouraged to help mothers choose breast over bottle but if it wasn’t for me ringing the bell for one of the nurses on the ward in the night telling them my few-days-old daughter was starving and they HAD to give her some formula rather than them forcing me to try and achieve what little milk my body was producing again, the consequences just don’t bare thinking about.

Not only was I in incredible pain in my left boob (long story – benign large tumour removed at 23, loads of scar tissue, blah blah) but my right boob didn’t seem to want to play game either. I ended up with a breast feeding expert lying by my side in bed like a new lover trying to milk me like a cow, achieving only a teardrop of milk each time. It got to the point where, as I say, my daughter screamed the house down, no doubt ruddy starving, and where I had to put my foot (and two boobs) down and said (in much nicer words), “Formula now please, or else!” Even then they resisted a little. I showed them my unhappy face and they whisked my baby away, fed her 30ml of formula and we both got the best night’s sleep we’d had since she was born!

I did keep trying but it just wasn’t working. I was ‘released’ from hospital after four days and as soon I was home, I tried the ‘milking machine’ I had bought. It was official. I definitely was not a milk producer! I gave up there and then and immediately from that moment it was a case of happy mum, happy baby which I am a MASSIVE advocate of across the board.

Over the coming weeks, various heath visitors, midwives and breastfeeding support ladies came by and whilst I personally didn’t feel any pressure - I had decided from the outset that I would do what was right by my baby my way – not in a cocky I know best kind of way but in a I know me, I know my baby kind of way, but it did make me worry for people less confident and more vulnerable than myself who really would feel the pressure and in turn would put too much pressure on themselves. 

Having a baby is a bloody whirlwind for all manner of reasons where every mum and dad just wing it from each day to the next. No added pressure is required! I absolutely commend the NHS and the incredible support on offer to us very lucky ladies completely free of charge but the look of disapproval I received when I said, “No, sorry, I’ll be going onto a bottle” after her showing me every single breastfeeding position under the sun (‘the rugby position’, ‘the sideways position’ – Christ, it was like the Kama Sutra of breastfeeding without the fun!), all of which were to no avail was not commended nor appreciated. She couldn't add me as a 'breastfeeding lady - tick', 'target not met' and off she went.

I don’t doubt the health benefits from breastfeeding and yes, I do get a pang of guilt for that which is why I am a health mad obsessive when it comes to my little girl’s diet now. But it’s not just about physical health, there is also the mental health side to consider which doesn’t seem to be talked about as much. Had I have continued to breastfeed, I would have cracked up and my baby certainly wouldn’t have been in great health either. I immediately relaxed the moment I switched to formula and my baby was a content little soul with it. 

OK, I did become a bit of a control freak as my midwife jokingly called me one day having told her that I set my alarm every two hours to feed her to prepare her next bottle – waking her with a feed rather than her waking me and then having to traipse downstairs and sort it all out with a screaming baby in tow. I feel this meant she became a content little girl as I was always right there with a bottle before she even knew she needed it 😉  Again, whilst I think her “control freak” comment was meant a little more seriously than her tone implied, I didn’t feel the need to take her comments personally or to heart because it just goes to show that you must do whatever works for you, whatever makes you, and in turn your baby, happy.

I can’t comment on the ‘breastfeeding in public’ argument that is also covered in tonight’s show because the most public I ever got with it was wopping my boobs out on the ward in front of my poor dad who, bless him, just said, “aw.” I do feel that it should be less of a stigma however. I laugh at the time my poor husband felt he had to stare at the floor when my best friend took out her (fantastic) boobs to feed her first child in her living room and empathise with my poor friend who felt she had to spend most of another friend’s wedding in the ladies loos breastfeeding her daughter when the Hand Jive was on.

I hope that had breastfeeding worked out for me that I would be laughing in the face of adversity and feeding my child wherever I needed to but, realistically, looking at the hopeful selection of breastfeeding tops (that soon became defunct pyjama tops) that I'd bought before having my baby – tops that were so ruddy confusing with wraparound this and tug at and knot that, I know I would have become a breastfeeding recluse who just sat breastfeeding topless in her own living room. I would never have been one of those fabulously demure mums who just fling a beautiful silk scarf over them and baby and make it look easy. But maybe that’s just it. There IS a breastfeeding stigma out there and it needs to change. Yes breast is best but it can also be a bloody pest! Mother Nature was clearly a man 😉

To My Darling Girl, Mummy is Fast-Approaching 40 and I'd Like to Share My Hopes, Dreams and Tips With You (Just go with it!)

