Breastfeeding: A Mother's Dilemma (cont.)

Family members, friends, and professionals around me fell into two camps, neither terribly supportive. One urged me to give up on breastfeeding altogether and could not understand my dismay over what was happening. The other was convinced that I was doing something wrong and heaped upon me huge amounts of guilt.

My doula, a birth and post-partum coach I hired, ruefully told my husband and me that we'd "gone a bit overboard" after we confessed to giving the baby 5 ounces of formula the previous night despite fervent efforts to nurse. She also suggested that my milk supply had been derailed by how "career-minded" I'd been before having the baby. Much later, I discovered that the community of lactation professionals was just beginning to grudgingly admit that there really are bonafide cases of low milk supply.

Finding My Way

I eventually managed to establish a limited breastfeeding relationship with Julian. But it was only through a level of dedicated effort that, in retrospect, I feel was insane. I nursed on demand. I used a breast pump between feedings and ingested tons of fenugreek pills and tea. I tried several days of bed rest, conferred with lactation consultants, and pored through my large library of nursing references. I tried supplementing with an eyedropper to avoid the dreaded bottle, which resulted in an angry, hungry baby an hour later, and terribly chafed nipples.

What finally made a difference was using a supplemental nursing system, an ingenious contraption that delivers formula into the baby's mouth via a tiny plastic tube taped to the mom's nipple while he nurses. I used it at every feeding. After a few weeks, my breasts leaked milk for the first time. And a few weeks later, I first experienced the sensation of "letdown" -- the feeling of milk flowing in the breast. The nursing system had worked for me. But having to simultaneously fiddle with the tubes, tape, formula, and baby was a hassle. One night I forgot to screw the cap on tightly and spilled formula all over our bed.

Eventually I was able to hang up the nursing system. I found it easier to nurse Julian for the few minutes' worth of milk I had and follow up with a full bottle of formula. When I went back to work at six months, my scanty supply diminished further. (Pumping had been out of the question because I never succeeded in pumping more than 10 milliliters at a time). And by nine months, Julian lost interest in nursing altogether.

Breasts Dry, Eyes Wet

Breastfeeding advocates respond to my story warmly with "Oh, what a wonderful mother you are to have made such an effort for your child!" Or, "Your story makes me so sad for all the women who don't even bother to try." Although well meant, these comments miss the point.

Instead of enjoying those precious, fleeting days with my newborn, I spent two months crying at every feeding. I had really looked forward to nursing and wanted to provide my child with the benefits I had read about. And as I'd always been insecure about my small-breastedness, I was excited to be part of something in which, supposedly, size didn't matter.

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