It’s a Girl

So another one of those post-partum weirdnesses that nobody warns you about is the problem of lactation overabundance. Everybody worries instead about not having enough, about having to supplement with formula, about being a bad mother because, gosh, your mammaries just aren’t up to the task.

We have the opposite problem: too much milk. Six hours is about the maximum window of time between feedings before aching pain sets in, not to mention leakage. And if Delphine isn’t feeling hungry — especially during her recent 10-day bout with a miserable head cold — well, then, Mom is pretty miserable, too. And not getting any sleep, either.

“I don’t think you should still be having this problem five months after having a baby,” my mother fretted on her most recent visit. “It’s abnormal.”

Well, maybe it is, and maybe it isn’t. Plenty of nursing moms donate their excess to breastmilk banks around the country; their offerings go to preemie infants and, sometimes, overseas. But until just a few weeks ago, there wasn’t anywhere to donate in Oregon.

The one nursing book I’d found actually helpful — Kathleen Huggins’ The Nursing Mother’s Companion — had exactly one paragraph on reducing milk supply, by letting the baby suckle only on one side at a time. This didn’t seem too useful, since Delphine generally prefers dining on both sides at a meal, and her mom generally prefers to not feel lopsided.

So I contacted the last lactation expert I’d consulted, asking whether there was anything I could do to stanch the flow. My best bet, according to the consultant? Waiting another month or so until Delphine starts to eat solid foods, in the hopes that less demand would translate into less supply.

As my brother-in-law said when Delphine was born, “Forget about sleeping. You can sleep in a year.”

Delphine is almost five months old. And in the past few days, she’s started to show her age by spending most or even all of the night in her crib in her own room.

Some mornings, we come in to check on her and she’s already awake, just lying in the crib playing with her hands, watching her mobile, and placidly studying the ceiling. When our heads loom over the edge of the crib, she stares at us for a minute, as if trying to place us, and then, reliably, she smiles in recognition.

It’s the best few minutes of the day.