Menu
Udderly Devoted: My Exclusive Pumping Journey by Jamie Parker
Originally Published: Dec. 23, 2020
Photo Courtesy of Jamie Parker
Nourishment is paramount. Nourishment is paramount. If breastfeeding doesn’t pan out — that’s perfectly fine! Nourishment is paramount! This was my mantra until my little one arrived, and then it transformed into NOURISHMENT IS BREAST! BREAST IS PARAMOUNT! I became fixated on the idea of breastfeeding and providing for my baby with my body’s natural resources. Unfortunately, our journey was filled with challenges.
From the start, our latch was a disaster. Hospital lactation consultants were amazed by my baby’s strong grip. We took our son home, and within 24 hours, he was vomiting blood. My blood. From my cracked, sore nipples.
As my son and I navigated through our breastfeeding attempts, his small birth weight of 6.8 pounds continued to drop. It felt like we lived in the pediatrician’s office during those early days. Each visit ended in tears as his weight percentile fell. Worried for his health, I embarked on the trifecta from HELL: breastfeeding, pumping, and bottle feeding. I aimed to increase my milk supply and give him more calories. I was advised to pump after every feeding. My tiny son wasn’t getting enough nourishment from my breast, so we fed him every 1-1.5 hours, which meant 12 pumping sessions a day.
We held out hope that a tongue-tie procedure would solve our problems and my little one would magically become a skilled breast feeder. Instead, we were hit with mastitis, the nightmare of nursing mothers. Except this infection didn’t occur in my newly enlarged breasts (which finally reached a size B!) but in my son’s swollen left breast. Alarmed, we rushed him to the Children’s Hospital ER after yet another tear-filled visit to the pediatrician.
Along with mastitis (neonatal mastitis), our son had two other alarming infections on his limbs. The ER doctors were worried about a systemic infection and suggested a spinal tap to rule it out. After spending hours from the pediatrician’s office to the ER without a bottle for him, I was unprepared. Our limited breastfeeding during this terrifying experience had failed to hydrate him. Both spinal taps yielded no results.
After a traumatic 36 hours at the Children’s Hospital, I began my exclusive relationship with my breast pump. No latch was necessary. Just two flanges, two duckbill valves, two backflow protectors, some tubing, a pump, and an electrical outlet. This glorified vacuum successfully filled bottles consistently and predictably for my baby.
I mourned deeply for the breastfeeding experience I had envisioned. I felt angry with myself for not having the stamina to keep trying. Illogically, I was frustrated with my baby for having a poor latch. I felt resentful toward friends who seemed to effortlessly feed their children. They could whip out their breasts in an instant, while I was tethered to a machine.
Exclusively pumping was never my intention. However, since that was my reality, I was determined to become the best pumper ever! I bought every accessory imaginable: silicone flanges, hacks to pump into bottles, and even a massager that looked a bit like a toy to help with clogged ducts. I pumped for a full 30 minutes each session until my once dark nipples (which my husband affectionately called mocha choca lattes) became pink and stretched to a shocking four inches long.
Each session yielded between 11 to 18 ounces. I had officially become a cow. “B*tch I’m A Cow” by Doja Cat became my personal anthem. Finding a chest freezer to store my ample stash during the COVID era was a task, but luckily, I discovered a lone dented freezer to keep my liquid gold safe.
Proud of my production, the endless hours spent pumping, sterilizing, and prepping bottles didn’t bother me. I walked into the pediatrician’s office with confidence, ready to show that my little one would finally be thriving! Ironically, despite my milk supply and his seven-ounce bottles, he was still in the 1st percentile for weight. Apparently, my body was only making skim milk.
Now, not only had I struggled with breastfeeding, but I was also failing to nourish my child. Despite my irrational hesitation toward formula, I had no choice but to start supplementing. I felt grief all over again and relived my feelings of inadequacy and disappointment. However, as my son began to develop his first wrist rolls and his waistbands grew tighter, my worries faded, replaced with gratitude for the miracle of Enfamil.
Over six months later — after two months of gradual weaning — I completed my final pumping session. I carefully folded my teal hands-free pumping bra, sterilized my flanges for the last time, and stared at the last 1.5 ounces my unusually long nipples could produce for my first-born. As I gazed at my pump, I felt an unexpected emotion. Sadness. Reflecting on the challenges of my pumping journey, I recalled the dead battery, forgotten flanges, broken tubes, clogged ducts, and more.
Despite my eagerness to end my relationship with this device, we had endured a long, difficult journey together. I allowed myself to sit with these emotions on the couch…with my Spectra.
If you’re interested in exploring further topics on home insemination, you might find this article on home insemination enlightening. For authoritative information, check out this at-home insemination kit. Additionally, consider visiting March of Dimes for excellent resources on pregnancy and home insemination.
Search Queries:
- How to exclusively pump for breastfeeding
- Tips for successful pumping experience
- Exclusive pumping challenges and solutions
- Understanding neonatal mastitis
- Benefits of formula supplementation
Summary:
This article chronicles Jamie Parker’s challenging journey with exclusive pumping after her struggles with breastfeeding. From a disastrous latch to dealing with mastitis and low milk supply, Jamie navigates the ups and downs of motherhood, ultimately finding peace with her pumping experience and the use of formula supplementation. The journey highlights the emotional complexities of motherhood and the importance of nourishing one’s child, regardless of the method.