So all my preconceptions about feeding, all my worries and anxieties, were tied up in newborns and their ability to latch.
Harry latched within seconds of trying. It was wonderful. It was then the opposite of wonderful on day 2 when he started fussing when I wanted to latch him because my breasts were hard and filling with milk. I persisted, again the determination rising inside me. A midwife's suggestion of using a syringe made me feel physically sick. This baby was going to feed from me and that was that.
And we've got there. It probably took two weeks but Harry will now latch with both his and my eyes closed. Whatever position I choose, he gets on. Occassionally he doesn't open his mouth wide enough so it's a bit sore, and I have the confidence to unlatch him and force him to open his mouth widely to go back on. It's been such a learning curve, but we've cracked it.
Of course there is always going to be an issue somewhere. My abundant milk supply, my furious let down. The one which perhaps was the reason that Ollie refused to go near me until he was older and stronger. When Harry feeds he gulps and gulps. Straining to get air in amidst frantic sucking. Breastfed babies are supposed to control the flow of milk themselves, but Harry is not in control once my milk is flowing.
The result is that after each feed, he is literally full of air. I have tried every trick you can find in every book, and nothing really makes a difference. He is having dentinox, being fed practically upside down and vertically upright, I am pinching my boobs during feeding to try and stem the flow. Whatever happens, we end up with a very windy baby, who takes literally hours to relieve.
I have spent the last 4 nights up literally all night trying to burp him. I think I'm going a little insane. I really thought there was nothing worse in terms of breastfeeding dramas than having a baby who wouldn't latch. But actually, I think it's always been my silly big boobs all along. The milk that pours down my stomach and sprays all over the room when Harry starts hunger crying. It's like a comedy show.
I know we will get there but it's so bloody hard. I love feeding and I'm so proud of him for working so hard. But a part of me dreads feeds because of the winding that will ensue afterwards. I am crap at getting wind up too- my husband is better but when I wake him in the night to help, knowing he has to work the next day, let's just say we both feel bad about it.
I am loving being a mum of two and finding so much of it such a joy- and so easy! I am relaxed and confident and Ollie is being completely adorable and exemplary.
But I am really bloody tired. And I wish there was a valve I could open to get out all little Harry's wind!
Thanks for reading xxx