The same song went round my head again. “Aaaaay… your really Awe-some, Nnnn, there’s No-one quite as cool as yoooou”. Its not a song from the radio, but one I’ve made up and it is not even my babies name. A, N, G, I, E (and repeat). Angie is Albas hypno-womb-mates name. The song was dreamt up one long feed, not too long ago. During the long one’s when impatience kicks in, I remind myself, soon will be the last time. Enjoy it.
Since the start, I’ve tried to make breastfeeding the most efficient activity. Imagine, feeding the baby and reading a book or an article, drinking a cuppa, listening to a podcast, watching a documentary. The things I would accomplish when breastfeeding. So many things. Ha! I set up a breastfeeding station replete with many snacks and a water bottle (I only had to think about feeding and need to drink a gallon of water), my ipad stand, phone charger – with a long lead, pen and paper.
In those first few spacey weeks I was disheartedened to learn that I would need two hands to breastfeed. One to hold baby and one to squeeze my boob. Later I would learn that this tactic is called a C-shape hold. Holding a book was impossible. Concentrating on anything while knackered and learning to feed was also nigh on impossible. As is drinking a hot cup of tea; still countless times I made a brew only to watch it go cold. It is too dangerous to drink a hot cup of tea over the baby and too risky to transfer a sleeping newborn from Mama to moses basket. So instead, I would let episodes of Brooklyn 99 and RuPauls drag race smudge past. Bleary eyed. Exhausted. But totally elated.
It was a meditation to relax into it. To just sit and watch as Alba attack my soft breast tissue with her tiny gums. Eyes closed, ravenous, smelling her way, to the well of all good. She would roll back, milk drunk and sigh. Limbs spasmodic and uncoordinated. The joy of watching her learn to grasp and clasp and funnel things into her own mouth is hard to describe. Love is nurturing. The reward is growth. Now, at over ten months, she rolls back with a thud. She stretches out for a big gulp of air and nose dives back to target or grabs a squidgy handful of boob and pulls it to her face. The look hasn’t change. Still, wide eyed and amazed, smiling and content – as I am – that we can do this together. That we are still bonded through the body.
It’s easy to make this normal. To forget that this will be a memory soon. Babies leg scrambling up my chest, foot wagging in my face, fingers searching for my mouth. Her eyes glued to mine. Breastfeeding is a somewhat passive activity. So many ideas and dreams come to me when sat in the maternal hold but it is also hard to fight the call of other soft pleasures like sleep, phone time and the respite from constantly watching, entertaining, feeding, changing and cleaning up after the baby.
My body without thought or instruction, produces nutritious food and drink and a prescription for whatever she needs, whenever and wherever she needs it. My body’s intelligence cooperates with Albas, upping the quantities and ratios depending on her needs. Breastmilk is pain relief, comfort, a tool for tears and tiredness. Once I got the hang of it, it became the easiest thing in the world, so easy that is easy to forget that it is already the most efficient thing in the world.
Woke on No sleep 