January 2nd, 2017 was officially the best day of my life. Our Bean, nearly 5 years in the making, finally arrived. I’ve been lucky, because I’ve never felt more full of love and happiness, and never more truly myself than I have since becoming a mother. I know not all moms feel that way – it’s so normal for women to feel a profound sense of loss for the people they were before, or some form of postpartum depression. We need to talk more about what a normal experience that is. But that’s not what I want to talk about today – I want to talk about my experience learning to feed my beautiful baby.
Coming home from the hospital was a blur I can barely recall. The trauma of labour was still fresh, and our door revolved with family and friends for two solid days, not to mention that sleep was a distant memory kicked off by a sleepless night spent bringing the Bean into the world… and in those days I failed to notice that my supply of breast milk hadn’t increased enough. His weight had dropped the normal amount in the hospital, so it didn’t occur to me that we were anything but on track. By day three my pleasant baby had become cranky, and inconsolable. Thank goodness that was also the day the Public Health Nurse came by. It turned out that Bean had lost 12% of his body weight… he was starving. Even now I tear up when I remember realizing that he’d been going hungry. I know rationally that it wasn’t my fault, but the guilt is pretty overwhelming. Without hesitating the nurse mixed up the formula samples we’d gotten in the mail, and got us on a feeding schedule that rotated 20 minutes of breast feeding, followed by a formula feeding by dad, while I pumped for another 40 minutes. We did this every two and a half hours… so by the time we fed him, cleaned and sanitized everything, there was literally only about 30 minutes for anything else, including sleeping. I don’t know what I would have done if Sean hadn’t been home those first two weeks. After almost a week his weight gain was enough that we were allowed to go to every three hours. We’d also rented an industrial breast pump, so we had cut pumping time down to 20 minutes. So now we had almost 2 hours between feeds! It honestly felt like a huge luxury. At the Bean’s 3 week doctor appointment he was back up to birth weight… a victory that helped lift some of the guilt for those early days. The doctor gave us permission to go up to 4 hours between feeds if he didn’t initiate before that. And then we could breathe again.
It was around that time I started feeling really isolated – I wanted to get out of the house, I wanted to invite people over – but unless I was ok with you seeing my boobs, I wasn’t ok with you being in my house, and frankly, pumping is a whole other level of pride killing humiliation. By the time I got me and the baby ready to go anywhere we might have had an hour if we were lucky… so we didn’t go anywhere, and we barely saw anyone. It was so hard – it had only been a few weeks, but it felt like forever. Sean got home from work one day and I ranted about how much I hated pumping – it wasn’t increasing my supply, I wasn’t pumping enough to build up a store of breast milk, and I was trapped at home hooked up to a machine that made me feel like a milk cow. And that’s when he said the most obvious thing, that hadn’t even occurred to me… stop. Right – I could stop. I could choose to be happy, and to go outside, and to see people, and just to continue feeding my happy, healthy baby in whatever way worked for us. What a crazy idea. So we packed up the rented pump, and returned it. I’m not going to lie and tell you I never felt guilty about that decision – the first time Bean got a cold I wondered if he’d be suffering less if I’d just worked harder to ensure his primary food source was breast milk. But let’s be honest, we all get colds sometimes, not only is it not the end of the world, it will help him develop a healthy immune system.
So, why am I telling you all of this? I’ve experienced a lot of conversation around breast feeding versus formula feeding since becoming a mother. I’ve heard from so many women who were pushed to their wits end to produce more breast milk, sobbing while their babies screamed at their breasts, hooked up to pumps for hours that turned into days and months on end. Their mothers,partners, friends, and medical professionals standing behind them, wagging their fingers and their tongues, telling them “breast is best.”. And if this is your choice, all the more power to you… but if you’re only doing all of this because you feel like you’ll have failed as a mother if you choose to rely on formula in any way shape or form, then my heart goes out to you. The important part is that it is your choice.
Looking back, I had such a great experience. The Public Health Nurse saw a hungry child, and gave me a solution that fed him, without any guilt trips or sanctimony. She agreed with my decision to quit pumping so I could get out more. My husband has supported me in every possible way, from prepping and feeding bottles, to making sure I felt good about my decision to quit pumping. Our friends and relatives have reserved judgment. If they have any, they probably know better than to tell me. The pediatrician didn’t say a word about our feeding plan, other than to support its success. I had people in my life who saw that my happiness and sanity were as important to my baby’s health and happiness, as what we fed him.
It's hard – all the supports out there are “breast feeding” supports. The last support group I went to opened with a question about why the moms stuck with breast feeding, and I realized two things: First, I hate this kind of organized conversation – I find it false and awkward and I am lucky to know enough other moms on mat leave to not feel like I need them for social supports. Second, it was hard to hear the moms talk about breast feeding because they knew it was best for their babies, while I sat there knowing my baby was getting most of his food from formula. And even though it wasn’t their intention, in that moment I felt anything but supported. So I don’t think those groups are for me and I wonder why there aren’t feeding support groups, for all of us???
So I’m writing this to tell you that I know it’s hard, no matter how you choose to feed your baby. I know there is a ton of guilt and worry connected to the nourishment of their little bodies no matter how you do it. Are they too small, are they too big, am I forever ruining them somehow? I’m writing to tell you that I support you, and I’m here for you, and I wish you an experience like mine: one that is filled with love and understanding because you are important in all of this. Your happiness matters, your sanity matters. I truly believe that these things are a million times more important to your baby than your choice between boob or bottle. There are a million miles of parental guilt to wade through, probably for the rest of our lives, but whether or not we breast feed or formula feed shouldn't have to be one of those miles.
Tell me this guy isn't healthy and happy... I dare you! ;-)
