This is a pretty diverse community, but there seem to be two common narratives that ring true for most FFFs. Either they always planned to formula feed, or they always planned to breastfeed. Very few hadn’t given their feeding method much thought, prior to giving birth. In the latter storyline, the narrator typically has a healthy amount of Best Laid Plans, and has to redefine her expectations, beliefs, and often her own concept of “good mothering” when those plans fall through.
I love reading these stories, because to me, they are an allegory about parenting. Things never go as planned, with kids. Or with pregnancies, for that matter. Or hell, with life. Strength, to me, is learning how to bend without breaking.
Lana’s story is one of these. I don’t know if she’s realized how strong she is, but I hope she has. I hope you all know how strong, smart and capable you truly are.
Happy Friday, fearless ones,
The FFF
Lana’s Story
I’ve spent the better part of my young adult life preparing to be super mom. I was a Nanny to three children, I babysat every age of child and infant I could lay my hands on- doing everything from teaching them to eat, potty training, sleep- you name it- I wanted to do it before I had my own child. I got my degree in early childhood education and immersed myself in child development research. When I got pregnant I enthusiastically signed up for Bradley Method classes- I was going to do this without drugs, without any of the awful stuff I’d read about over the years. I had firmly identified as “crunchy”- I was cloth diapering, natural birthing, breastfeeding, babywearing- I had this whole “baby” thing nailed.
And I did. I gave birth without drugs and totally rocked it. My son latched 2 minutes after birth with a latch my nurse said was “the most perfect first latch I’ve ever seen.” He was perfect. And I was going to do right by him. He was put straight into cloth diapers, and I kept him skin to skin nursing as much as I could. Those first two days were awesome- I had become what I’d spent so much time preparing for.
And then we brought him home and it all fell violently apart. His first day home he screamed non-stop, an nursed non-stop. He never seemed satisfied. We ended up in the emergency room 72 hours after birth because I was certain something was horrifically wrong- only to be told my baby was dehydrated. I continued to nurse, refusing to give him formula.
A week later he hadn’t gained any weight. I was exhausted- still nursing round the clock. My breasts never got engorged, never felt “full”. My son never seemed to eat to satisfaction. He was constantly hungry. My son’s pediatrician put me on a low dose of Domperidone and told me to come back in two days. We did, and he’d gained 2oz- hooray! But after another weighing 4 days later he was once again stagnating. The health nurse grabbed my baby from me and told me he needed nutrition NOW and force fed my child a bottle in front of me while I sobbed and begged her to give me back my son- which she did- but only once I promised to continue supplementing with formula. I put myself on a rigorous pumping regime and called my pediatrician for a lactation referral- which I got for the next morning. For 24 hours I fed, pumped, and supplemented- and cried. I felt like with every bottle I gave my son I was pumping him full of poison. I was too crunchy to formula feed!
At my appointment the next morning (for the record we’re now 3 weeks PP), the lactation doctor checked my son for a tongue or lip tie- neither of which he had. She then asked me to take my shirt off and a look of shock crossed her face. She consulted her notes and looked at me and said “You’ve had breast exams before, right?” I confirmed I had- MANY of them, and a breast MRI when I was in my late teens- due to all of my immediate female relatives having had breast cancer. My boobs were being watched extremely closely. She proceeded to ask me if I could ever remember any doctors I’d seen saying the word “hypoplasia” to me before. I confirmed I had never heard that word before in my life. She then left the room, popped her head back in and asked once again for my GP’s name. 10 minutes later she came back and gave me this speech:
“I’m so sorry, I don’t know how this was missed, I don’t know why nobody has mentioned this to you before- but it’s painfully obvious. You’re lacking the mammary tissue required to produce a life sustaining quantity of milk. I’m going to requisition your MRI to confirm this- but I’ve seen enough breasts that I can tell just by looking at you. You aren’t producing enough milk to keep him alive- you aren’t producing enough milk to even provide him with a full feeding. You responded to the Dom, which is unusual for hypoplasia- so if you’d like I can quadruple your dose and we can see what that does- but I don’t think you’ll ever produce enough milk to give him a full feeding. I’m sorry.”
So I took my baby and I went home and sobbed. I called my Mom, I called my best friend, I called my other best friend- and I sobbed. And my best friend- who’d breast fed 3 children, including one who has Down Syndrome- told me that this wasn’t worth it. This was not worth my sanity, not worth the pain. Breast feeding was great- but having a healthy, happy baby and Mommy was more important. And she went to the store and bought one of each kind of formula and came and sat with me as I tried to give my son a bottle. She told me my son would be fine. She told me how smart he was. How beautiful. How bright.
It took me three days to get engorged. Three days. And then I expressed that milk and it was gone. That was the end.
We bought a Baby Breeza Formula Pro (we called it the baby Keurig.) My son and I still had an exclusive feeding relationship for the most part. He learned to love his bottle, and I focused on the fact that my mother, my father, and so. many. of the adults I idolized and looked up to were formula fed and were JUST FINE.
I got ostracized from my local babywearing group, even after getting trained as a babywearing educator- because I bottle fed my son during a meet. They just moved away from me- like formula feeding was contagious. I finally found my tribe, those who were willing to overlook it, but I always noted the uncomfortable shifting when I pulled a bottle out. I always felt the need to explain- “I tried, I can’t, I have a diagnosis…” And while I like to think I’ve made peace with it, it still pains me. My son is now totally off formula at 13 months- he takes one bottle of cows milk first thing in the morning and otherwise drinks from a sippy cup. And I’m looking forward to smashing my bottles in a symbolic gesture of letting it go (I do plan on having other children- but I’ve hated the bottles I purchased in bulk under duress, I plan on buying new ones for #2.)
And he is just fine. He’s smart as a whip. Of all his breast fed peers he is the only one who didn’t have a severe illness in his first year. He uses sign language. He crawls and cruises like a champ. He has a hilarious sense of humour. His first word was “yes!”
Thank you for this website. For sharing the stories. Reading them has brought me further in my healing journey.
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Feel like sharing your story? Email me at formulafeeders@gmail.com to submit an essay for FFF Fridays.
The post FFF Friday: “I was too crunchy to formula feed.” appeared first on Fearless Formula Feeder.
