Hey so let’s talk about my boobs!
(Waiting for my dad to leave the room…)
Okay! Boobs!
So, my breastfeeding experience is something that’s been on my mind recently. Not sure why, but it has, and so I thought I’d just get it all out here because why have a blog if you can’t talk about your boobs, am I right?
Let’s start at the beginning.
Going into the whole thing, I really didn’t have a plan for breastfeeding. I knew I would try it, but I didn’t do any research or go to any classes or have any thoughts one way or another about formula or bottles or pacifiers or whatever. I remember I didn’t even think about getting a breast-pump until my aunt mentioned maybe I should get one, so that I could save myself from possibly being the baby’s sole source of food (duh, Sarah) and then luckily my BFF loaned me hers (BFFs are the best.)
A few weeks later, LG was born and every hour or two for her first couple days of life, I’d try to feed her, without any luck. I recall there being a lot of screaming at my boobs during that time. That was definitely a reaction they’d never received before.
The first night we spent home with her, she didn’t sleep a wink. And so we didn’t sleep a wink. Luckily, we had an appointment set up with the doctor the next day for a weight check, since she’d dropped a bit of weight in the hospital. When the doctor asked how much/often she’d eaten since birth, we said “Nothing” and — this I remember clearly — the doctor said, “You’re her parents! You need to make her eat!” and then she grabbed one of those pre-made bottles of formula, stuck a nipple on it, and gave it to us to give LG. And for the first time in her wee little life, LG ate (and she hasn’t stopped since, bad-dum-dum.)
I remember feeling so relieved that my baby was eating. I guess some people might be horrified at the thought of a doctor, uhh, strongly suggesting (I can’t say she forced us, but she kind of did) we feed LG formula, but I am SO GLAD SHE DID.
For the next few days, we fed LG formula and I still tried to breastfeed, to no avail. Then one night I got up to pee and HOLY JUGS THAT’S WHY SHE HADN’T BEEN EATING.
For the next three months, I breastfed and supplemented with formula occasionally and pumped a lot. My days were centered around my boobs and my pump and how much she was getting and how much I was pumping. For someone who was so not regimented about PLANNING about breastfeeding, I was definitely regimented about when and how much she was eating. (I CAN AND WILL CONTROL IT AAAAAALL.)
When I went back to work, I tried pumping for a couple weeks, but my supply had gone down a lot already, as LG was sleeping through the night, and I had exactly zero desire to wake myself up in the middle of the night to pump to keep up supply. At that point I decided I was just sort of sick breastfeeding. In general. The whole thing. So I quit, cold turkey more or less, and I was THRILLED.
Part of me wishes I could be one of those women who loved breastfeeding. Or, even if they didn’t love it, soldiered on because they were committed to it, for whatever the reason. Or, even if they didn’t love it or were committed to it for whatever reason, maybe it was easy for them, and so that’s why they did it.
(Do any of these women actually exist? I’m not sure.)
But that was not me, none of the above, and looking back, I hated breastfeeding. I hated being chained up to something or having someone chained up to me. This is where mom guilt should be kicking in, right? I should have felt bad for stopping. I should have WANTED to continue, to bond with my baby and all that.
But you know what? I never felt bad. I felt happy and I wanted to do cartwheels through the hallway because WOO! MY BODY IS MINE AGAIN! And if I feel guilty about anything (which I really don’t), it would be not feeding that poor child for her first two days of life. (I have more than made up for that now, as you see by her delightfully plump cheeks.)
I guess I wanted to just throw this out there because I feel like a lot of women are afraid (maybe not the right word, but work with me here) to say they hated breastfeeding or maybe not HATED, but maybe it wasn’t what they thought it would be. Or you know what? Maybe they did hate it! And that’s okay! We don’t have to like it. No one really likes changing diapers, but you can’t let your kid sit in their shit for hours on end, right?
I’ve wanted to blog about my experience too, because I’m finding it more common than I realized the more moms I talk too, but I haven’t gotten over myself to just write about boobs yet, so good on you!
