I struggled with breastfeeding from the very beginning. Going into it, I promised I'd go easy on myself in regards to my successes or failures. I knew there were women who nursed successfully from the start, some who struggled along, some who went with formula from the beginning. I have always believed the notion that “fed is best” and like my pregnancy and my childbirth plan, I knew I needed to go with the flow and see what might happen.
Layla was born on early on a Saturday afternoon and though we attempted to nurse during the golden hour (like, I'm pretty sure she latched and probably nursed a little bit, but I can't say for sure), we were both a couple of rookies with no idea what we were doing. That afternoon and evening passed in a dream-like state, the two of us getting acquainted, starting to figure one another out. Nursing was a challenge, though. My milk had not come in and she was would not latch for more than a few minutes at a time. As the evening progressed, my frustration over the situation and my worry that she was growing hungry grew. We eventually had her sent to the nursery so we could get some sleep for a few hours.
That night, and throughout the next day, I kept trying with the help of a few different nurses, who all suggested alternative ways of getting her to latch, getting her fed. I tried every 2-3 hours to nurse but there were instances where she just wasn't interested, where she would just fall asleep or where she would scream the whole time. I was probably more worried about it than the nurses, but kept on trying.
The next morning, Monday--after another night of having Layla sleep in the nursery--found me in tears. Again, she wouldn't latch and just screamed at me (with my boob in her mouth). Granted, I was a brand new sleep deprived parent with a LOT of hormones in my system. But I also felt like I was failing, like there was no way it was ever going to work.
Not even 30 minutes after Layla's and my collective meltdown, we got a visit from the lactation consultant. The night and day difference was sudden. The nurses were great, but the LC was so wonderful and so helpful and hands on--she demonstrated step by step how I could successfully get Layla to latch, to eat for more than a few minutes before she fell back asleep. She explained that it could take 3-5 days before my milk came in but that there was a very real possibility that the postpartum hemorrhage was affecting my supply.
This was the first time anyone had said that to me and it felt like a bit of a lightbulb moment. She was not worried, though. She gave Tom things to do to help get Layla latching and also gave us formula to start supplementing her. This was hugely helpful and also gave Tom a way to help us out. Though Layla had properly nursed, I did notice that the formula helped fully satisfy her… and I was grateful for the assistance, because I didn't want her to go hungry.
Monday evening we were discharged and went home. The LC sent me with a rented, hospital-grade breast pump and instructions to pump in between every feed so that I could induce my supply (I had a pump but she wanted me to take home the “big guns” to get things going). This meant nursing or pumping every hour or two. It was exhausting. Combined with the fact that she still was having latching issues, I felt a little disheartened from the start. Tom and I decided to try the Little Journeys Infant formula from Aldi and Layla took to it right away with no issues. This helped relieve my anxiety about her not getting enough to eat, but I still struggled. Nursing, pumping, supplementing--lather, rinse, repeat.
My milk did eventually come in a few days later. I was so excited! However, it was clear from the start that my supply was lackluster. In the beginning we were nursing pretty regularly but gradually had to start adding in more formula--she just wasn't getting enough from me. I was pumping too, in addition to nursing, but I really wasn't pumping much. Most days I was only pumping 2-3 ounces over the whole day, barely enough for one bottle and definitely not enough to start up a freezer supply. I drank my weight in water. I ate oatmeal every day and made lactation cookies to try and up my milk production. I tried to keep up with the pumping, but found it difficult to pump when at home by myself during the day (because Layla inevitably would wake up or need me as soon as I would start).
The whole time, Tom was so encouraging of whatever I wanted to do--he was quick to remind me that Layla was thriving and healthy. I knew he was right. Though I hadn't been able to keep her fully fed from my breast milk, I had been able to give her something. In addition, formula meant that he could assist in feeding too, that he could have those opportunities to bond with her as well. I tried to stay positive about it. He encouraged me to go to the breastfeeding support group at the hospital, and shortly after Layla turned a month old, I checked it out.
It was an enlightening experience. We did a weighted feed, and she only transferred ⅔ of an ounce. Not even close to the 3-4 ounces she was eating per session with formula. I had a heart to heart with the lactation consultant and explained everything. She was very gentle and kind with me, but expressed concern with the fact that Layla was almost 5 weeks old and that was all I was producing. She suggested either nursing or pumping, but with as much formula as I was giving her already, to continue nursing and pumping was probably causing more stress than it was worth.
Her suggestion was to do either or, or that I could stop altogether and Layla would be no worse for the wear. “We really want you to enjoy this time. She is only going to be this little once... and look at her. She is healthy and growing and happy. You're doing a good job with her.” Her voice was so tender and gentle, and I had to fight back the tears at being treated so sweetly in such a vulnerable moment. I had been able to give Layla breast milk, to provide her with the benefits of breastfeeding in those important crucial first days. And she was thriving, even in spite of my lack of supply.
I left with what I knew was my answer… I wasn't exactly happy about it and had a lot of anxiety and sadness. It was causing me a lot of stress but I wanted so badly for breastfeeding to work. I wanted to be able to provide her with everything she needed. I felt like my body had failed me. Except that it hadn't, it has not, failed me. My body grew a beautiful, healthy girl and brought her safely into the world. Breastfeeding might not have worked for us but my body was, is, not a failure.
After all, my body keeps her safe and warm. My arms hold her close and my legs walk her in laps around the apartment. She stares up at me with those big blue eyes of hers when I give her a bottle and she falls asleep easily curled up against me. There are so many ways to bond and just because we aren't nursing doesn't mean we aren't still bonding with one another, learning to trust one another. She is also getting the opportunity to bond more with her dad, now that he can more equally help with feeding her. Making the decision was hard, initially, but ultimately I know this is the right one for our family.
Though this didn't go the way I planned, I know she will not lack because I chose to stop nursing. I am so glad I gave it a shot for both of us. But breastfeeding is HARD. I knew it would be, but I didn't realize how tough. I have so much respect for mamas who breastfeed and stick with it--and for those who don't, or can't. Breastfeeding is not a requirement for motherhood, just like a “natural” childbirth is not, either. Fed is best! I was not able to produce a full supply for her, but this does not make me any less of a mom, and I am so happy, and relieved, that I can still provide for her. She and I will be fine; we will have so many moments and memories together... and I will treasure those she spent nursing, tucked in against my chest.
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