Like Every Mom: A Bottle-Feeding Mom's Story

Today, we have a Guest Post from our friend Jessica. Unable to breastfeed due to the need to take some heavy-duty medications, she wants to share ways that breastfeeding moms can support mothers like her.

Like every mom, I have a mantra. It keeps me going when the toddler has thrown off his diaper in favor of peeing on the floor, the only food in the fridge is a stick of butter and some olives, and I’ve forgotten to move clothes to the dryer for the third time.

“I’m doing the best I can with what I have.”

Child, if you don’t want your diaper then sit on the toilet. While I order a pizza and wash the damn clothes again. Screw it, let’s just buy new clothes.

This mantra first came to me long ago, when I was freshly pregnant, excited and terrified. I sat in my doctors office as she listed off all the tests, appointments, and risks associated with this new adventure. In passing, before I left, she said “and you won’t be able to breastfeed.”

What? Well, I’ll do the best I can with what I have. That’s all I could say. Because what I have is Crohn's Disease, and by a stroke of faith and luck I found myself in my GI’s office that day discussing the pregnancy that should have been impossible. But I had asked God for this baby, and that changed everything for me.

Months before my pregnancy and after trying every medication on the market (and all of them failing to control my Crohn's), I was put on bi-weekly injections of Humira and daily high doses of Prednisone. For the first time in a long time I was able to eat, I was able to live a normal life, I gained back the 20 pounds I lost to illness, and I was thriving again. I was getting healthy enough for the bowel resection I would need to remove the damaged part of my colon. And then…. BABY! What an awesome surprise! I thought I was getting healthy enough for surgery, but I was actually getting healthy enough to be a mom.

I would be able to wean off the prednisone for my pregnancy, but would have to resume it again after delivery. I would take Humira throughout pregnancy and after delivery. While these two medications worked beautifully to control my illness, they are not nursing-mamma-friendly. From the FDA:

“It is not known whether adalimumab (HUMIRA) is excreted in human milk or absorbed systemically after ingestion. Because many drugs and immunoglobulins are excreted in human milk, 

and because of the potential for serious adverse reactions in nursing infants from HUMIRA, a decision should be made whether to discontinue nursing or to discontinue the drug, taking into account the importance of the drug to the mother.” 

“Systemically administered corticosteroids (PREDNISONE) appear in human milk and could suppress growth, interfere with endogenous corticosteroid production, or cause other untoward effects. Because of the potential for serious adverse reactions in nursing infants from corticosteroids, a decision should be made whether to discontinue nursing or to discontinue the drug, taking into account the importance of the drug to the mother.”

In a nutshell, the FDA says if you really need these medications to live, then you really can’t breastfeed. And breastfeeding was something I’d never given any thought to until I was told I couldn’t. Isn’t it amazing how badly we want something we can’t have? I was going to find a way. There had to be a way.

Funny thing, there was actually no way. There are some things you can’t just will to happen. Defeated, I sulked with a cake. Because pregnancy rationale always wins and cake is delicious. And I knew I would do the best I could with what I had.

I’ve been lucky. In our breastfeeding-friendly community, I was often the only mom scooping formula and shaking bottles. Aside from a few snide remarks from passerby…. “breast is best!” (Correct reply is “and formula is the best alternative!”), I’ve found support from the village of breastfeeding moms. I know this is not the norm. Formula shaming is real, and it hurts. Don’t we all just love our babies? We love them so much our hearts ache. Don’t look at the bottle, look at the mom. Look at the baby. It’s that same love you share. I promise. 

Here’s what I’d like to ask from you beautiful breastfeeding moms. Let me join your village. I have a cute baby and cake and I’m told I’m a blast at parties. Here’s how you can include me:

1) My boobs hurt like hell. Please, for the love of God, help me. 

Somewhere in all the formula research I did, I convinced myself that since I would not be able to nurse, my milk would simply not come in. Hey, guess what? I make TONS of milk. I was wildly unprepared. I found myself staring at the wall of nursing pads at target, boobs on fire and leaking through my shirt. Tell me to get a cabbage, what nursing pads to use. Tell me not to bind the fiery monsters too tight, and to take Benadryl. And most importantly, that this too shall pass.

2) Invite me to mom groups.

You probably saw me maneuvering around breastfeeding circle at the natural baby store. I’m just here for a teething necklace and damn, I should have probably looked into what classes they do here first. Now it’s all awkward when someone asks me to join and I sheepishly shake a bottle of formula in reply. Please save me from my awkwardness. Could you invite me to cloth diapering and baby wearing group? And let’s have lunch after class. It’ll be fun, I promise. 

3) Those bottles are not going to wash themselves

When you come visit me, freshly home with my new babe, the sink will be brimming with half empty bottles. I’m so tired, I’m so sore, and I feel like I’ve been washing bottles for days. The laundry can wait, we don’t need another casserole. Please, wash a few bottles while you’re here. I might cry with joy, seriously. 

