All Mums Have Super Powers
When I was pregnant with my firstborn, I had a plan. See, I’m good at planning and my plans more often than not were successful. I pride myself on my planned out organizational strategies. So in all that comes with preparing for a baby, I had no reason to doubt that my best intentions and ideals would have easily come to pass. I have been a breast-feeding advocate for as long as I’ve known that God gave women the ability to nourish their babies, so naturally I had planned to nurse my baby. I’m also a believer in natural birth and would frown upon the mothers who just showed up to the hospital and immediately asked for an epidural, so I faithfully practiced my coping strategies for an un-medicated labor. I conversed with my doula repeatedly over the advantages to a chemical and intervention free delivery which gave me even more motivation to do this naturally. Even if some of my choices were going to make this journey more difficult, I planned on being the best mom I could, and planned on the healthiest beginning for my baby.
I had a relatively complication free pregnancy, but I knew my baby was breech for a chunk of time during my pregnancy. At around week 34 or so, she managed to find her correct position for delivery and I was relieved. That’s my girl, I thought, being perfectly obedient to your mother already. But my seemingly well behaved daughter decided she still liked her head up, and up she went only about a week before my due-date. Being breech meant a cesarean and that was not in my plans, so instead I had a successful external version and back to head down she went. At the end of that procedure, the doctor did tell me that her head wasn’t perfectly lined up, but I didn’t mind. I knew when labor began, she’d do what she needed to so her mom could have the perfect natural birth that she dreamed of having.
A few days after we got her in the right position, my water broke that evening and it was show time. My labor progressed nicely and after only about 5 hours, I was already 8 cm dilated. We all thought our girl would make her debut before breakfast and it would go just as planned. Turns out her imperfect head alignment came back to haunt me and at 8cm, my progression slowed way down. I was hoping I was in transition at that point but it turned into a total of 22 hours of labor and all sorts of interventions I swore I would never need or get, including an epidural that didn’t fully take, and a birth requiring forceps that left me with a 3rd degree tear. My beautiful and healthy baby girl was born, but it certainly was not at all how I envisioned it happening! I decided that I couldn’t think about that then, and instead I had to focus on my new perfect mothering skills and master the art of breastfeeding.
Baby Hannah didn’t nurse right away like I imagined her to. I hated the fact the midwife called her "retarded" when it came to suckling. That’s when my guilt started and I was already thinking I was already a horrible mother. What if it was the chemical interventions made her “retarded”? My third degree tear also left plenty of nurses commenting ever so passionately how swollen I was. We survived the first night and got a few precious hours of sleep with a couple of night feedings that didn’t go the best. The next day I talked with numerous lactation consultants trying to get this breast feeding thing down pat. First I heard that Hannah had a tongue tie making it so she couldn’t stick her tongue out far enough to latch on properly. Turns out my husband had the same thing when he was born. Just great, another thing I wasn’t expecting. So then I tried a nipple shield to help with the tongue tie. Later, another consultant visited me and told me that a nipple shield is the worst thing I could do in terms of getting a milk supply because it wouldn’t stimulate my breasts enough and she advised me to just throw it away. But how do I get her to latch on without it? I can’t get her tongue snipped for a few days, so now what the heck do I do? Then I heard from yet another consultant that I had small nipples, another strike against me for nursing. I kept getting different answers and advice depending on who I talked to and I was getting very frustrated.
At this point I was beyond exhausted, still shocked over how much pain I was still in, and stressing over how to feed my baby. I thought those were my only worries until a nurse briefly mentioned to me on the last day I was at the hospital that I could get a transfusion if I wanted because my red blood cell count was low from losing so much blood during delivery. Transfusion? Seriously?? No one talked about that in my birth classes. No thanks, I’ll pass. I’m fine. Then to top it off, Hannah got her bilirubin count and we were told they were too high to go home, so under the lights she went. We stayed in a special care room an extra night and I could still hardly walk from the tear. I was attempting to nurse but was wondering when my milk would come in since it was almost three days since she was born. Hannah then got quickly dehydrated being under the lights, so then the formula supplementation began. Isn’t that bad, I thought, for moms who want to nurse? What about nipple confusion and all of that? So we cup fed her formula. I still nursed her with the shield, and pumped to try to get more stimulation, but my “let down reflex” had yet to be let down. Don’t worry, I heard another lactation consultant tell me. Just let her suckle and in a day or two, your milk will be in full power.
