Daily Dose of Joy

Three years ago, my life changed when I became a mother. Although I was awestruck and completely in love with my son, I suffered from postpartum depression. I cried over stains on baby clothes, obsessed about baby spit-up, worried endlessly about organizing baby paraphernalia and acted, well, nuts. I knew I was depressed, yet did not know how to fix it. I am type A, like to be in control and want things to go as planned. So I found it unlikely that the one aspect of motherhood that somehow seemed so natural to me, even soothed me, was breastfeeding—an act that required OCD me to be unsure of exactly how many ounces baby was drinking, required me to struggle through days when I couldn’t figure out why baby wasn’t nursing well, required me to simply rely on my God given instincts. I only nursed my first born for six months. I returned to work and struggled with pumping and eventually, my OCD personality overtook my joy of nursing, and I decided to use formula to alleviate the stress of having to supply X ounces of breast milk for baby daily.

With the birth of my second son, I decided to breastfeed again. This time, however, I was changed. The three years in between my children’s births molded me into a more relaxed person. I regained my sense of self and overcame all feelings of postpartum. I entered into my second round of motherhood with zero depression, only elation. I loved mothering, even the stains on the shirts and the baby gear cluttering my home. And, as I did the first time, I loved nursing. I can think of no greater feeling than being able to provide this small, sweet, helpless baby with exactly what God intended for him. I still have to battle days when nursing doesn’t go smoothly, but I know eventually all will be right again. I also recently returned to work. This time, however, I am not stressing. I pump and take it one day, or bottle, at a time, and when I do start to feel the old OCD me creeping up, I look at my sweet baby and remember why I love nursing; I also look at my rambunctious three year old and wish I had been more diligent for him.

My goal is simply to nurse for an extended amount of time. I hope to encourage other new mothers to give nursing a fighting chance, not to give up when it seems too hard, to take those difficult moments and realize they will eventually turn into easier ones, ones where a sweet, milky-mouthed baby gazes lovingly at his mother while he casually nurses. So, this I believe, nursing is powerful; it is nourishing, both physically and mentally for both mommy and baby; it is a selfless act that provides baby with a healthy start and mommy with a sense of accomplishment; it is my daily dose of joy.