Boob Head

(Hat: The Littlest Nipper from Etsy.com.)

It's funny. Prior to the whole flu thing I started to consider weening Storey early. I had wanted to breastfeed her until at least a year, but at times, nursing, something that seems like it should be naturally easy, has been anything but.

I've always had just enough milk, but no more than what Storey needs. We have no reserve supply for date nights. She's four months old and still nursing every 1.5 - 2 hours around the clock. As those lofty, modern goals of sleeping through the night and having a life kept tugging at my sleeve, I desperately looked for boob-solutions. Rice cereal? Will it stick to her stomach and get her to sleep longer? No, not really. How about herbal tea? Will it double my milk supply as promised? No, not really. Feed more often and more milk will follow? More often? Are you kidding me? Let's just say, some days I've been happy to be her milk cow, others I've just felt like a failure.

Then she and I got this flu.

Amidst the vomiting, the doctor on call at the physician's office meant well when she gave me this advice: "Feed her in smaller amounts every half hour. If she sleeps, don't wake her." It was that last bit that got us in trouble. Storey slept, I didn't wake her, the boobs got full, and even though I pumped, over time my body must have figured she wasn't eating, so she didn't need the milk anymore. Plus, I was dehydrated from being sick myself. I suddenly found myself with a near-dehydrated baby, who wouldn't drink the stupid Pedialyte the doctors kept saying she needed in order to stay out of the hospital, and my milk supply had dwindled down to next to nothing.

Enter, the La Leche League. I called the local league lady and left a teary message. She called me back and told me to camp out, skin-to-skin, in bed for a day or two with Storey, nurse her all the time and my milk would come back. She also said to forget the Pedialyte.

This probably all sounds like common sense. The thing is, I was tired, second-guessing myself, worried and sick, I wanted to do what the doctors said and avoid feeling like I'd screwed-up every possible decision put in front of me. I put my instincts aside, and did what I had hoped was best. Thank goodness the boob-lady set me straight.

I did what she said instead, and it felt right. My milk is back. Storey's thriving. All with no medical/supermarket intervention. From her birth on, Jason and I have had to make choices, discerning between what's medically and commercially available (and often times recommended) for Storey versus what's actually necessary. I'm sure this won't be the last time either.

The ironic thing: once threatened with the possibility that I might not be able to continue to breastfeed her, I wouldn't give it up for anything now. She can eat every hour for all I care (and in fact, she is...)