When I found out I was pregnant, I made the decision (guided by mountains of pamphlets from my doctor, at least 100 magazine articles, and the recommendation from other moms) to breastfeed the Sprout. Actually, looking back, I don't know if it was really a decision so much as succumbing to the fear that my baby would have a deficient immune system, would not bond with me, and would be dumber and fatter if I gave him formula. Also, I was promised rapid weight loss. So, although I was a formula-fed baby from birth, I decided I could dedicate 6 months of my life to breastfeeding.
It was terrible right from the start. It is PAINFUL. Every time the baby latched on, it was like the most intense titty-twister of my life that caused me to curse (softly, lest the baby startle, pull off and need to latch on again), stomp my feet, and count down the days until his 6-month birthday. And it was every 2 hours! I used to silently wish Waylon would develop an allergy to breast milk so I could throw in the towel.
"If it hurt, he must not have been latched on correctly!" Bullshit. I know the difference between the feeling of an incorrect latch and a correct one and THEY BOTH HURT.
"But the bonding experience of breastfeeding can't be replicated by bottle feeding!" Oh really? You think I have these warm, loving, bonding feelings with a creature who is causing me excruciating pain 6-8 times a day? A creature who looks at me, his mother, like nothing more than a feed bag? Talking to him, playing little games with him, even changing his diapers were more rewarding to me.
Eventually, my nipples just lost feeling altogether, which made the whole experience more tolerable. But, since I never had an overabundance of milk, I couldn't pump. What I was making was just enough for Waylon to eat every couple of hours so I had to plan my whole day around when I needed to be at home to feed him. It really stressed me out. Going to my 3 hour Jeopardy tryout took 3 days of planning ahead and pumping tiny amounts after each feeding, just so Scott had something to give him on the off-chance he might get hungry while I was away. There is no freedom in breastfeeding, people.
"If you're not making enough, you need to keep him on the breast as much as possible!" Oh fuck right off! I sat with him on one breast for 45 minutes, followed by the other breast, followed by a 45 minute break before starting over for an entire WEEK and the supply never increased. But, I did end up watching the entire series of Breaking Bad so that wasn't a total loss. (Jesse Pinkman! I just want to give you a hug.)
Around 6 weeks old, Waylon started to get really fussy. Like, he had to be held and bounced all the time, he'd never just chill out. I thought I just had one of those babies who was a fussy pants. Nope! We found out at his 2-month check up that he'd dropped from the 40th percentile in weight to the 16th. Baby was starving! The doctor suggested I start supplementing with formula. Honestly, it was the biggest relief of my life. That's why he was crying all the time! Someone else will be able to feed him now! I can go to the store or make lunch or take a friggin' shower because I won't have to be a slave to breastfeeding! Hooray!
I kept breastfeeding for another week or so after seeing the doctor before eventually giving it up for good. It just wasn't worth the time involved based on what I was getting out. Now I have a happy, chubby (not fat!) healthy, smart little baby who I've bonded with just fine, thank you. And I'm a better mama.
My point in sharing this tale? No one ever told me that breastfeeding was going to be as painful as it is. Or as demanding. I was promised blissful, peaceful moments of bonding. I was made to feel that women who formula feed are ignorant, lazy, or unloving. It's all nonsense. Women talk about "choice" all the time, but we're so quick to judge each other's choices when it comes to feeding our babies. Why? My boobies, my baby, my business.
Gratuitous pic:
I feel like this is one of those blog posts that needs to go viral. Seriously, how can we make that happen? You would be sure to face the firestorm from the so-called "lactavists" (LOVE the term), but you'd also get a lot of other moms to come out of the "I 'failed' at breastfeeding" closet and give you a high-five! I can just see you on the "Today" show defending your post and your stance on the issue. I will never forget the lactation Nazi who came in with the worst case of halitosis and got right in my face and grabbed and twisted my nipples. Ugh! Then the second time around, I knew enough to politely kick them out of my room and say, "Thanks, I got this, I know how to do it, buh-bye." Your last sentence says it all: "My boobies, my baby, my business." And there you have the title of your forthcoming book. Come on girl, get this going viral. New and expectant moms need to know that it's OKAY if it doesn't work out for them. When it does, it's great and healthy and a beautiful thing. And when it doesn't, your baby is NOT going to be fat and dumb. :) After all, YOU were formula fed, and you are neither fat nor dumb!
ReplyDeleteGlad to see you're blogging again. Keep it up, even though it's hard to find the time. (Says the one who hasn't posted for over a year now. Whoops.)
Oh Wendy, you brave soul. Breastfeeding twins?! Hats off, lady!
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