We made it home the next day, and my poor girl was still dehydrated so we fed her every three hours around the clock. I could still barely walk, and couldn’t get more than 2 hours of sleep in a row, and where the heck was my milk? I was still pumping in between feedings for more stimulation, and then nursed, and kept pumping, and nursing and getting more and more exhausted and I really looked like death. At this point, Hannah still took about two ounces of formula after nursing for 30-45 minutes and I knew that wasn’t good in terms of my milk production. Feeding with a cup plus nursing took over an hour each time. I was a total mess and was barely hanging in there. I knew having a newborn was hard, but I didn’t think it was supposed to be that hard! So to shorten the feeding time and give myself a break, I pulled out the enemy, the bottle. I nursed and supplemented with bottles for a few days.
Then surprise, we faced another complication! The low red blood cell warning rang in my head as I woke up one week after Hannah was born, and was so weak, that I couldn’t get out of bed. I told my husband to call 911 and back to the hospital we went. While I was there, they gave me some sleep medication and some blood and in the mean time I kept pumping, wondering when I will finally feel the “let down reflex”. I was still questioning when my breasts would finally squirt milk. Shouldn’t I be worried about leaking in public? These breast pads don’t seem to be soaking up much. Why when I pump for over a half hour am I barely getting an ounce of milk? Well the doctor and the midwife told me, that my body was busy making blood, not milk. So now that I had more blood, I should be all set. I left hospital feeling great, like I had a turn of events in the right direction and I was ready to tackle motherhood again. I went home ready to be the perfect lactating mom I always dreamed of being.
Another couple of days went by, I still couldn’t sleep, I started suffering panic attacks, and I still had hardly any milk. Hannah was still taking a lot of formula after she nursed. So then I thought that maybe this breastfeeding thing is causing me all of this anxiety and I finally need to give it up. I called my midwife again, sobbing this time on the phone and told her that I’ve tried so hard but breastfeeding just flat out isn’t working. I told her that I couldn’t bear the thought of raising my daughter on formula, but I just couldn’t go on like this. I just kept saying that formula is for loser moms who go against nature. I knew how important breast milk was and never understood why anyone wouldn’t give it to their baby. She of course agreed with me that breastfeeding is better, but encouraged me that as much of a breastfeeding advocate that she was, she knew I was trying my hardest and it was just flat out not working and told me it was ok to fully switch to a bottle. That made me feel somewhat better, but I still felt very much defeated. A few days after that phone conversation, and another trip to the hospital, I was diagnosed with postpartum depression/anxiety and put on medications that made it unsafe to nurse. So that for sure sealed the deal that I was not going to be able to breastfeed at all. Slowly, I had to come to terms that I was now in the category of what I viewed as the loser mom.
Accepting that I was a bottle feeding mom took some time. I was utterly heartbroken when I returned my rented pump back to the store. I shed a tear when I gave my lanolin to an expecting friend. I said my goodbye as I threw away the controversial nipple shield. I sadly tucked away my nursing bras into my maternity cloths bin. I mourned over the loss that I’ll never be able to wear what I thought was a great t-shirt that said “I make milk, what’s your superpower?” The constant symbolical knife stabbing me in the chest continued every time I picked up a parenting magazine and read the latest article about moms nursing and how they’ve conquered doing it in public, or on a plane, or how they’ve endured pumping after going back to work. The slogan “breast is best” still rung in my head every time I scooped out the formula and shook it in the bottle. I felt guilty because my daughter suffered constipation from the formula early on and my thoughts of imperfect, even horrible mom kept popping in my head because of my failing body that was now failing her. It took awhile for me not to be embarrassed when I walked in to my churches “nursing moms” room and pulled out my bottle instead of my breast. Shouldn’t pulling out your breast be more embarrassing? I would have given the world for that to be the case in this incident. I didn’t even feel like I should even be let in the “nursing moms” room. I dreaded going to well-child appointments and the nurses always asking, are you breastfeeding? I hung my head in shame and said no.
But as time went on, I realized I was my own worse enemy and that I really wasn’t a loser. A lot of my criticism was unnecessary and out right wrong of formula feeding moms. I had to repent of being so judgmental of those who use formula soon after delivery. I had to except the fact that I was a bottle feeding mom and that it was ok After a few months, I guess my mourning dissipated and I had to come to terms with the fact that I should be thankful for the formula and the bottles. I was very thankful that my daughter was healthy and well and smart. I had a bottle in my hand, and lots of love in my heart. As time went on, and I gained acceptance as a bottle feeding mom, I realized just how little support there was out there for other moms in my predicament. Where were the parenting magazine articles saying that there are circumstances where bottle feeding is actually preferred? The past few decades, the breast is best agenda has probably been words ringing in all new moms ears, and for good reason. Breast is best! But can’t anyone say good job as well to us moms that are bottle feeding? All of my best made plans got flipped upside down. All of my perfect mothering strategies got thrown out the window. And you know what? I’m still a good parent! So I decided that I should be proud to wear a t-shirt that says this instead – “I’m a mom, what’s your superpower?” That’s one we all can wear!
Written by - Fearless FormulaFeeder