NYMB Donor Mom: April
April I
This bond we share and continue to grow cannot be described, but only felt.
My son and I donated some thousands of ounces of our milk; parting with a piece of me, made for him!
Naive at the start of our journey, never fully understanding the gravity of nonchalantly wanting to breastfeed. Minutes after his birth, I learned to become a milk source, committing myself to produce and nourish.
Tried over and over we have never given up on each other. Nursing through Mastitis several times, sleep deprivation, fevers, has not been easy. Still latching through the tummy aches and cries, my boy’s strength remains unmeasurable. The internal battle if I’m selfish for choosing to breastfeed or if human-made milk truly is best for baby, tore at my heartstrings and made me contemplate my decision.
Math says a full-time career per year is averaged one thousand nine hundred sixty hours while nursing for one year is one thousand eight hundred twenty-five hours…less the vacation, sick, personal time, but with the benefit of witnessing your baby bloom.
This bond we share and continue to grow cannot be described, but only felt. Some days I feel the tug of distractions, but seeing my son still connected to me in a sense, calms me through any chaos; tuning into his every breath between suckles, feeling his warmth pressed against me, keeping his ear close to my heart allowing him a familiar sound from when he was still inside.
Our experience has been guided by an unparalleled support system including doctors and surgeons, but more importantly, friends and family, especially my husband, my “milk manager”. Without hesitation, he purchased a designated freezer for our supply, organizes my too many ounces, comes home with new dairy-free options, is okay with living our life in three-hour increments, and accepts me dressing based on accessibility for nursing. Even more so, he has forfeited time with both his wife and son during feedings!
Today as I hold my “sunshine” to nurse, I notice his legs spilling over our rocking chair, how his hands have grown, how he unlatches with an opinion, how his eyes continue to lock with mine; evidence of the work we have done together! Although we will not always be bound this way, he will always be my first baby love.