Motherhood: my Breastfeeding journey
From the moment you announce that you’re expecting a child, the Gods of unwanted opinions rub their palms together and start their good work. Everyone and their mother seem to have some sort of opinion, anecdote or preconceived judgement that they just HAVE to share with you. Some are harmless, and intended to ‘help’, but many leave you stunned and confused (and, frankly, pissed off). The opinion deflecting armour that you wear every day becomes like a second skin - the ‘silent smile, nod and tummy rub’ response, like a reflex. Everyone has a method; everyone knows best; everyone has a sister, cousin, friend or friend-of-a-friend who did it this way or that way. It’s overwhelming, but you get used to it. I knew about the ‘mummy police’ way before I had a child, thanks to social media, but I didn’t realise how many covert officers were in my actual life. The universal hot topic, the one I doubt will ever really be put to rest, is how you choose to feed your baby.
I knew I wanted to breastfeed way before I even got pregnant. I was a breastfed baby; my mother was once a breastfeeding specialist, I wasn't a massive fan of cows milk - it just made sense. When pregnant, I researched breastfeeding, it's complications, and it's benefits. I forced my partner to watch breastfeeding documentary shorts with me, and I marvelled at my breasts filling up month by month, engulfed with excitement. I was very confident that I'd be fine. I knew mastitis was a thing, common in-fact, and felt well prepared to take that on. I read about latching issues and just thought 'meh, they latch eventually' (completely dismissing the effect of the period up until 'eventually'). I spent hours browsing the internet to find the perfect breast pump. I looked at photos of those super-empowered glamourous celebs pumping on their vouge photoshoots. I thought, 'that's going to be me. Pumping on the job, looking like a fucking lactating goddess'. I didn't think about what I'd do if anything went wrong, which is odd. I had my reservations about everything else, but not this.
Very quickly after Zola was born at home, she latched perfectly and immediately. I was in a daze from the 10 hours of active labour, and only really remember watching the smiling midwives coo over how well we were doing. In approximately 24hrs, everything changed. I couldn't seem to get anything to work as it did at first. I couldn't quite get my head around how latching could be perfect one day and completely opposite the next. We spent a long night in the paediatric ward two days after her birth (Due to a non-feeding related concern). I was operating on about 1 hours sleep, still dragging my feet across the floor due to the post labour aches - escorting an extremely fresh and tiny human. Although She was fine, it turned out that the sudden latching issues meant that she had lost too much weight. When the Midwife offered us formula, I wanted to feel bad. I wanted to scoop up my newborn and hobble out of there; I wanted to have the desire to say 'Nah, we're good'. But I didn't. Instead, I felt a wave of relief sweep over me.
I don't know if it was the exhaustion or the sheer worry that my child was somehow going to waste away. Either way, I was relieved. I remember that moment so clearly. The headache-inducing hospital white light flickering above me. The outdated children's artwork across the walls, attempting multiculturalism, with the one black boy playing with the one Indian girl amongst a sea of white kids. The pitying expression of the midwives faces as they looked at me. I remember it so clearly because it was a real-life realisation that parenthood is unpredictable. And that I will surprise myself. It was my very first wake up call.
Months later, and our feeding methods had evolved. My prolonged engorgement meant that natural feeding was so painful, and I opted to pump instead. As the months went on, I alternated between both breastfeeding and expressing milk. I hated it, in all honesty. I hated realising that there were no more milk bags left in the fridge and having to squeeze out whatever was left in my breasts at 3 am. I hated feeling like we’d had a great feed - only to realise that she wasn’t properly latched for half the time. I hated nipple confusion and feelings of inadequacy. I hated all the ‘breastfeeding is amazing, and we just love bonding’ comments and posts (just me being salty, now I find them beautiful). However, all of these things were in the manageable range for me. What gripped me most of all, was my hatred for how I felt when I started to feed/express. Like, the literal physical feeling.
I begrudgingly phased out breastfeeding and stuck to formula when Zola was around five months old. I felt like a failure, especially around mothers who had experienced hardships with breastfeeding but grew through it and reached a happy place. I felt like maybe I just didn't stick around for long enough to see the light at the end of the tunnel; like I'd let her down. It had all finally caught up with me, all the opinions and the stories, the attitudes and the criticisms. These became mixed in with my real, valid feelings of disappointment. It got to the point where I wasn't sure what was right, wrong or even my own opinion anymore - and it sucked. I needed the strength to trust my decisions, research and ideas. Stressing about making this choice meant there was no point in making it at all - my mental health would be no better off. Learning to drown out judgment and put my situation into perspective helped me to become a much happier parent in the long run.
It wasn’t until about a year of formula feeding that I read about Dysphoric milk ejection reflex (D-MER), a period of dysphoria that begins during milk release. I literally could have cried (who am I kidding, we know I actually did cry). I had never really voiced my feelings to anyone about how awful breastfeeding made me feel. The feelings spanned from a deeply unsettling physical anxiety and repulsiveness, to an all-consuming sadness felt in the pit of my stomach, intensifying during each feed while somehow tapering away at the same time. I guess it was a hard one to describe. I thought that expressing disdain in that area was a part of a mum code that you just couldn’t break. So before reading about D-MER, I tried to push the feelings to the back of my mind, putting them down to ‘just having a hard time with feeding’ etc. I thought this was how everyone probably felt. Learning about D-MER freed me. It freed me from the box I had placed myself in and completely changed my outlook on breastfeeding. It brought me a completely different relief to the one in the hospital room. This was like the relief you get when you finally solve a problem on an exam paper after wasting too much time on it. That ‘Finally! Now, moving on’ feeling.
The judgment cast on both formula feeding and breast/chest feeding is infuriating and reductive, which is why informed research into both avenues is so essential. I'll hold my hands up and say that I was not as educated as I probably should have been, which tied into my complicated experience.
The fundamentals of raising a baby are for BOTH parent and baby to be happy, healthy and thriving; and I am delighted to announce that all of these boxes can be ticked through either method of feeding - despite what that friend-of-a-friend told you.
