My Breastfeeding Story

The first few months I spent as a mother were — if I’m being completely honest — some of the most difficult months of my life.

My beautiful son, who was filling my heart with feelings of love unlike anything I’d ever experienced, was also making me feel very, very sad.

The problem?

Breastfeeding.

Or — to be more accurate — lack thereof.

The first couple of days of his life, I didn’t feel like he was getting much milk, but the nurses and midwives assured me that it was perfectly normal for it to take a few days for my milk to come in.

After a few days, it really didn’t seem like things were getting much better. He had trouble latching on, and — when I did manage to get him attached — it was obvious that he was frustrated.

He’d suck for 15 or 20 seconds, and then pull away and start screaming and thrashing his head around. We’d try again, but the same thing usually happened.

After about 10 days of this, my midwife started getting concerned because he wasn’t gaining weight. (He was losing weight, actually.) So she and my doctor recommended I try pumping and then feeding from a bottle.

If you’ve never hooked yourself up to a hospital-grade nursing pump, well… let’s just say I have new respect for what dairy cows have to go through!

Anyway, despite the fact that two rather scary looking devices were now attached to me, I was optimistic. If this worked, I could give my son the breast milk that he needed. Heck, I could even freeze a bunch, and maybe go out and have a couple of glasses of wine!

Unfortunately, my milk ducts were not co-operating. I sat hooked up to that thing for 45 minutes, and was rewarded with exactly 2 ounces of milk.

I kept this up for about another month — alternating between trying to nurse my son and hooking myself up to the milking machine.

My son was gaining weight very slowly. We were both miserable. I remember feeling like a complete failure as a mother.

The next step was to start taking a prescription drug that was supposed to increase my milk supply. It made me feel the way most prescription drugs do: nauseous, irritable, and tired but unable to sleep.

So, I’m now about 3 months into motherhood. I’m taking some drug that’s messing with my mind (but not increasing my milk supply), trying to force my frustrated newborn to drink milk that isn’t there, and spending my “free time” hooked up to the milking machine.

Good times.

And the worst part? I knew that there was an “easy answer” to my problems. But I was literally terrified to even suggest it.

I had been so sure that I’d be a “natural” at breastfeeding, that the thought of giving my child formula had never ONCE occurred to me before he was born.

Plus, I was living in Vancouver at the time, and admitting to other Vancouver Moms that you were feeding your child formula would get about the same reaction as if you told them you were putting Red Bull in the bottle.

(Actually, if it was organic Red Bull from Whole Foods, you could probably get away with it! Just kidding, Vancouver… sorta.)

Anyway, I remember getting a visit from my midwife when my son was about 3 months old. I was in tears, as usual, and I told her I just couldn’t take it any more. I was terrified to be telling her this, because I knew that she was a huge proponent of “breast is best,” and I was sure she would be horrified to hear that I was thinking of switching to formula.

Instead, she just took my hand and said, “Dana, I think this has gone on long enough. You can’t be the kind of mother that you want to be if you spend every day feeling like a failure.”

I cannot tell you how relieved I was to hear her say that.

It was a weird feeling the first time I fed my son a bottle of formula. I don’t know what I expected, really. Maybe for him to instantly grow a couple of sizes? Start inflating like a balloon? Develop some kind of superpower?

He latched on, and greedily drained a full bottle. By far, the most food he’d ever eaten at once in his life.

He let out a big burp, and seemed genuinely content.

I want to finish by saying that I wish I’d been able to breastfeed. I wish I’d been able to experience that feeling of being able to nourish my child from my own body. And I still passionately believe that breast milk is the best thing for a baby. I encourage all mothers to try it.

But if it doesn’t work — don’t let it define you.

Accept it, and get on with the job of being a Mom.