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It’s been 7 months, baby. Seven wonderful months. I’ve tried to convey in this blog how much I love you, how great it is to be your Momma. I have so many good days with you, so many wonderful moments, so many highs. That’s what I want to come through when I write to you because it’s the truth, the bulk of our relationship.
But sometimes it’s hard. We have our challenges, especially one. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that we do hit roadblocks every now and then. There are tears, yours and mine. We do struggle. And most of those struggles have to do with one thing. Feeding you. More specifically nursing you.
I was ready to face challenges. I think – us modern day moms, with the emphasis that’s given these days to the importance of breastfeeding – we’re prepared to some extent. We’re prepped to expect problems at the beginning – problems latching on and engorgement and the like. We didn’t have any of the problems that I expected. I did have to get past the first couple weeks of soreness, but you never had and problems latching on. In fact, the first time I fed you, a couple hours after you were born, I hardly had to do anything. You knew just want to do. And it was like that, for about 2 months.
For the past 5 months since that turning point, it’s grown increasingly challenging. You don’t like to work for your food. You have grown increasingly impatient with the pause between latching and let down. What should take less than 30 seconds, ends up taking sometimes 10 minutes of stressful battle.
It’s not always terrible. It depends on your mood. Actually I’m sure it depends on my mood too. We’re in this together after all. Sometimes it’s easier to relax and to be patient with you. Sometimes the frustration of it all gets to me a little, and I’m sure you can sense it.
I have tried everything – positioning, talking, encouraging, cuddling, singing, rocking, location, ambience, waiting until you’re super hungry, staying ridiculously hydrated, pumping to increase my supply, not pumping just in case pumping was affecting my let down, feeding on a schedule, feeding on demand, feeding you food before nursing, feeding you food only after nursing, PRAYING. We have good times and bad times, sometimes good days and bad days. But the older you get, the more you assert your personality, the more you are capable of conveying your frustration, your wants, needs, anger sometimes. And it becomes more and more difficult to not let it upset me now that you’re actually communicating with me rather than crying just because you’re a baby. You tell me you’re unhappy now, and I don’t want you to be unhappy.
And then there’s the worry. Women who don’t nurse their kids often say that they “couldn’t,” that nothing came out, that the babies weren’t getting enough. That might be the medical reality for some. But I’m realizing more and more that we all feel that way sometimes, whether or not we continue nursing or not. It’s stressful. Worrying about you getting enough food consumes a lot of my energy. It’s constantly on my mind. I can’t see how much you’re actually swallowing. All I can see is the wet diapers. But then that only gives me a fuzzy idea about whether or not it’s “enough,” and doesn’t tell me anything about the quality of what you’re drinking, if you’re getting enough nutrients.
I understand why formula is so tempting. You follow the instructions, measure it out, administer, and you know that you’re little one is getting what she needs in the amounts she needs. No worries. It has tempted me almost every day since our battles began. But it has been my heart’s desire to give you the best. Breast milk is best. Formula isn’t bad, but it isn’t the superior option.
And I loved the IDEA of nursing, of being the one who supplies your food. The cuddling. The special bond. And I do love all of that, when it’s that way. But it’s just not that way for us most of the time. I feel like I got tricked. Like I said before, I was prepared for difficulties to arise at the beginning, but I wasn’t ready for THIS. At 7 months old, it’s still high drama at least 75% of the time I try to feed you. There is nothing EASY (or natural even) about breastfeeding, and everyone who told me it would be obviously never breastfed you.
We’ve been surviving for the past 5 months. But the last couple days, on top everything, you are beginning to refuse to nurse. You will be obviously hungry and asking for food, and you will turn your head away from me and cry. I can usually get you to nurse still if I coax you and coax you and coax you and wait out the perfunctory wails and hitting and kicking and punching and grabbing and pinching and back arching and rolling around. But the length for which you will nurse is growing shorter and shorter as well. I don’t know how you can possibly be getting sufficient meals in the 5 or so minutes you’re willing to work at it every 4 hours or so.
So now I’m wondering, when does what is best for you become something other than what I thought it would be, namely breastfeeding you? At some point doesn’t your emotional well-being factor into what is best for you? Doesn’t my emotional well-being factor in too, in an admittedly less important way? Do we really need to have this source of contention between us? And shouldn’t you be able to ENJOY eating? Does it really have to be this stressful for you? And for me?
And lastly, how much of my dedication to breastfeeding is really just about proving I can do it? I don’t do well with failure. This is something I had my mind made up about, and I have been set on this path. I have been committed. I don’t feel like anyone can understand how difficult it has been to stick with breastfeeding for this long, just how much commitment it has taken. I am dedicated. I am strong-willed. I am determined. I have many faults, but giving up easily is not one of them.
It would be hard for me to start giving you formula, after all this time. I don’t know how to make it not feel like giving up. I haven’t made up my mind yet, but I am thinking about it seriously. I’m going to spend the next few days giving it one more concerted effort. I’m going to keep at it, watch the weight of your dirty diapers, and pray.
When you were born, my goal was to breastfeed you for 3 months. When we made it to 3 months, I gave us until 6. When we made it to 6, I decided we should go all the way. One year old. That’s where I want to get to. But I think for now, I’m just going to have to be content to take it one day at a time, with a renewed commitment to do whatever turns out to be best for you, even if that turns out to be something other than what I thought it would be. Even if it means the dreaded F word.
(Formula… if you didn’t get it.)
I love you, baby. We’re going to figure this out.
