Frenomoties-R-Us, are you out there?

DISCLAIMER: I share a lot, I'm not embarrassed by much, and writing about the kind of stuff in this post is therapeutic for me. I'm a writer ... when I find a subject that inspires, I'm going to use it. So this post talks a lot about nipples and breastfeeding. Skip it if that freaks you out.

So in yesterday's post I alluded to some issues I'm having with nursing. The big issue at hand right now? PAIN.

Now, when I say pain, I don't mean of the garden variety, the kind of where you cringe, mutter "son of a b*&#h" under your breath and move on. I mean the kind that stops your brain from functioning in its tracks. The kind that makes you mutter obscenities heretofore unknown to man. The kind that feels like a thousand tiny Samurai sword-wielding fire ants declaring jihad on your nipples.

See, Hunter and I have figured everything out except the latch. The thing is, I know what a good latch is and I'm pretty sure Hunter does, too. He tries so hard. I remain so calm. And yet, each time, we can't quite make the latch happen right.

How bad is it? I'm going to get graphic here, so skip this paragraph if you're queasy or the thought of my nipples in distress (or in general) gives you the heebs. So, really, how bad is it? Let me put it this way ... the sight of your newborn spitting up blood onto his onesie is rather disconcerting. On many levels.

The problem? A tongue tie. It was diagnosed in the hospital and, if I recall correctly through my morphine and hydrocodone-induced fog (not to mention lack of sleep), I was encouraged to wait to see how it affected our nursing. A tongue tie means that the frenulum, the tissue under your tongue that connect to the base of your mouth, is tighter than ... well, I won't make a crass joke here (though I'm tempted ... humor helps in these situations, no?). Anyway, we were told it could stretch on its own, it might not affect nursing at all, yadda yadda, and quite frankly I think Jerry and I were both worried about someone, even someone with credentials, yielding a pair of scissors in our two-day-old son's mouth.

I'm sure the doctor meant well, but since brain-freezing, eye-popping pain tends to drive me to internet research, I have found that a procedure called a frenotomy can lead to an almost instantly good latch. You snip the frenulum, there's a tiny bit of blood and (they say) very little pain. A minute later you put baby to breast and it's like he's been nursing from women the world over for a million lifetimes.

I'm finding this whole thing very frustrating. I swore I would do everything in my power to nurse this child, and it turns out an anatomical abnormality is stopping us in our tracks.

Anyway, it's Saturday morning and there's no frenotomy in my future until I can at least call the doctor Monday morning. What I wouldn't pay for a drive-thru frenotomy window right about now. So, for now -- or for the next couple of feedings anyway -- I'm VERY reluctantly giving Hunter bottles of breastmilk. I don't want him becoming use to those things, but I've got to give my girls a break. They desperately need it.

On another note, Wilder and Hunter, the two BEST sons in the world, slept in until 9 this morning. Meaning so did Jerry and I. It was amazing. Jerry feels like he got too much sleep. I'm not sure about that myself ... I mean, I did still make half a pot of coffee without the pot actually in the coffeemaker. But I would say if you subtract middle of the night feedings, we probably did get close to six hours or so.

And finally, I close with props to our dog, Betty. We had the pest control people out yesterday, and that dog simply did not rest or quit patrolling Hunter's parameter until the guy left. God help anyone who tries to hurt that little boy.

Anyway, I'm off to some coffee that hasn't been mopped off the floor. Love to all, k.