Breastfeeding. One of the most stressful aspects of having a baby. Produce too little and I feel like a failure. Produce too much and I feel obligated to pump and store it. Produce just enough and I worry about whether it is, in fact, enough.
Breastfeeding has been a long road for me. I struggled with low supply from the very beginning. Born a mere six pounds, Bub was constantly hungry and I couldn’t produce milk fast enough. I would nurse him and think he was full only to watch him chug five ounces of formula an hour later. I felt like I was starving my baby.
When I looked for advice, I was met with a barrage of opinions:
“Pump every two hours religiously.”
"Don’t bother pumping. Just nurse around-the-clock.”
“Eat lactation cookies.”
“Take fenugreek supplements.”
“Eat animal protein.”
“Drink lots of almond milk.”
“Get eight hours of sleep.”
How one gets eight hours of sleep while pumping every two hours is beyond me. Needless to say, the advice out there can be confusing and conflicting.
The endless counsel was fueled by pressure from parenting books to breastfeed:
“Breastfeed for a year and you’ll have a healthier, happier, smarter baby.”
“Breastfeeding is the best thing for your baby.”
“Every mother should be able to breastfeed.”
“Your baby should drink only breastmilk for the first six months of life.”
And lastly, there was self-induced pressure unintentionally brought on by friends and family. Breastfeeding seemed so easy for everyone else. Producing milk for my baby quickly became an obsession. I set alarms to wake up and pump every two hours throughout the night. I would sometimes pump for an hour, hoping it would help the supply and demand. I would feel guilty and stressed when I didn’t pump on time. I felt like a letdown when my baby clearly needed more milk than I could make.
A few weeks after Bub was born, I discovered that I was a formula baby. My mother didn’t even bother breastfeeding because she went back to work three days after I was born. My aunt struggled to breastfeed her children. She tried for months and was never able to. Maybe low supply is genetic. My mother taunted me for not being able to produce enough milk and yet, she didn’t even bother to try with me. The audacity. The hypocrisy. The cycle of shame needs to end.
Six months into breastfeeding and I started to have symptoms of postpartum depression. They were triggered by my period and showed up as uncontrollable rage. Right before my period, I would experience the most intense mood swings and get angry over the smallest things. The rage felt like an out-of-body experience.
In the back of my mind, I knew stopping breastfeeding would likely stabilize my hormones and my mood swings. And yet, I was determined to provide whatever milk I could for my baby. Even if it meant only 3 ounces a day. I kept trying to nurse, trying to pump.
Then one Sunday in February, my supply dropped significantly. Down to droplets. My period came. No mood swings. Physically, I was feeling more like myself. Emotionally, I was mournful over not being able to produce anymore milk. My goal was to do it until his first birthday.
And so at the end of February, my breastfeeding journey comes to an end. Almost 11 months of obsessing over milk supply, taking breaks throughout the day to pump, washing fiddly pump parts. Suddenly, I don’t have to think about it anymore. I can eat and drink whatever I want. I have time back in my day. I can let Steve feed Bub with formula. My hair can finally have a chance to grow back. I’m. Free. But why does freedom feel so bittersweet?
Because I’ll miss feedings with my baby, that special bonding time. I’ll miss watching YouTube videos during my pumping sessions, the only break I had throughout the day. I’ll miss having an excuse to consume extra calories. Breastfeeding was my connection to those early days - as painful as they were - when we first brought him home and I was figuring out this whole ‘feeding my baby with my breasts’ thing.
What I’ll take away from this experience is just how incredible the female body is. The fact that I would feel a letdown when I heard my newborn cry. The fact that there is a feedback loop between my baby and my breasts that tells my body how much milk my baby needs. When nursing or pumping, I could feel the nutrients being drained from my upper body. Mothers literally give their all to their babies.
I am so proud of my body for taking care of my baby.
My breastfeeding journey in numbers
Months I breastfed/pumped: 10.75
Hours breastfeeding/pumping: 900+
Number of hours spent washing pump parts: 300+
Times Steve or I spilled a bottle of breastmilk: 4
Times I’ve cried over spilled milk: 4
How many ounces I pumped the first time: 2
How many ounces I pumped the last time: .25