4) Feed my baby

The one thing I have loved about formula feeding from day one is that everyone I love can feed my baby. It’s amazing to watch, so awkward at first. Get the boppy, am I holding him right? This angle isn’t right, adjust. And again. How do I hold the bottle? Am I doing this right?

But baby knows. Baby leads, and curls in for a warm meal and a nap. And whoever is holding that bottle relaxes into that sweet amazing place, mesmerized by my little one. You will love that moment and I want to share it with you. 

5) Offer me some milk 

WHAT. Oh, that’s so awkward! Yeah, I know, but that’s ok. Just do it. I can’t ask you for your liquid gold that you’ve pumped for days to acquire (Or weeks? I have no idea.). But you can just throw it out there. “If you ever need some milk, I’ve got a freezer full!” I may never take you up on it, but I will know how much you care about me and my baby. I need that. 

In return, I promise to always support you. Hey, you know that moment when you just want to cry to someone about your latch issues and not hear “oh, I’ve been there” in reply? I’m your girl. I have not been there. Tell me all about it, I’ll just listen. I promise.

When you’re struggling, I will be your biggest cheerleader! I’m so proud to say my friend breastfed for a week, a month, a year, still going. Keep going. I know you can do it, and I know you need to hear it and I will tell you this every day.

When you wean that babe and shed a few tears, I’ll be right there to pick you up and take you out to celebrate. This is a milestone! Let’s go get you a sexy new bra and drink cocktails. Bring your tiny purse that could not possibly fit a pump, it goes great with that new non-nursing shirt!

We can be friends, see? We can do so much for each other. It takes a village because everyone in the village is different. If we were all the same we’d be quite boring, actually. Let’s not be boring, let’s be awesome together. I’ll bake you lactation cookies while you clip formula coupons for me. That’s how awesome moms party.

Jessica is a full time working mom to one fabulous little boy and his epic head of hair. When she’s not in the office, you can find her cooking up Pinterest fails, cursing at her sewing machine, or coloring on the walls with her son.

The Vanishing Finish Line

Before my son was born, I obsessed over the birth process. I read every book, every website, haunted message boards, practiced yoga and meditation, spent weeks drafting a birth plan, and so on. Then, the day came, and through an unexpected set of circumstances, I got my perfect birth. I was sitting there in the hospital, snuggling my squishy little 6lbs 15oz burrito and basking in the glow of having finally crossed the finish line, when I overheard a nurse saying "....his latching score is pretty low...."

Wait, what?

And it suddenly hit me that with all my preoccupation of how to bring this baby into the world, I hadn't given a single thought as to how I was supposed to keep the little squirt alive! Oh sure, I'd put a breast pump on my registry and somehow managed to pick up a couple of nursing bras, but had I read a thing about breastfeeding? NOPE.

Remember what the nurse said about his latching score? Yeah. Suddenly my boob was a "sandwich" and nurses were jamming my baby's face onto it, handing me a little tube of Lanolin and telling me that I might feel "sore" for a few days. I don't know about you, but when I hear the word "sore," I think of how my muscles ache after a long run, or how my toe feels when I stub it, or how my head feels when I bump it getting out of the car.

None of those is comparable to the feeling of having a tiny and adorable yet voracious little monster chew on your heretofore mostly-untouched nipple as if his life depends on it (because, in fact, it does). I told the nurses, "It hurts" and they said "It shouldn't hurt if he latches right." After a brief visit from a lactation consultant who assured me everything looked good, we were headed home. Where was the finish line now?

As I write this now, I'm looking over the New Mother's Nursing Journal that the hospital gave us and which we used for the first month of K's life to track feedings and wet/dirty diapers. Next to "Feeding Time" is a column for "Comments." Here is a sampling of what appears in that column in the first two weeks of my breastfeeding career:

This image and header by Susan Holstein Photography.

Hurts me!
Very difficult stop-start, painful
Stopped short due to nipple pain
Hellish feeding, so much pain
Bloody nipple :(
painful
super-hungry, painful! :(
OW
Ow again
Owwww....

.... and my personal favorite:

HOLY HELL

I told my husband that I would rather give birth ten more times than let our son near my nipple again (thankfully, I didn't follow through on that threat). I dreaded every feeding, and screamed and cried each time he latched. I remember being absolutely furious at the idea that this was supposed to be some kind of bonding experience for me and my baby, because I honestly felt like breastfeeding was inhibiting bonding. Worst of all, his weight gain was way behind where it should have been.

Craving some reassurance that this was just a phase that couldn't possibly last, I turned to my online mommy group for support. Upon hearing my woes, the more experienced mothers said: "Don't worry, the pain goes away after the first 4-6 weeks." I was horrified: I wasn't sure I was going to survive the next HOUR, so a month sounded like an eternity! The finish line seemed farther away than ever.

And then, when my little boy was only eight days old, this happened:

My memory of this period is so fuzzy (read: repressed) that I actually only remember one formula feeding, but the journal says he had several within a 24-hour period. With the benefit of hindsight and experience, I know now that I was on a slippery slope, seriously risking my supply and any continuance of our breastfeeding relationship. At the time, however, I only knew that I absolutely could not continue without sleep and a break for my poor nipples. I fed my sweet baby that first bottle of formula myself, crying the whole time, then handed him to my husband and went to bed. It could have been the end for us.

