The Day I Gave Up Breastfeeding
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Motherhood is the exquisite inconvenience of being another person’s everything. - Unknown
It was sometime around 3:00pm, if I’m remembering right, and we were sitting down to feed again. Those early months are still hazy, but I’m almost sure it was afternoon because the sun shined warm and golden through the nursery window. My baby was rooting and beginning to fuss, and I was dreading the next hour and a half.
The last 14 weeks had been some of the hardest and most stretching of my life, but I had not given up hope that we would get the hang of breastfeeding.
At two months, our pediatrician recommended we stop trying. I slid emptily into my car that day and cried over what felt like failure. But by the time we arrived home, I was determined to ignore his advice and keep going.
We had seemingly tried everything. Visits to the lactation clinic, phone consults with specialists, power pumping, galactagogues, nipple shields, breast sandwiches, laid-back feeding, and every nursing position except hanging upside down. My son had lip and tongue ties clipped at 3 weeks, we were treating him for moderate to severe GER (acid reflux), and I couldn’t get much milk to flow. He had started to refuse the breast altogether, and I followed the advice of a blog that recommended to “make my breasts a happy place.” The whole feeding process took about 1.5 hours - 45 minutes to feed at the breast, 20 minutes for buddy to take a bottle, and 30 minutes of pumping what little milk I could.
Other than pricey dopamine-blocking prescription medications (which can increase prolactin levels as a side effect but also have other risks), we were running out of options. The SNS (Supplemental Nursing System, or at-breast supplementer) was my final effort. It was a small tube that would supposedly “trick” my baby into feeding better from the breast by making him think that milk from a bottle was actually coming from my breast.
We positioned in our feeding chair with all our pillows. I taped one end of the tube next to my nipple and threaded the other end through the bottle nipple, allowing it to fall into the milk. When my baby finally latched, the tube was in the corner of his mouth and he didn’t seem to notice. I watched the tube as a steady flow of soft white milk made its way through. The idea was that getting him to nurse longer at the breast would encourage my milk production, which was still discouragingly low after three months of breastfeeding and pumping.
I tried to relax, but 30 seconds into it, he pulled away in frustration and cried a loud, anxious cry. It was nothing new, akin to the same irritability he always experienced with breastfeeding. So I tried again. But with each new effort, his crying turned to wailing. He was miserable, uncomfortable, confused, and hungry. We had both cried and struggled for too long.
I looked down at him through a lens of tears. A feeling of desperation washed over me. “Please, bud, PLEASE do it.” But it wasn’t working and I knew it. My determination only upset him further. I kept thinking (and being told) that we would overcome our breastfeeding challenges, but I had made us both irritated, weary, and tired in the process. Something maternal filled my veins. I pulled him into my arms, nestled him between my tear-soaked neck and shoulder, and said, “Okay, buddy. No more. We’re done.” And that was the day I gave up breastfeeding.
I wish I could say it was as simple as moving on to formula after that. Truthfully, the voices of guilt and failure made camp for a while. I dealt with fear that my baby wouldn’t be as healthy. I mourned unmet expectations and shattered plans. And I wasn’t sure how to talk about it.
With time I’ve been able to reflect and confidently say that I made the best decision for both of us. I can also say that my son is incredibly healthy and smart and energetic, and I was so pleased with the goat milk formula we gave him.
My perspective about breastfeeding has changed, too. It is not always beautiful and natural. Sometimes it is painful and complicated and heartbreaking. And while I believe in the health benefits, I also don’t think “best'“ is always the best word for it.
As a mostly formula-fed baby, my son got sick for the first time at 9 months, walked at 10 months, spoke 15 words by 15 months, and started to show interest in the potty at 18 months. He also refuses his vegetables, pitches tantrums, and would eat macaroni and cheese for every meal if he could. There are so many factors when it comes to our babies’ health - sleeping and eating habits, relationship to family members, environment and daily routine, attachment and discipline, genetics, biology, nurture, and…you get the idea.
We don’t all need to stop breastfeeding. Our greatest joys are often on the other side of our greatest pains (which we already know because, hello, childbearing). It’s hard and uncomfortable, but we can do it. Our bodies can do it. But if you’re here looking for permission to quit, how’s this? You already know what is best. Your smile is preferred to your performance, your gut-level honesty to your need to prove something. Sometimes it takes greater strength to sacrifice something or to change course without knowing exactly what you will do. That is much harder.
I still wish I could have breastfed. It was important to me as a mom because of the unique and special opportunity to provide for my baby. But I know from experience that the most important factor for my baby’s health is that he has a healthy, happy, and engaged mom. And sometimes that means a mom who doesn’t breastfeed.