You're not even two yet but every day I wonder about your future and hope I'll be there. I hope one day you read this and take note. I'm sure there'll be eye-rolling and tuts and mutters of, "God, Mummmmm, you're SO embarrassing" - if young people still talk by then and aren't talking through robots or holograms or whatever platforms are around at the time. It's that classic Peter Kay line isn't it - "Me and your mum used to load the dishwasher OURSELVES....we used to have to cope with a car EACH!.."!

A younger me always imagined that I would have kids in my late twenties. I didn't spend much time thinking about it in honesty but that was the kind of 'breeding age' that lay dormant in my subconscious. Late twenties seemed so far away at one point (ha! It now seems so far away from the OTHER side!) but by the time I reached my late twenties, kids weren't even on the bucket list. Still living in the first house my partner and I bought together, it was a party house. Socialising was what we did then. Kids would've just dampened that. Second down the list was travelling. Thankfully, the hubbie (then, boyfriend. Blimey, even the word 'boyfriend' takes me back to those days!) travelled far and wide together and were fortunate to create so many amazing memories - both together and independently in our working lives, something I am over the moon we did pre-kid(s).

Before we knew it we had reached our thirties. By this point we had bought what we thought would eventually be our 'family home.' We travelled and partied some more, woke up one day and somehow were in our mid-thirties, but didn't feel a day over twenty. By this point, kids were on the radar but still weren't a huge priority, just 'something we should probably think about'.

I was 38 by the time our little munchkin arrived in our lives. I won't bore anyone with the struggle again (read my previous blogs to be bored with that!) but certainly, 38 wasn't the age I ever imagined my first (and now likely, only child) to come into the world. Whilst late thirties is a much more common time for starting a family these days, I can't quite shake the feeling that I'm in the 'older mum' category. Not that I should be concerning myself with a 'label' but, with my own mum always seeming a young mum to my brother and I (and still does!), I do wonder if I'll appear older than her friends' mums. Will I be severely 'uncool' or embarrassing? Will I see through all her major achievements and be around enough to just be there for her and to enjoy a great deal of her life?

I appreciate that I'm not writing this as a pensioner (!) but I can't deny it's something that plagues my mind from time to time. So, as I approach my (gulp!) big 4-0, still feeling as though I'm in my late twenties I might add, I wanted to share my hopes, dreams and tips for my wonderful little girl:

* Laugh. A lot. It is said that a day without laughter is a day wasted. Find humour in even the tiniest things and dullest of days. Surround yourself with people who make you laugh. Not just a little 'ha ha' but a fully uncontrollable, 'can't breathe, it hurts' belly-laugh, the kind that makes you roll off the settee clutching your stomach. Life isn't just about the big, exciting moments (make sure you have plenty of those too of course) but is equally about the tiny, silly moments. Make the mundane fun. Shopping in Tesco isn't exactly something to write home about, but you CAN make it fun. Life is too short not to. Don't look for excuses to throw a party. Just throw a party. Stick some tunes on, get some people round and put some curly crisps in a bowl - is it anyone's birthday? No, exactly! Make every day a day of wonderful memories made. Take up each and every experience, but just...

*...DO NOT DO DRUGS. Just don't. I won't offer a lecture here but just don't, ok? Come ask me about it and I'll show you pictures of teenagers, with their whole lives ahead of them, on their deathbeds or something, but seriously, just DON'T! One stupid moment of apparent 'pleasure' can instead be gained from Point One above: Laughing. And there is nothing wrong from getting addicted to laughing. Unless of course it is induced by laughing gas - and don't do that either. It is for dicks. And you're not a dick.

* And whilst I'm nagging, don't smoke. I'll tell you all about your 'Grandoug' (Grandad Doug) and his battles with COPD and terminal lung cancer from years of smoking. I'm hoping cigarettes are a distant crappy memory by the time you're old enough to even consider it, but don't vape either - basically, just don't put chemicals into your body. End of.

