My third child was quite clearly a zombie baby. Born thickly covered in vernix and blood-splattered from the partial placental abruption that she caused by scraping past her low-laying anterior placenta as she prepared herself to be born. She came after fourteen hours of labor that started itself with unimpressive contractions followed by the sudden passage of so much blood that I thought my water had broken.

I was expecting to be sent home, as I had just been checked for progress and I was “three centimeters and mushy” and my contractions had spaced themselves out into almost nothing. We had just decided to go to the hospital because we were expecting another precip birth after her brother took only three hours to show up.

Instead I was signing consent forms for a c-section and we were watching the baby’s heartrate and seeing of the bleeding would come down. Things stabilized and my doctor arrived and told me that as long as the baby was doing well and the bleeding didn’t increase the goal was still to avoid a c-section.

Initially I was told that I would have to stay in bed, but I was given permission to move around as long as the baby was doing well. Delighted I stood up slowly and immediately lay back down. Dizziness from blood loss made the choice for me, and I spent my labor on my right side by choice and my daughter moved herself slowly down my tailbone as though she was trying to avoid agitating the placenta any further.

Little girl was born after the fewest interventions and the the biggest medical emergency of all my children. She was placed in my arms and her cord stopped pulsing within minutes. She was covered with vernix and the newborn baby fuzz, born more because the placenta was ready than because she was. She was active and alert and her desire to latch on severely impeded her ability to do so. Little feet kicked, little arms pumped, a little head bobbed, and her mouth opened wide and refused to close down on the breast.

My third child took the most effort to get latched, despite my 55 months of prior breastfeeding experience. Her brother took longer to get latched due to inexperience, but dear sweet little K. has been the most difficult baby to breastfeed.

She would gag if the nipple was too far into her mouth. She would push the nipple out with her tongue. She would latch on and click her tongue in front of the nipple rather than putting it underneath. This third nursling of mine gave me giant clear blisters on the tips of my nipples that hardened into scabs that I had to soften with a washcloth before feeding to keep them from ripping off in a bloody mess.  I saw an IBCLC in the hospital who told me nothing that I didn’t already know, and who left with the advice of “Just keep on trying”. And so we did.

She had a sneaky tongue tie, short, loose and at the back of her tongue. A loose non-blanching lip tie. Nothing that should cause any problems at all. We got her ties clipped at 3 months and things improved slightly.

K. has taught me more about breastfeeding than any other baby. In order to get her to latch on I have to flip my nipple up and point it at her palate just behind her top gums. I have to stroke her cheek with my finger to get her to close her mouth onto the breast. I have to guide her with her reflexes so that she will do everything that she needs to do to latch without gagging.

As she’s gotten older she’s getting better at latching herself on, but she’s a struggle. Her arms and legs get in the way, her head bobs in the wrong direction, she tries to talk instead of nursing, and often when I have JUST gotten her latched on she will pop off to smile at me. She nurses very well and very frequently and is a little chubbalubb for her efforts, but getting that girl to latch on is no end of amusement and frustration.

Bottles are not even an option because she gags on the flow, gags on the nipple, and will scream herself purple and rigid rather than eating. We continue to try, but I suspect that she will learn to drink from a cup before she will ever take a bottle or a pacifier.

Every experience is different. Every child has their hurdles. Every child has their ways of challenging even an experienced mother.

My little zombie girl is no different. She is who she is. And this is how we nurse.