When I was pregnant with now four-month-old Natalia, I was obsessed with two things: chocolate cake and breastfeeding. The former, I believe, needs no explanation –any pregnant woman with a hankering for sweets would understand. But breastfeeding?
Young mom, clueless mom One of my biggest regrets is not having been able to breastfeed my firstborn Manolo. Like any anxiety-ridden first-time mom, I was young and didn’t know better. I didn’t know better. I didn’t know–and no one had told me–that my milk wasn’t going to come in for at least two days after giving birth, or that I actually had colostrums to give. I didn’t think he’d be fine just sucking at my nipple the first couple of days and that he wouldn’t die from hunger. It didn’t help that he didn’t take to my breast immediately, or that the breast pump didn’t seem to work. And then there were the lolas, who were even more panic-stricken than I was. This was seven years ago, when breastfeeding support groups, nursing stations at malls, and all imaginable breast pumps were totally alien notions.
Mom on a mission And so it became almost a mission –an obsession, really –that I would do anything humanly possible to make sure I breastfeed my second child. I did my research: I read all the information Google would supply, and I bookmarked all the pertinent sites. I asked around for the best pump, ordered it online, and shelled out quite a sum for it. I got the contact information of a breastfeeding support group, Latch. I found a pediatrician who closely advocated breastfeeding. When I was wheeled in to my hospital room after 12 hours of labor and delivery, I requested for Natalia to room-in with me. I was exhausted, yes, but the physical fatigue melted away when Natalia found my breast. We were skin-to skin the whole time I was checked in.
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