* You'll spend most of your younger years caring what those around you think, which is of course a lovely trait too because by default, it also makes you empathetic, but just don't worry about what anyone thinks OF you. You'll spend all that time anxiously caring only to hit thirty and say, "I couldn't honestly give a SHIT!" Every day that follows that milestone you'll care less and less. So start as you mean to go on and pride yourself in not caring earlier. Don't concern yourself in worrying what clothes you SHOULD wear or music you SHOULD listen to. Do YOU like it? Wear it. Do YOU like it? Dance to it, which leads me to....

* DO appreciate music and the power of singing in the shower as though to a 20,000 strong crowd. Never discount dancing to a song because it's a 'bit cheesey' and ALWAYS do the conga and Auld Lang Syne on New Year's Eve. DO dance around the bedroom pretending you're recording your latest music video. The adrenalin is incredible and will make you feel fabulous! Don't ever grow out of that. I'm not ashamed to say that I still do it. I can still remember every imaginary shot I acted out to Madonna's Immaculate Collection - I'll show you one day. I appreciate that will make me the afore-mentioned 'uncool mum' but, remember, since I turned thirty I don't care what you think ;)

* Travel the world. I will worry like mad, I'm sure of it, and will no doubt want you to update me every single day so I know you haven't been trampled by an elephant, but do go see our fabulous planet. If money's an issue, try and find a job where travel is an option - they'll pay for it and put you up in great hotels to boot (I'll worry if you're in a hostel ;) ) Bonus!

* Dream big. There is nothing wrong with dreaming big. It doesn't always work out exactly as you dreamt it and is sometimes a side-step from the actual dream but if you want something so badly, go for it and don't let negative people get in your way. I loved the moment I sent a job acceptance letter from the BBC to my old school who had told me to look for "more realistic" career choices.

* Don't be a worrier. The one big lesson I have learnt in my almost forty years is that nothing is EVER as bad as it is in your head. Every single moment I have ever worried about has turned out to be absolutely fine. I remember being in my early teens and dreading a maths exam so much that I hoped I would die in my sleep so I didn't have to sit it - I was always dramatic! I didn't die of course and sat the exam. It was fine. I didn't do very well because maths isn't my forte, but you know what, that was fine too, because in the great scheme of things it just didn't matter. Was my dad a bit cross with me? Yeah, but then he was cross at many things I was rubbish at - maths, science, woodwork, art.....but I was good at English and Drama and Music and Spanish. You'll always be rubbish at some things and great at others, but just don't worry about the other things in between. The world needs people of all types and of all talents, whatever those talents may be. Worrying is all-consuming. Don't let it consume you. Beat the worry with a big pokey stick because everything is always ok, no matter what. And if you find yourself worrying, come talk to me. It's likely I'll have a really dull anecdote to make you feel better stored up my sleeve.

* Don't waste any of your life in a job you hate. Yes there are bills to pay, and yes you may have to stick it out a little while longer whilst you sort it out but do look for something that interests you. The anxious Sunday night feeling is a mug's game. Life is too short.

* Be kind. Find pleasure in doing nice things for others. Sounds clichéd I know but there is nothing like the feeling of knowing you did something good for someone. Relish in making someone's birthday a silly surprise or sending them a little silly something in the post. It warms your cockles and does your heart good.

* Always use your manners. Even when those around you don't. You never need sink to someone else's level. Stand on your moral high ground and wave at those below you with a great big grin. Try not to get cross when someone doesn't thank you, instead, take a teeny tiny moment to pity them in their moral 'low-ground' and then delete it from your mind. They're not worth it.

* Take photos. As stated, I don't know what technologies will be around when you're old enough to do so but use whatever means to take photos. Memories are great in your head but there is nothing like having a photo to look back on, even of a seemingly teeny tiny moment. I even screen-shotted the text I sent out to family and friends the day you were born and the one your daddy sent after he had left the hospital and printed them out on photo paper. I shall treasure them forever.

So, in summary...Enjoy every precious moment. Laugh. Make every day a day of memories made. Throw parties but just don't do drugs or smoke. Don't care what others think and don't be a picky worry wart. Dream big, believe in unicorns. Enjoy the powers of music and of travelling the world. Be in a job you are happy to go to each day and surround yourself with good people. Be kind, be polite. Take photos.

I hope you can always come to me for any of the above and anything in between. You are the absolute apple of our eyes and make us so proud each day. I know you will be a wonderful human being because you already are. But (oh, and never start a sentence with 'but'), never feel the pressure to be anything at all. Just be you.

Love, laughter and happy ever afters,

(Your nearly forty year old) Mum xxxx