I have never seen a woman breastfeeding until I brought Matthew to my breast in the minutes after he was born. I am not slighting my family in any way - we just, for a variety of reasons, were formula-fed. We obviously thrived, and with only minor twitches, are perfectly normal. So when Josh and I talked about how we wanted to feed the baby, I hadn’t made up my mind, but breastfeeding wasn’t out of the picture (nor was it entirely IN the picture). I knew that breastfeeding was a natural function, and a very healthy and inexpensive one, but just how everything was going to fit together was still hazy in my brain. For him, all babies in his family were breastfed and it was the norm that he assumed would occur when the concept of Matthew came along.

Josh and I attended a breastfeeding basics class, and that made me feel a little less intimidated, for sure, and learning more about the support the hospital provides made me feel good as well. I don’t think, though, that any class or any talk beforehand can really prepare you for what it is like to nurse a child from the moment they are born.

Matthew nursed like it was his job from the moment he exited the womb. He latched on perfectly and we have been going strong ever since, despite two small blips - the first being that we made the decision (and I say that very purposefully) to give him 30cc of formula on his first night because his blood sugar was low. The second blip was that he took a few bottles (of a couple of ounces each) of expressed breastmilk I pumped for him when he was hospitalized for jaundice (asked to by the doctor to measure his input). I was afraid that he would have nipple confusion, but the boy is smart - he knows that he can get the goods from my boobs when he needs them.

Since then, my nipples have never been so sore - it’s not that his latch is bad, it’s that my nipples are weak and need to toughen up to their new task. Josh can only share peripherally (for now) in Matthew’s feeding, and so I’m up more constantly throughout the night (twice, really, so not a big deal) to feed Matthew. These are the hard parts of nursing. Growth spurts have been frustrating too - tonight, he fed at 5, 6, 7, 8 and 9, for anywhere between 15 minutes to 45 minutes each time, with no sign of letting up. I joked to a friend earlier that he must have an empty leg, because goodness, where else is he putting it?

The other hard part of nursing is partly mental. I am now responsible for the sustenance of another human being, completely. What comes out of me and goes into him is providing him with nourishment to grow. We are attached to each other in ways I knew but didn’t fully embrace until he and I started our relationship on the outside together - yesterday, Josh and his sister went out to Andersonville to shop around, and I declined, because I didn’t feel like walking the distance, but I also didn’t want to compromise our nursing time together.

It is hard nursing in public, especially when you’re as new to the concept of breastfeeding as I am. I am not flashing my breasts around, and for someone who’s as nervous and anxious as I am, I’ve nursed more in public than I anticipated I would - including a busy bar (that was attached to a tapas restaurant), a few other quiet restaurants, and at Target. It’s hard nursing in public when your baby is having as hard a time concentrating as you are. But I’ve done it.

What I love about nursing is the look in Matthew’s eyes when he’s suckling at my breast. His eyes start out wide open, darting this way and that. Occasionally, our eyes will meet and we’ll stare at each other, and I’ll talk to him. Sometimes he stares at my arm. Slowly, his eyes start to droop as he starts to really concentrate on his task at hand. As he’s aged (he’s 3 whole weeks old now!) I’ve had to do less to stimulate him mid-feed - when we started out, he’d fall asleep so quickly that I had to ruffle his hair to wake him up. Now, occasionally I’ll tickle his toes to see if he’s still interested in nursing. I put some pillows up in bed and prop him up either on another pillow or on my thighs, and he settles in. His hands flail about and the cutest thing he does is he’ll grab my middle and index fingers on one hand and hold them very tight. Other times he’ll ball his wee hands up into tiny fists and toss them around - sometimes striking a breast, and more amusingly, sometimes striking his face, which startles him (and amuses me immensely).

When he’s finished nursing and in what I call a milk coma haze, I’ll press my nipple against his lip to see if he’s still interested, and if he’s not, he’ll purse his lips tightly together as if to say, “No thanks, I’m full!” Lately, he’s started to smile - I know it’s not a real smile yet, but it’s still pretty darn cute when he does it.

I also love that he’s thriving. He’s gained weight and kicked the jaundice, solely because of our nursing relationship together. I look at how much he’s grown since I had him a mere three weeks ago and know that every fat roll I see is because of my milk and that is an oddly proud feeling. His little belly distended and full of my milk is enough to make me sit a little taller.

I know I’m pretty lucky here, with nursing as easy as it has been for us, even through the challenging times as well. Will things always go this smoothly? Of course not. I do plan to enjoy it as long as it lasts and as long as he thrives on it. In a way, I’m thriving too.