My first child, Noa, was not planned. I was beyond shocked when i found out. Once I had gotten over the “scary parts”, such as telling my family, figuring out some sort of plan with my now husband (who was my boyfriend at the time), and weathered the acceptance phase, my pregnancy began to excite me. Well, most of the time, at least.
Throughout my pregnancy, I saw my OB once a month. A question she asked more than once was, “Are you planning on breastfeeding?”
Every single time I would respond, “YES!”
There was no doubt in my mind that I was going to be THAT mom that breastfed her baby till she was two and it was going to be magical.
That was usually the extent of my breastfeeding conversations. Someone would ask if I planned on it, I’d reply “Of course!” and that was that. I didn’t feel the need to take a class, or ask people for a crazy amount of advice. Like c’mon, all you have to do is get the baby to suck on your nipple, how hard is that?!
Then, came the plot twist. My daughter was born, and breastfeeding became the bane of my existence. My body tightens every time I think about it.
My struggles started almost immediately, at the hospital. She should latch for only about 20 min, they said. Breastfeeding doesn’t hurt, they said. This will be a beautiful and natural experience for you, they said. If there was ever a time to call BS that was it! I’m calling bull freaking shit!
My daughter would latch for an hour or longer! Being a new mom, I had no idea about nipple cream, nor did I know that twenty minutes would suffice, and I could pop her off. Everyone spoke down on pacifiers so I was extremely against it. So here I was, her human pacifier, experiencing excruciating pain. When I asked my doctor about the pain, she mentioned how I needed to shove my ENTIRE areola into my baby’s mouth. Okay, so at that point my areolas were huge! How tf was I gonna fit all of this in her tiny mouth???
Frustrated, anxious, on-edge. These are the words I would use to describe my first few days of nursing. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, we went in for her first check up to see how she was doing. There, our doctor told us she had lost a bit of weight and if she didn’t gain weight soon we’d have to supplement her with formula. I was crushed, how was this possible?!
My anxiety grew. How could I be failing so hard at this? I would look at the clock feeling worried about the next feeding. The closer the minutes got, the more fear would settle in. My chest got heavy and I began to panic. As I burst into tears, my family asked me why I was crying. At the time, I had no idea. I felt like I was just going crazy.
My mom could see I was hurting. Everyone did. She gently suggested that I take a step back and give my daughter formula. I was completely against the idea. I was offended that she even brought it up. I already felt like a complete failure, so the idea of introducing formula was devastating. How could the one job that was meant to be so natural break me down so much? Despite my initial reaction, my mom pleaded with me; she knew I needed this. After she and my sisters talked me through it, I finally agreed.
As my mom happily bottle fed her granddaughter some formula, I felt a sense of relief. My first pinch of an exhale in two weeks. My mom was right, I needed that.
I slowly began to incorporate formula. I also continued to feel an immense amount of guilt for it, but the relief outweighed the stress I felt trying to breastfeed her. Noa was such a happy baby, yet the tug of war seemed to never end. I beat myself up like crazy.
For the next 5 months, I only nursed her in the morning when my boobs were full. After that, my daughter was solely on formula. No, I didn’t love the idea, but I had to make peace with the fact that struggling through my breastfeeding journey was okay.
This didn’t make me a terrible mother, no matter how awful I felt. The pressure I put on myself was really me, trying to live up to society’s version of “a good mom”, and not my own version. My daughter needed me to be sane. What she didn’t need was a mom going through emotional breakdowns trying to provide her liquid gold. To this day, I am still the woman who wants to be strong for her.
Sharing this story is one way of showing up and staying strong. It’s never easy admitting our “failures.” A failure, however, isn’t how I look at this any longer. Today, I see a mom learning and understanding. A woman trying to hold it all together the best way she knew how.
For mamas struggling, or have struggled with this, you are not alone. You weren’t the first and you won’t be the last. In no way am I saying breast isn’t best. I am saying that there are no two identical experiences and we need to normalize our hardships. When we get beat down, we learn to come back stronger.
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