The short version is that I do kind of love it–now. I certainly didn’t start that way–tongue tied baby leading to all kinds of hurting and damage to my delicates and just general ookiness. But, I recognize that all the things I love about it could be done with a bottle too–I’m feeding my baby, she’s in my arms and happy, we get to have “our special time together”, lalalalalalalala. The fact that we do those things with my boobs instead of a bottle is just what happens at this house, no feelings one way or the other.
I am completely and utterly at peace with the fact I HATED breastfeeding. All of it. I never had sweet, contemplative moments, never got past the excruciating pain at every feeding (tongue tie here too) and it made me feel horribly claustrophobic. Both of my babies got a couple of months of breast milk and then thrived on formula. No guilt either.
The crazy thing, therefore? If I have a third child I will attempt to love it again. I want to be someone who loves breastfeeding, because I do believe it’s best. But I won’t sacrifice my sanity for it, and I know that at the end of however long it lasts, I too will be thrilled to be done.
Good for you for saying it. I felt relief when I quit breastfeeding too, and then I felt guilty for feeling that. But now my baby eats CHEESE, so… whatever, boobs.
I was surprised to find that I really loved breastfeeding. I’d gone into it expecting that I’d do it because that’s what you do — you give it a shot, see what happens — but I think because my birth experience was so awful and I had no control over it (starting with the faceplant that landed me in an induction [okay, the induction I didn’t mind, I was SO OVER being pregnant at 41 weeks] and ending in the C-section that I fought and fought and fought to avoid) that I glommed onto breastfeeding because it “made up” for the delivery. Like I wasn’t able to birth my baby the way I wanted to, but breastfeeding seemed to be working out okay so dammit, I was going to be the best damn breastfeeder ever in the world. Or something.
That said, when my supply started to tank, I went into serious denial and fought harder to keep it up than I’ve ever fought for anything because I didn’t want to fail at breastfeeding. I WILL NOT do that next time. I loved breastfeeding when it WORKED, but when it BECOMES WORK, screw that, hand me a bottle.
Good for you for being honest and stopping when it started to suck and for telling it like it is. If more women were willing to say “It sucked, I hated it”, maybe so many of us wouldn’t feel like we HAVE to do it even when it’s more trouble than it’s worth.
So. Breast feeding was a challenge with my first, for the first few days and then it was easy. It was easy with my second, too. BUT, I know that that’s luck, not just the way it is. And because it was easy, and worked for us, we did it.
HOWEVER, I took a breast feeding class and they kept saying that the most important thing is feed the baby. Nurse, pump, formula, whatever. Sometimes things don’t work out, and sometimes it takes a while for these things to work out, but in the mean time, feed the baby. My hospital, while supportive and encouraging, didn’t push nursing as the only option. A few hours after Bub was born, a nurse told me that I would always have to supplement with formula because he was a big eater. I never did, but, again, no pressure. Feed the baby, yo.
I didn’t realize you actually wrote this post until now! My experience was similar to yours. He didn’t want to breastfeed right away, so he had some formula in the hospital. Breastfeeding started to work a few days in, but I definitely didn’t love it. I didn’t hate it, but I didn’t love the 45-minute sessions, then wait an hour, then hungry again. Or not knowing how much he was getting. And I had some pain for a couple weeks. (On top of all the other great stuff going on with your body at that time!) When we gave bottles, we used formula actually, because i knew I would be switching at some point. And when it was time to go back to work, I just had no desire to pump there. I was DONE. 10 weeks was enough for me. I wanted my body back too. I was sick of the bras and the pads and the pump. Making a bottle in the middle of the night wasn’t a big deal to me. And I felt bonded feeding him from a bottle just as much, if not more, than the boob. (I’ve always just been a bit creeped out by breastfeeding, but then feel bad for saying so. No one ever says that.)
I’m pregnant with our second, and last, and I think I’ll go about it the same way. Though, sometimes I don’t even want to bother with breastfeeding again. But then I feel bad and think I should at least try again…
Thanks for writing!