Fortunately, my very next entry in the book says "Back to the breast!" I wasn't dropping out of the race just yet. We visited a lactation consultant who noticed K's tongue tie and recommended we get it clipped immediately so that he could better transfer the milk (and it would be less painful for me). It took only a couple of days to get the appointment, but even that brief wait was agonizing.

After resolving the tongue tie, I was looking forward to the blissful and painless feedings that would surely begin.... and while it was a tiny bit more bearable, I still winced and yelped more often than not. My little boy was now two weeks old and still not back up to his birth weight. I knew that my supply was not our problem: our newborn was a heavy sleeper, whom we often had to wake to eat. I needed to get him on the breast more frequently, but I was terrified of the pain.

At the suggestion of a friend, I set up camp on the couch with a giant bag of trail mix and started watching through all of Doctor Who. I had decided to stop looking for the finish line, to stop looking beyond anything other than the current feeding. I told myself that my only job was to sit in one place and let my baby eat, with minimal flinching, if possible. And that's what I did, all week.

When K was three weeks old, my family came to visit. In a valiant attempt to do what normal people without newborns do, I accompanied them out to lunch and on the way, I stopped by the breastfeeding center to weigh my son. I remember unwrapping his skinny little limbs and removing his heavily wet diaper, praying he wouldn't pee on me. The numbers on the scale spun and settled: 6lbs 15oz. I had gotten my baby back to his birth weight.

It was a victory and a wonderful relief, but I decided then that it wasn't the finish line. "Heck, I might even go all the way to three months!" I thought. Recently, we passed nine months of exclusive breastfeeding. K has never had another drop of formula since that one day, his growth on-track and his health "perfect," according to his pediatrician. I don't know where the finish line is now - a year, two years? - but I no longer care. I'm too busy enjoying the journey.

I See You Formula, I See You

It happens to all of us to some extent I'm sure, that internal dialogue telling you that it might be a good idea to have some formula on hand, you know just in case. Perhaps that dialogue even extends to friends and family. A well-intended comment from a parent or grand-parent here or a coy suggestion layered with snark from a "friend" there, circling around. I know it did for me.

 You see, I knew early in my pregnancy that I was to be a single Mom. That I was "ok" with. What I was not "ok" with, however, was the insinuation that I couldn't be the type of parent I wanted to be or provide the best because of that title. I wear it with honor. So as the well-intended or snarky comments enveloped me the more determined I became. I had decided that I would breastfeed, come hell or high-water. After all, breast is best and my Harper was to have nothing but.

I hadn't once considered actually purchasing formula. I just knew that if I had that "stuff" in my house I'd give-in at 3 AM when I was struggling. For me personally, formula represented defeat in a can. Not just breastfeeding defeat, but parenting defeat. Then one day that "defeat" showed up in the mail. And then another can and another, until I had a stack in my closet staring back at me each time I put away more baby items. How did they find me? It was like some big inside joke between the formula companies and all the nay sayers (as it turns out this happens to most pregnant woman, but that's a different post altogether). For whatever reason I just kept it all.

When my daughter arrived the breastfeeding challenges began. It was the happiest moment of my life, but I immediately felt that voice encircling me again saying, "You can't do this, you'll never be able to do this. You won't succeed". I can remember it being around 4 AM in my hospital room trying to help Harper latch. She struggled with my flat nipples. I felt like my body was failing me. The nurse came in, took one look at my breasts and said, "Oh you've got flat nipples. We'll try a shield, but you may have to go to formula." Then she offered me a breast shield, but it just wasn't working. My mom rolled over from her hospital chair-turned-bed and suggested I just try giving her a little formula. I know, you're thinking how unsupportive that is. Honestly, those were the best words she could have ever said to me. They fueled me. I was angry that this wasn't going the way I'd imagined. I looked down at my little girl and said, "Don't worry. Mama knows you're just learning, so am I. We can do this. We will do this."

From then on it was breastfeeding jaundice, weaning from the shield, cracked and bleeding nipples, thrush, chronic plugged ducts, and mastitis that taunted me at every turn (which I plan to discuss in more detail in future posts). Those days. Were. Hard. With each hurdle I'd pass that closet and glare at those cans. Again those cans represented so much more than just a dry powder. They were my nemesis during that time and I just had to keep on keepin' on.  I'd say, "I see you formula, I see you. And it's not going to work." Then I'd apply my nipple butter like I was Katniss in The Hunger Games doctoring my wounds with salve. I like to think I was in a bit of a survival of the fittest game myself, only I call it The Hungry Games and we won.

We've since donated the cans to a local charity as we are almost 9 months strong in to this whole breastfeeding thing and I feel a great deal of support and confidence now. So "F" you formula, we won, and you still live in a can.

How do you feel about having formula in the house during the early days? Is it necessary?