Okay, I'm sure you're all sick to death of hearing about this, but since I went to the doctor today and Samuel is still only gaining about half an ounce a day, it is pretty much all I can think about. The doctor suggested we offer formula after each nursing session, causing disappointment to settle like rocks in my stomach.

I feel like my heart is breaking over the whole situation. Why isn't it working? I really don't get it! I nursed Jacob successfully for 11 months and became a big advocate during that time. Everything about nursing Jacob went so well. And I would think things were going equally well with Samuel except he just isn't gaining weight! :-(

(Edit: Heath said after reading this post that some guys would be embarrassed by this next paragraph. I didn't think it was too much detail, but consider this your warning.)

It looks to me like he's feeding fine. We do 10 minutes on the first side, switch sides so he doesn't wear out too soon from non-nutritive sucking, and then usually do at least 10 minutes on the second side. I know I have milk; I can pump 2.75 ounces at feeding time. And he eats at least 8, sometimes 9 or 10 times a day. That would be 22-28 ounces a day, enough for a 9.5-10.5 lb. baby. It just doesn't add up! I am going to pump and give him the milk in bottles for the next 24 hours and keep track of the total, because maybe some of the feedings are yielding considerably less than 2.75 ounces.

It was so easy with Jacob. He cried to be fed about every 3 hours, I fed him, and he pooped and peed and gained weight like a champ. I didn't have to keep track of anything after the first week or two - if I lost track of time, he cried to be fed. I knew he had nursed for 10 or 15 minutes, time to switch sides, when he stopped nursing and pulled away on each side. I knew he was having at least 3 poopy diapers and 6 wet diapers a day (the minimum a breastfed baby is "supposed" to have), because he had both at each of his 8 feedings. I basked in the peaceful wave of prolactin and the sight of my milk-intoxicated little baby. I marveled at his solid little body and the soft rolls in his arms and legs, knowing it was part of me, lovingly and nurturingly transferred to him, that produced such vitality. I felt a primal drive to protect and nurture him that seemed inexorably linked to my experience of nursing him.

Of course, now I know from having another child that I was not able to nurse that I still felt the urge to nurture and protect my child without nursing. It didn't lessen our bond or my love for him that he was formula fed. Still, I remember an instinctive force, beyond my emotions or logic, that seemed to be present within the nursing relationship.

This is why I want nursing to work for Samuel and I. All these things - the ease and naturalness that are normally a part of nursing, the happy hormones and the baby fat confirmation, the instinctive drive to love - are why I am obsessing and worrying and suffering heartbreak over whether or not I will be able to continue to nurse Samuel. (I'm not even concerned so much about the potential for increased IQ and immunity to disease, although those are nice, too.)

Okay, and there is one more thing. I can't get this image out of mind - a mother and baby in a church we visited in Africa. I said to our missionary host, "Oh, is that a new baby?" And she answered me, quietly and discreetly, "No, he's (however many) months old." The other women were gathered around her helping her get him positioned to nurse, and apparently giving her advice as well. Obviously, he had not been feeding well for some time, for whatever reason. Maybe he was born early or sick. Or maybe they were just having trouble like Samuel and I. So what would happen if I wasn't a lucky enough to be born in a prosperous country? I know it is irrelevant, but it really bugs me.