Please put down your pitchforks and hear me out. I know what you're thinking; another post about formula vs. breast feeding. Well this isn't that, or at least it's not supposed to be. This is about my experience (which is still ongoing and ever changing) with breastfeeding and how it has changed everything.
Ever since Max and I found out I was pregnant I knew I wanted to give breastfeeding a shot. It is an experience I knew I wanted to have even if just for a moment. I didn't want to look back and wonder what it would have been like or if I somehow missed out on something. I figured I would give it a full faith effort and whatever happened happened. If I had to switch to formula who cares. Formula fed babies are fine babies. You never see a 3 year old and say "wow that kid was totally formula fed." And if you do you have some other deeper problems.
I of course have the myriad of friends who formula fed from day 1 to ones that breastfed until their child was 2. And whenever we get together you have to do the fake smile and nod and direct the conversation in another direction because things are bound to boil over.
This is stressful.
I had just told everyone I was pregnant and instead of being full of joy people were asking me if I was going to breastfeed. I could see them getting ready to defend whatever choice they made just in case mine didn't line up with theirs. As if me making a different decision some how meant theirs was wrong. Instead of just having an honest conversation I quickly came up with a generic all inclusive response "I want to breastfeed; but I understand it might not work so I'm trying to prepare for that."
Tip-toeing around family and friends is stressful.
Our hospital has what they call the "golden hour". So once Jack was born we spent an hour skin to skin while he rooted around and eventually fed. He latched on perfectly, he sucked great, the nurses were impressed...I just gave birth to a miracle child who eats perfectly. Lucky me, right? This is my first baby, I have NO IDEA what I am doing. I asked the nurses so many questions but mostly; "How do I know if he's getting anything." Jack seemed constantly hungry, even for a newborn, and he hadn't had a wet diaper yet. I knew something wasn't right. The nurse informed me that I should hear a swallow sound about 2-3 times a session. Well I hadn't heard one yet; or at least I hadn't noticed. Ever since she told me I became the quiet police; shushing everyone while I fed him so I could listen. I even put a finger on his throat to see if I could feel him swallow. Nothing.
This was stressful.
Jack finally had a wet diaper and we could go home. In the first two days at home Jack had one more wet diaper and he was crying every 30min to an hour for food. I would feed him anywhere from 20-45 minutes; desperately trying to hear him swallow. But my crying wasn't helping my hearing. I knew something wasn't right. That second night home Jack woke up in the middle of the night; his lips were chapped, his cry was hoarse, and his tongue was like sand paper on my skin. He was clearly dehydrated. After a terrifying Google search I knew we needed to get something into his system. We had a received a sample can of formula so we made up a bottle. Max had to give it to him because I was crying too much to see what I was doing.
A dehydrated baby is stressful.
I continued to feed Jack and supplement with a bottle of formula after each feeding. Our pediatrician encouraged me to pump after every feeding to help bring in my milk. This totally worked. After a few weeks my milk had come in and Jack was eating less and less out of the bottle. And I could supplement with pumped milk instead of formula. I'm not sure why this mattered to me. I had spent 9 months thinking I would do what I could and formula feed if I couldn't. But the thought of it broke my heart. I felt like a failure. During my pregnancy by boobs had grown, gotten sore, and even leaked a little. What was the point in all of that if not to produce milk for my child. My nerdy, accountany, detail oriented, logical mind knew formula was fine, knew it didn't matter as long as he was healthy. But somewhere deep inside me I felt crushed.
Feeling crushed is stressful.
There were many times I wanted to give up. I told Max over and over that I should just stop, clearly it wasn't working. He held me close and told me to keep trying. That word trying, everyone uses it. "Keep trying", "try as long as you can", "Try to breastfeed first", "You should at least try." But try isn't the right word. Try implies that improvement is possible if I try harder. I can try every conceivable way to increase my supply but it still might not work. I failed, did I not try hard enough? Is my "tryiness" not good enough? Am I not good enough? I should be telling myself that it's just my boobs, producing milk is science, factual, biology, no amount of "tryiness" is going to change biology. Either my boobs will produce or they won't. Don't get me wrong there are things you should and should not do for your supply but ultimately your body will only do what it can. I know this, I still feel less than adequate.
Thinking something is wrong with you is stressful.
Feeling like a failure is stressful.
After 8 weeks I had to go back to work. Our bank account demands to be fed as much as Jack does. This means I pump at work. Jack eats 12oz (currently) while at daycare. I don't pump 12oz at work. I'm falling behind. My stash in the freezer is getting smaller rather than larger. I sit in the mothering room at work, pumping, and wonder how I can produce more. See "tryiness" above. I know it might not work; but I still wonder...what if this works. The internet will give you a 1,000 ways: eat oatmeal, take fenugreek, buy lactation cookies, pump more, dance around counter clockwise until the crow cries and it starts to rain. I'll be damned if I didn't consider all the options. But in the end I don't want to risk it. Milk is liquid gold and pumping sucks. So while these options may work for some it may harm others. I'm a nerd so for me it's about supply and demand. The pump demands, my boobs must supply right? I was desperate. I AM desperate. This is still a constant battle for me.
Pumping is stressful.
My daily routine consists of searching on pinterest for ways to increase my supply, finding nothing concrete, getting discouraged, wanting to give up, deciding formula is FINE because it is, leaving to pump, getting stressed about how much I pumped.
But once I'm home and looking down at my son's face as he nurses, especially those times he unlatches to smile at me, it makes that stress worth it. No matter how this crazy feeding game plays out at least I know I did my best and he's happy. He will get fed one way or another. I am his mother; and what's being a mother without some stress anyway?
