My husband was adopted and my mom didn't breastfeed. I have no sisters, no aunts who breastfed, nobody I could learn from. And still, I wanted to breastfeed. I wanted to at least try.
Breastfeeding my first baby was challenging. But I was beyond dedicated and somehow, miraculously, we made it work. The second time, I knew, was going to be easier. Except it wasn't. It was worse. By four days postpartum I was ready to give up. But I headed to a breastfeeding support group the next day, as my last ditch effort before quitting. If it wasn't for the support of the mothers at that group, and especially the two lactation consultants who spent extra time helping me at that first session, I would never have continued breastfeeding Jordan. If it wasn't for Mary, who brought over a box of tissues and told me it was okay, we keep these here because everybody cries; if it wasn't for the step in lactation consultant at that group (whose name I can sadly not recall) who worked and worked on latching Jordan and giving me helpful tips; if it wasn't for Kathy, who supported me each week the rest of my maternity leave and inspired me to become a lactation counselor myself -- my breastfeeding heroes -- I would not have continued. I owe it to them and I thank them so much for the world of difference they made to me and to the rest of us mothers at the group. I ended up going to the support group every week until I had to go back to work. I think I was sadder about missing the group than leaving my kids when I went back. Stepping out of my comfort zone and going there was the best thing I could have done for myself.
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