I've never considered myself someone who likes to compete with others. I subscribe to the notion that everyone has their own unique strengths and we all have a special contribution to make. My mother had another theory. When I told her, "I'm just not a competitive person," she replied, "Of course you aren't. You're too busy kicking your own butt."
It's true. While I don't often condemn others for their shortcomings, when it comes to me, if I don’t do it perfectly, if I don't get it right immediately, I consider myself a failure. And it was with this attitude that I approached breastfeeding my children.
Before my first baby had even grown from embryo to fetus inside me I had already torn apart every pregnancy book available and scoured each piece of information I could find online. It was clear that breastfeeding was the best source of nourishment for a newborn and I planned on nursing. Period. There was no question about it. I had visions of long, stress-free days bonding with my child, being available for every small cry and providing breast milk to him as long as he wanted and needed.
But when Charlie was born, by C-section, from the beginning, nursing was a challenge; right from those first few feedings, it was clear he wasn't getting enough. The nurses encouraged me to give him a bottle.
"Sometimes it takes a while for your milk supply to come in," one nurse told me.
Surely giving him a bottle or two made sense, right? I'd be able to nurse exclusively soon enough.
When we got home, however, my milk supply still wasn't where it needed to be for a growing newborn. I'd feed, pump, feed and pump. For some reason, I could never produce more than two or three ounces each time. Every time I nursed, regardless of how often or how long, my supply was exhausted, but I knew Charlie needed more. So I gave him a bottle. I hated doing it, but knew I had little choice. We were making daily trips to the pediatrician, who encouraged me to stay with it.
"It just takes some time, but you'll get there," she assured me. Her attitude, while positive, also scared me. It only fed my fear that if I didn't breastfeed, it would be terribly wrong and dangerous for my baby.
By the end of the second week, Charlie had failed to gain back the initial weight all babies lose after birth, and had even dropped a bit more. The pediatrician sent us off to a lactation consultant. It was getting serious.
"But you should be proud of yourself," she said to me as we headed out. "Most women would have given up by now."
I felt my eyes well up. All I had done was beat myself up for days because I couldn't make this nursing thing work. It was the first time I felt like maybe I wasn't a complete loser when it came to the womanly art of breastfeeding. I was trying, right? And that counted for something?
The lactation consultant was non-judgmental. She gave me some tips and assured me that feeding Charlie both breast and bottle was OK.
"Some is better than none," she said.
So I made my peace with it, nursing and pumping for the next several months and giving him formula, too. We were both a lot happier this way, and much more relaxed. When Charlie eventually stopped wanting to latch on, at about four months — he had become used to the bottle as a much easier way to eat — I kept pumping. At five months, I turned in my pump and started using bottles full-time.
You might think that I was prepared for baby number two, but you'd be wrong. In the three years between Charlie and his sister, Violet, I had had plenty of time to stew over what had gone wrong the first time with breastfeeding. I had several theories:
- The nurses should not have given Charlie a bottle in the hospital. It set us up for failure.
- Having a C-section had put me at a disadvantage because of the painkillers I had to take.
- I was genetically predisposed to a low milk supply because I had not been breastfed, just like many kids born in the '70s.
But this time, I was determined it was going to work out. I was going to eschew any bottle feeding and breastfeed Violet exclusively, therefore ensuring my supply would be where it needed to be. Great strategy, right? Wrong.
I only succeeded in making myself even crazier this time. The same issues with supply presented themselves. I'd commit hours to pumping and feeding only to produce two or three ounces each time. Violet was always still hungry after each breastfeeding and only seemed satiated after I broke down and gave her formula.
To add to it, Violet had colic, so the already stressful first few months of baby-rearing and feeding were extra frazzled because she would scream unexplainably and uncontrollably for hours on end. During all of this nuttiness, there was one time when I spilled some of the breast milk I had just pumped all over the kitchen counter and I literally broke down in hysterical tears.
"Look at all of my hard work!" I yelled at my husband. "It's gone! All gone!"
It was at that point that I think my husband debated whether he should comfort me or call psychiatric services, because I was definitely losing it.
In the end, we went with the same approach, bottles and nursing. I managed to keep it up for four months with Violet.
What have I learned? Sometimes I'm still not sure. I'd be lying if I didn't admit it still bugs me that I couldn't give my kids only breast milk. It's hard not to feel bad about formula feeding. You can't read a parenting site or book without learning how much better breast milk is. Higher IQs, less sickness, the list goes on.
When you can't provide that for your child, it can be heartbreaking. And, frankly, there are many breast milk advocates out there who can make you feel like giving a baby formula is tantamount to feeding her poison. While I believe their intentions are good, I think they need to realize that they are alienating a lot of women who have to resort to bottle feeding for whatever reason.
When I speak to friends who are new moms and have nursing issues, I always give them that same advice the lactation consultant gave me: Some is better than none. I also advise women not to be so hard on themselves, as I was. Even if bottle feeding isn't your ideal, make your peace with it, as I eventually did, and move on without torturing yourself.
There are so many more parts to the complicated puzzle of parenting than how you feed your child. Trying to nurse, even if it doesn't work out, just proves you are willing to do what you know is best for your baby. And that in itself makes you the best kind of parent you can be.