
“So, have you had any marathon feeds yet?” my friend asked me, as she cradled my newborn daughter. I had no idea what she meant, but I nodded anyway – which was becoming my go-to reaction to any parenting questions. As a first-time mum, I was confused, excited and optimistic. Everything and nothing made sense, including my friend’s reference to ‘marathon’ and ‘cluster’ feeds.
A few days later, I learnt the true meaning of a ‘marathon’ feed when I breastfed my daughter for five hours straight, without even taking a toilet break.
I never thought I’d like breastfeeding. The very idea of it just seemed weird. I mean, a little thing, suckling at my nipples? Yuck. So, I was surprised to find that not only did I have a knack for breastfeeding, but I actually enjoyed it.
I couldn’t take all of the credit, though. To be good at breastfeeding, one needs to have a willing feeder, and my daughter wanted to breastfeed all the time. It seemed as though our breastfeeding sessions were getting longer and longer, and I wondered if it was normal. But I kept going, because my daughter had been born a few weeks early, and her weight was under average.
“Feed, feed, feed her,” the midwives urged me. So, I did.
On the night of the five-hour breastfeed, I was already feeling nervous. My husband had to go to a work-related dinner, and I was worried about being left alone with a one-month-old baby.
I had a plan: I would breastfeed Emmy, put her to sleep, eat my dinner and then hopefully get a nap before she woke for her next feed.
When my husband left for his dinner party, I was sitting on our bed, breastfeeding Emmy. He kissed me goodbye.
An hour into the breastfeed, I figured that Emmy was full, so I tried to pull her off my nipple. But she would suck even more voraciously, while lunging towards me. The message was clear: she was still feeding.