I think I might have given up breastfeeding very early on if it weren’t for my husband. In the early weeks, I was tired and frazzled and frustrated because I could never seem to figure out if my baby was getting enough milk. The ultimate control freak, I felt out of control and threatened to quit.
But it was the hubs that gave me pep talks. Reminding me that this was something I really wanted to do. Urging me to stick with it. Making me face the fact that I wasn’t a quitter.
He coached me through the hard times.
I’d been thinking of him as a coach and even calling him coach since before the baby was born.
It all started when we took a breastfeeding class at our hospital and next to my name I needed to write down the name of my coach.
"My what?" I’d asked the woman behind the desk.
"Your coach, you know, your partner?" She matched my own confused expression.
"Oh," I said sheepishly as I looked at my husband. "That guy."
And from that point forward, I’d affectionately referred to him as my coach, but not having any idea that he would step into that role when it came to breastfeeding.
In the delivery room, sure. But when it came to nursing? How would he coach me through that?
I was guilty of thinking breastfeeding was between my baby and me. Between a mother and her child. Not understanding how my husband would fit in.
But he did. In so many ways.
Because he always saw us as a team.
From waking up with me in the middle of the night to helping me keep my eyes open while I nursed to coaching me through the frustrating parts of breastfeeding.
And as I look back now, I couldn’t have asked for a better coach, teammate or husband.