Thursday, May 5, 2011

Mr. Cob

With Mother's Day fast approaching, I thought I'd share a photo of my son Jacob and I. He was about three weeks old and weighed 4 lbs., 7 oz. The outfit he is wearing was a premie size, and still it was too big for him.

He reminded me of a little old man, and one day I looked down at him and said, "Mister Cob." To this day we call him Cob, or Cobby.

I had planned to breastfeed him, and this was very important to me. He spent 2-1/2 weeks in the NICU, and I pumped milk for him. The nurses would then insert a tube down his throat and into his stomach and slowly give him the milk. One ounce was considered a meal. They did this because they didn't want him using any energy sucking on a nipple. That still amazes me. Thankfully this method of feeding only lasted a few days. We then moved on to something similar, in that a thin tube was taped to our finger and a syringe with milk was attached to the tube. Slowly we dispensed the milk into his mouth. The same mechanics as giving someone an injection. Once again the point being that he not exert any energy. Every calorie mattered.

Then we moved on to actual breastfeeding. The nurses were wonderful, and helpful. Mr. Cob, however, wanted nothing to do with it. He refused to latch on, and actually took his tiny little hand and attempted to push my breast away from him. All the while screaming bloody murder. There were many tries at the hospital, at home, and with a breastfeeding instructor. He just wasn't having it. So, in the midst of post-partum insanity, with a fresh C-Section scar, I continued to use the breast pump. The important thing was he was getting my milk, not how it was being dispensed. Logically I knew this, but emotionally I felt like a failure.

A breast pump can only do so much, and certainly isn't ideal. It was like my body knew this, because after just a few weeks I began to dry up. I remember being at my six week post-op check at the OB/GYN and unleashing a torrent of tears concerning my inability to feed my son as nature intended. I sobbed, "If this were 100 years ago and we were on the prairie, he'd starve to death!!!" The man looked at me as if I were insane.

Mr. Cob is 16 years old now. He is my only child (that I know of). He's a wonderful young man and I thank God for him every day.

1 comment:

Tracy said...

Oh my goodness what a cutie.
I can so understand your feelings. I am teeheeing at your statement about living on the prairies. I would have thought the same thing, lol.
I think he turned out to be a fine young man. You did good mommy :)