Best is Best

When I was pregnant with TB it never occurred to me that I could do anything other than breastfeed.  Bottles didn’t even come into the equation.  Being out in Brasil I wasn’t faced with any of the NHS’ ‘breast is best’ message but I didn’t need to be.  I had enough confidence in myself that I could do it.

Of course when TB actually appeared things weren’t quite so straightforward.  They handed me this tiny, wrinkled newborn and my first thoughts were ‘it’s a baby.  What do I do with it?’  There was no matter of instinct taking over; I was shell-shocked.  In the loosest sense of the word I was helped to breastfeed and away we went. A week later we were back at the hospital to visit the milk bank and the lactation consultants.  I just wasn’t getting it right.  They assumed the problem was my big boobs getting in the way and advised me, amongst other things, to scissor my fingers around my nipple to make sure TB didn’t get smothered.  Because that one really helped keep him latched on.  

I hated breastfeeding.  I’d sit on our mattress lent against the wall with absolutely no support, one hand holding TB and the other holding my boob.   My back would ache, my mind would spin with my depression in the absence of anything to distract it.  It couldn’t pick up a book because I had no free hand.  TB, even at three months, would feed for an hour, take an hour’s rest and then start again.  We were lucky at night that he would stretch that out a little.  I don’t think TB was that impressed with breastfeeding either.  He had nasty reflux and struggled to keep breast milk down. 

It never occurred to me that I could give up or that giving up might make me feel better.  I just kept on going because that was what I was supposed to do.

And then I couldn’t breastfeed.  For a few days there were drugs in my system that the doctor didn’t want to risk being transferred to TB.  He got bottle fed, I pumped and dumped.  Once all was clear we tried again with the breastfeeding but never really got back into it.  I was happier, we switched TB onto a formula designed to combat the effects of the reflux and he was happier.  He started to stretch his feeds out a little more. We never looked back.

I must admit that the thought of breastfeeding Mr A worried me.  After the experience with TB I wasn’t convinced that I could do it or that my sanity would hold.  I spent months deliberating over the perfect chair to use and making sure I was all set.  This time around I had my head in a better space.  If it didn’t work out at least I’d have tried and if it did, all the better.  I knew thought that it wasn’t worth pushing on at the expense of my mental health and understood that there was no shame in giving up if I couldn’t cope. 

The worry was unnecessary because from that first moment Mr A was a natural.  I winced my way through the sore nipples of the first week but gritted my teeth and got past it and from there it’s been plain sailing.  Five months in and we’re still going strong.  At three months I had to consider switching to formula when I returned to work.  I couldn’t do it.  I decided I’d rather pump throughout the day than give up breastfeeding.  Not only is it perfect for Mr A but I wasn’t prepared to give up the closeness we get during feeding.  I spend little enough time with him during the week that moments like his feeds are worth their weight in gold.  I never thought I could see myself breastfeeding Mr A as he became an older baby, in fact at first I thought if we made it to three months that would be amazing, but now I see no reason to quit when he hits six months or even older.  We’re doing what’s right for us and that’s why it works.

The slogan ‘breast is best’ and the breastfeeding mafia get my goat.  Sure, breast milk is great for babies, but sometimes, like TB was, they’re better off on formula.  Sometimes the mother is better off with the baby on formula.  I don’t regret switching TB to formula, I regret not doing it sooner.  Because that’s what was best for both of us.  As mothers I’d like to see all of us focus more on not what is supposed to be best, but what is best for each individual family.  None of us have any right to judged based on the feeding choices of others just as we wouldn’t wish to be judged for our own choices. 

This week is National Breastfeeding Awareness Week.  That’s right, awareness, not promotion.  Every woman should be aware that breastfeeding is an option, a choice, but not a requirement.  Each new mother should enter into feeding her child armed with all the information possible, not just slogans and urgings from the upper echelons of health professionals.  This week Glowstars.net is celebrating breastfeeding, those who’ve tried, those who’ve failed, those who made the decision that it wasn’t the right option for their family and those who are still going.  We’re all to be celebrated for doing the best for our kids and being the best parents we possibly can, however we feed.

Friday is Breastfeeding Carnival Day at Glowstars.net.  I’ll be bringing you breastfeeding posts from some fabulous bloggers about breastfeeding sucesses and troubles.  If you’d like to submit a post for the carnival email glowstars@glowstars.net and jump aboard a float.  We’ll be going all out with a squirt of milk.