Julie Jay: Making the breast of my new arrival's feeding schedule

Breast may be best - for a lot of babies, and for some moms too, but God knows there have been moments where I have cursed my mammary glands for doing what all good udders do

If you encountered me on the streets of Dingle this last week, I apologise.

I was no doubt looking pretty dishevelled with at least one cup of my maternity bra wide open for business (if you are one of many people I bumped into in the supermarket this morning, congratulations, you got two cups for the price of one).

Such is my current breastfeeding fog that I am now oblivious to minor issues like exposed nipples and delivery men getting the full show.

I know I’ve got to feed my baby, of course, but what they don’t tell you in advance is how big a part of the whole raising kids thing it actually is. 

There are different ways to do this, but just a heads up that much like high-rise jeans, breastfeeding is most definitely back in fashion.

There is more support now than ever for breastfeeding mothers, and it’s great that women can have more help when it comes to choosing what works for them.

Still, mantras like “breast is best” do unnerve me slightly. Because yes, breast is best — for babies, and some moms too — but God knows there have been moments where I have cursed my mammary glands for doing what all good udders do. 

I breastfed Ted until he was six months old. It stopped when he bit down on my nipple, resulting in us exchanging a look, which told me he understood that the dream was over. 

We always mixed the breastfeeding with a bottle of formula at night, and it worked for us for as long as it needed to.

I hadn’t intended JJ to be a fully breastfed baby, but it just evolved that way until we hit a speed bump 72 hours ago and I made an executive decision to shake things up a bit, motivated purely by a desire to conserve some element of sanity for myself.

JJ, like Ted, is a bit of a cluster feeder — a strangely militaristic term given that it just means the child will treat my chest like his personal buffet until you peel him off. 

Given that I have never once had the self-control to restrain myself from eating all the chocolates in my Advent calendar long before Christmas Eve, I do not judge JJ in the slightest for latching onto me approximately 20 hours of the day. 

It is of course wonderful that JJ is a great feeder but it can be hard to discern when he is chowing down and when he is using me as a human soother. Still, we live in hope that he’s getting some nourishment out of it.

Initially, I loved these nights of feeding when I had JJ all to myself. For the first week at least every time I sat down to feed him, I felt an Eavan Boland poem coming on, such was my feeling of smug wholesomeness. 

I have willed passers-by to admire me in all my primal glory on more than one occasion.

“Look at me!” I have wanted to announce. “Miss Eire! Hibernia herself! Madonna and child! Feeding my child with my own body!”

Of course, this smugness was short-lived after the sheer relentlessness of breastfeeding began to take hold of my life to such a point that at certain moments over the last three weeks, if somebody suggested giving JJ a double espresso instead of the boob, I would gladly have acquiesced.

I am a milk machine, to such an extent I am just waiting for Fred to crack a gag about topping up his cup of tea. Over the last three weeks, Ted has repeatedly asked me for breastmilk, and on one occasion my friend’s tabby cat hovered perilously close to my cleavage.

“She can smell the milk — isn’t that amazing,” my friend said, and that’s definitely one word to describe what is quite the horror film moment as the feline eyed me as if I was dinner.

Yesterday, I subjected Fred to a video tutorial about breastfeeding. Later on, based upon his three-minute education, he felt confident enough to inform me that JJ “has a great latch”.

Needless to say, we welcome Fred’s input much like the spinning instructor telling us to up the resistance on our bikes — we will smile politely while paying no heed whatsoever.

Last night Fred made a bottle and fed JJ while I slept. He is a great dad, and JJ is a great baby, but the sleep was so welcome it was like winning the lottery. 

Yes, shifting is nice, but have you ever got 3.5 consecutive hours of sleep? It’s glorious.