It’s hard to write a blog regarding my feeling guilty about not exclusively breastfeeding that doesn’t sound whiney or like an excuse. My need to write comes after a day out shopping with Alice in the front pack; when she wasn’t smiling at strangers or talking to me she was asleep, her open, relaxed hands spread out on my chest as I walked and shopped. Every shop I went in to I was met by strangers who, with smiles on their faces, asked me three things. First, they checked she was a girl and the second question was age. The third, however, makes me feel defensive and magnifies the guilt I feel. Their question: “Are you feeding well?” I know there are two questions here, but they tend to be asked in the same breath as if they are mutually exclusive. This is not a simple question for me to answer. Do I give them the back story? Do I say she’s “good” because she’s sleeping through the night but is having five full bottles a day? Do I talk about the huge emotional cliff I jumped off and climbed back up again, all because I couldn’t breastfeed? Usually I say something like “she’s such a wonderful baby, I’m loving being a mum”. The last person who asked me was told “she’s brilliant, and she loves brandy Christmas cake.” But the following few paragraphs is what I actually want to say.
The first bottle I gave Alice leaked all over her because I didn’t put the top on properly (you see, I could write a book on what I know about breastfeeding now, however I received no support or information on how to sterilise or prepare a bottle). She was screaming with hunger and tiredness, I was sobbing, overcome with guilt. I held her in my arms while I paced the kitchen, saying ‘I’m so sorry baby’ over and over again, tears streaming down my face and falling on my exhausted baby. I had failed. I was convinced that I had missed the opportunity to form that deep emotional bond with Alice. We won’t even go in to the research about breastfed babies not getting childhood illnesses and SUDI. I wasn’t going to be the parent that I wanted to be and it broke my heart.
There are a lot of factors that may have contributed to my inability to exclusively breastfeed. Perhaps it was due to me only getting 6 house sleep in the first three days. Perhaps it was my chronic anxiety that I couldn’t quite keep in check. Perhaps it was the top ups she was getting during her two day stay in the neo-natal unit. Or, perhaps, I am part of the 2% of women in the world who just can’t make milk.
Following an easy pregnancy and a brilliant birth, Alice had a great latch and I could breastfeed without pain, in fact, it felt wonderful. It just wasn’t happening. Alice was hungry, lost too much weight, and at two weeks she was having ‘top ups’. By six weeks these had grown to full bottles, even though she was (and still is) having breast before every meal. I didn’t just accept this low supply either – I pretty much lived on lactation cookies for three weeks, added flaxmeal to everything I ate, tried to rest and express between feeds and cook protein-rich meals like every other super mum. In the end, this regime seemed to take over my life and exhaust me at the same time- and it did nothing. I could see my dream of attachment parenting stroll leisurely out the door, waving as it went.
With every bottle I give Alice now, I still feel a pang of guilt. For a long time I hated giving her to anyone else to feed – I should be the one that is able to feed her and I can’t.
Even though I feel this in my heart, in my head I know I’m doing the right thing. First and foremost, Alice would have starved to death by now if it weren’t for formula, plain and simple. Second, Alice is putting on weight, meeting all her milestones, loves having nuggles, and smiles at me constantly. I have a wonderfully happy, healthy baby. Third, because I still offer breast first, she’s getting antibodies and nutrients as well as a full tummy at the end – all good stuff. I’m hoping this feeling of loss will pass as Alice continues to thrive as she is now. I know lots of great mothers who bottle feed their babies, whether by choice or out of necessity. Even though I feel sadness, I know that Alice is no less loved or taken care of.
And now that I am more confident in my parenting ability I can see a few things more clearly in regards to strangers asking if I’m feeding Alice. I find myself asking why it’s so important to complete strangers how I am feeding this baby. I already feel like I’m smuggling drugs when I pick up a can of formula at the supermarket, I don’t want to explain myself to someone I’m never going to see again. I am aware that this is my own emotional issue, but have we really ever asked ourselves – what on earth gives these strangers the right to know what we do with our breasts?
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