August is Breastfeeding Awareness Month, so I thought it was a perfect time to talk about my struggles, wins and choices for feeding my first child, Bug.
I like to think I am a pretty laid back person. Well, about most things. Don’t ask my husband… he will tell you otherwise.
After we announced that we were pregnant with our Bug, the questions started to come in and the top question asked was, “Are you going to breastfeed?” I could have counted on two hands how many people would ask within a week, even a day. It was crazy. Something so personal. You know you are asking me about my boobs and what I want to do with them. Why do you need to know? Anyways, I would answer the same. “That’s the plan, but I will do whatever I need to in order to make sure he is fed.”
Basically speaking, it was always part of the plan. But with all of our birth planning, we didn’t have it written in pen. Nothing was going to be this and not this. I picked my OBGYN because I trust her completely. Sure, we had preferences, but at the end of the day, it was always whatever we need to do, we will do. I didn’t want to develop preeclampsia but it happened.
When Bug was born, it was a whirlwind of a day. So much happened in a very short amount of time. I wasn’t able to go to the NICU that night. I wasn’t able to see him that next morning, the next afternoon… It was a lot and that is an understatement.
Let me tell you about my first lactation consultation for you to totally understand. It was the day after Bug was born. Hubby was taking calls from my sister all day and stepped out to take yet another call. The lactation consultant comes in. One of my rock star nurses is taking my blood pressure for the 805th time that day (you might think that’s an exaggeration, but it absolutely could have been. I wasn’t counting). I had things hooked up, she was explaining everything and boom hubby walks in. My cat. My first furry baby. The world’s best cat was dying. He was sick. We needed to make a decision. Sister on speakerphone. Hubs and I crying. The consultant and nurse trying to navigate their jobs and help care for me. It was a lot.
I pumped. I couldn’t go down to the NICU. My blood pressure was too high. My blood pressure was super low. Now high. Higher. Okay. High. Okay, you get the idea. So, I pumped and Hubs delivered it. Every three hours. Sleep was harder in the hospital then when we got home, honestly. Pumping was the absolute worst. But with Bug being a preemie I felt an even greater pressure to pump and provide for him. He needed it and I was going to provide it for him. This was an urge and feeling I wasn’t expecting.
Things didn’t go too smoothly from there. It was a lot harder than I thought or imagined. I had more one on one consultations. I was feeling okay about it, but Bug was having a hard time. He was on the IV, then bottles. So, I kept pumping. Pumping for me, was the worst! It was the time I spent by myself, sitting like a dairy cow. It hurt half the time. It wasn’t a lot and I was missing bonding time and feeding time with Bug. My husband was a rock star helping with the schedules, the feedings, the cleaning…etc, but I was missing that one on one time.
I am not here to defend why my version was better, harder or impossible and I am not asking for what made breastfeeding perfect for you (or any tips). What I wanted to talk about is the guilt and the emotion that came with this process.
I knew going into this that formula and bottle feeding was a great option. It was something that I might do, but for some reason when it came to weaning off pumping… I became a nutcase. I knew better, but that didn’t matter. My heart was hurting. Did I not try hard enough? What about all these momma unicorns on my Facebook/Instagram that make it look so easy? It all started to drain on me. I was emotional when it came to feeding him, to pumping those last days.
I remember asking my husband, “should I just keep trying?” It was a back and forth. I never was confident in a decision. It was a total internal guilt trip that was party of one, ME. Going to our pediatrician appointments was one thing that helped a ton. She talked to us like people who were making a hard decision and said all of the right things and with such a kind heart. It wasn’t about one option being shamed over the other, this was really about what was going to feed Bug and provide him with all that he needed to grow. The formula would do that. And the preemie formula (which was added to breastmilk since he started eating) was especially helping to fill in the gaps.
I also was having a hard time seeing the “breastfed is best” posts and movement on Facebook and Instagram. Something I never thought would bother me… it all of a sudden shook me. They were looking at me, pointing and trying to shame me. Why would they do that? Do they not see my baby thriving? He is gaining weight, he is full and he probably wouldn’t be either of those things if it weren’t for the formula. I am well aware those posts weren’t about me, but they now affected me differently. It’s just so crazy how emotions go haywire during pregnancy and postpartum after the baby enters this world.
All I know, is it shouldn’t be about “are you breastfeeding?” I don’t want to hear about how I should have gone to 50 lactation appointments, tried that tea, pumped until my boobs fell off, etc. etc. etc. It should be about supporting one another through this shitshow of parenthood.
Fed is best. Always. Do what is right for you and for your family.
Parenting Junk 
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