The Theme of Black Breastfeeding Week 2024 is: Listen Up! Reclaiming Our Narrative and Centering our Stories for Breastfeeding Justice. With that in mind, I am honored to share the words of Schaelur Kirkwood, a mother of one whose story is both incredibly relatable and inspiring:
I grew up knowing that my mom breastfed me, and I always had the goal of breastfeeding my own baby one day. When I got pregnant, I found a Black doula to work with and filled my mind with all the positive, affirming pregnancy and breastfeeding information I could find. My Instagram feed was soon flooded with posts about unmedicated vaginal births, the benefits of breastfeeding, moms pumping large amounts of milk, and breastfeeding through toddlerhood.
When I ended up having a c-section, that was the beginning of feeling out of control and helpless. I didn’t get to have my baby placed on my chest immediately. I didn’t get delayed cord clamping, and my baby didn’t get to do the “breast crawl” to find the milk on his own for the first time. However, I did have lactation consultants at the hospital who helped me learn how to get him to latch (because it was not as easy as I thought it would be). This was a bit uncomfortable, though, because of the rough squeezing to get my colostrum to come out, and they told me he had a tongue tie. It frustrated both me and my husband that mere hours after he was born, we were already being told there was something “wrong” with him. But he ended up latching just fine.
At one of his first pediatrician appointments, we learned that after the initial weight drop (which is expected), he wasn’t gaining weight back at a good rate. This may have been due to me being sick (I had a GI infection after surgery) and not being able to keep any food down. I’m sure it affected my milk supply, so we began supplementing with formula. People have strong opinions about breast milk versus formula (and rightfully so), and while I’m grateful we had formula to supplement, it still made me sad that I couldn’t provide enough to take care of my baby because I was struggling to take care of myself.
This is when I learned that his health is a direct reflection of my own. Once I recovered and could keep food down, I made sure to eat a lot more and focus on nutrient-dense meals (my husband loves to cook, so I was very lucky in that sense!). The hospital had this great free resource called Baby Café, where moms at all stages of breastfeeding could come and speak to a lactation consultant and do weighted feedings. I started going to this once a week when my baby was 6 weeks old. It was very helpful for my self-esteem as a new mom to see exactly how many ounces he was getting from the breast. This gave me the confidence I needed to stop supplementing and know that I was providing enough for my baby.
Then a new anxiety started: Without formula, how will he eat if I get sick again? What if something tragic happens to me? Or if my husband just wants to be able to feed him so I can rest? At this point, I hadn’t pumped much because I was focused on breastfeeding on demand, actually sleeping when the baby slept, and trying to eat. It often felt like I wasn’t doing anything all day, but in hindsight, keeping myself rested and healthy so I could take care of our baby was a lot. If I could talk to myself from seven months ago, I’d tell her she is enough, and she’s doing enough.
It should be noted that we didn’t have family come to help for an extended period, and my husband was back at work most of the day. Anyway, back to pumping: I started trying to pump and quickly felt defeated when I didn’t pump as much as the moms on Instagram (who I later learned were likely overproducers) or even enough for a full feeding. What was the point if I wasn’t even pumping enough for one feeding? After several deep dives and spiraling, I learned that some moms have a low supply or are just-enoughers. I fall into the latter category, so I would mostly get “good” pumps late at night or around 3 a.m. when the baby was asleep but my breasts were full. The idea of pumping after feedings to “empty the breast” didn’t work for me mentally, nor did trying to pump a lot during the day and combining it all.
The lactation consultant at Baby Café told me something I will never forget that eased my nerves: “Feed the baby, not the freezer.” I was already breastfeeding full-time and knew that my baby was getting enough from me—something that worried me just weeks before. I was too busy worrying about the next thing to appreciate that the last thing was resolved. Pumping became my new “supplement” for “just in case.” It wasn’t meant to be done in equal amounts to breastfeeding, and it certainly wasn’t meant to stress me out (which I learned can affect supply). Pumping “adequately” is still something I struggle with, but I try to remind myself that my baby is healthy and getting enough, and I don’t need to live in a worst-case-scenario mindset.
I love breastfeeding my baby. I cherish the special moments shared just between us. The first time I realized he could see farther, he was nursing (he looked with new wonder at the window curtains). When he first started becoming more mobile, I noticed because he’d pat my breast as he ate. I knew he had his pincer grasp down because my opposite nipple felt it! I love when he rolls over and sleepily reaches for me for a dream feed. All these little developmental memories are tied to our shared journey.
When people ask me how long I intend to breastfeed, I tell them that my goal is to do it for as long as he wants and as long as I’m able—hopefully, those two things will align.
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