I couldn't have asked for a more perfect labour, the only downside is that I tore and had to be taken away for stitches which meant my precious latching time was delayed but as soon as I was reunited with my pudding, we were off to a good start with him having enough feeds from me to be sent home after a day or two of stitch recovery (ouch)
The first few weeks are bit of blur but I specifically remember one early morning.. maybe the morning after coming home, really struggling to get Alfie to latch, I was panicking and sent Alan to make a bottle up (we had formula JUST incase) but after a few attempts, he was on. So from then onwards things were going great, had a few minor blips with a blister or two but nothing major (nipple balm for the win). There as the odd nursing strike but nothing we didn't work through with patience.
Seven months later, the time had come to go back to work, which naturally I was DREADING. Thoughts of 'How will I feed my baby if I'm at work?' 'He needs me, I can't possibly go back' filled my head and to make it worse, my baby was flat out refusing to take a bottle of my expressed milk. Stressful.com. We tried everything, different bottles, different people feeding him, tricking him by swapping boob out for bottle but he was having NONE of it. Somebody also advised me to stop using my boob as a comfort for my baby as that wasn't helping him learn how to accept the bottle (I ignored this advice, she clearly didn't understand) I was at my breaking point with trying, at one point we were syringe feeding him just so I could go out and even then it ended in tears.
So eventually, my first day at work came around and my baby was at home with daddy. Safe to say it was a rocky road for my other half. Alan had to some how get Alfie to nap without mummies boob, there were no feeds whenever he wanted, it must have been awful for him, which breaks my heart.
My boobs were bursting by the time I got him, even when I'd expressed at work, I was itching to get him and feed him, not only for the relief but the bond I'd missed immensely. A few more days at work and Alfie had sort of settled to me not being there and all of a sudden he TOOK A BOTTLE OF MY MILK. I cried on the way home (happy tears) it was such a relief knowing I could go to work /go out and feel free because I knew my baby was getting the best from me, without me being there. A huge weight was lifted and I wanted to shout from the rooftops that he'd learned to take a bottle.
We're 8 months in and I'm so flipping proud of myself and my boobs for making it this far and nourishing my baby the best I can. My baby doesn't have a dummy, I AM his dummy and I love that I am the one he needs for comfort, at times it can be a little frustrating I'm not going to lie but then I look at his gorgeous blue eyes and I'd happily be his human dummy for as long a he needs. Don't get me wrong, I adore feeding my baby but it's nice to have his dad do his share and feed him, but at the end of the day, it's mummy who does it best, I've got the goods!