Dear Formula, You Suck

We are a breastfeeding family.  I suppose you could call us lactivists.  Shawn has always been supportive, Noah knows more about it than more 14 year old boys should, and Avery has been a quick study.  I have unashamedly fed Noah and Avery everywhere I can think of, proudly, yet discreetly, baring my body for their nourishment.  I've smiled back at those who smile at us, I've glared back at those who stare disapprovingly, and even offered to share with those more brazenly rude.  I love being able to nurse.  It's one of my favorite things about having an infant.  I love the bonding and closeness it provides, and I love being able to nourish my children.  I love the snuggles, the coos, and the blissfully milk drunk baby.  There is a tenderness to nursing.  With Noah, it often felt like the only thing I was doing right.  With Avery, it was the only chance I had to hold him when he was in the N/PICU during his first week.  I had difficulties with both boys, most of them not properly explained to me until I had Avery, but I was willing to jump through hoops in order to continue to nurse them through their entire first years.  I cried when they weaned.  

My desire and hope was to be able to do the same for Ezra. While I did not have my heart set on any particular method of labor and delivery, I do have my heart set on being able to nurse Ezra as long as possible.  Shawn and I joked that when I was still nursing our last baby at 48 months, he was not to question me....  When Ezra latched on without difficulty two hours after birth, actively seeking out his food source, and knowing what to do, things looked promising.  We had a few issues to work out, but things started off very well.

Enter reality:  A c section and recovery.  Narcotic pain meds from surgery.  My malfunctioning thyroid.  Using me as a pacifier, and a subsequent lazy latch.

One morning I was producing between 7-10 ounces, and by that afternoon, I was down to less than an ounce, and my baby was screaming for more.

With our frozen milk supply running out, we had to make the decision to supplement.  My OB is working with us to help me get things started again, but in the meantime, our little boy needs to eat.

Standing in the store in the middle of a meltdown trying to choose the best formula for Ezra, I realized these manufacturers really prey on breastfeeding/supplementing moms.  Some of the packages claimed to be specifically for supplementing moms, but when I read the ingredients and nutrients, they weren't any different than the formulas with less specific labeling.  You've got enzymes and probiotics and vitamin this, and nutrient that.  Shawn and I finally made our choice, and we began adding it to frozen breast milk Friday night.

I cried as I fed Ezra, as he continued to turn towards my breast, rooting and wanting to nurse.  I hate formula with a passion.  I always have.  I've always rejected formula and bottles as impersonal.  When I already had what I needed to feed my children, formula and bottles seemed like a huge inconvenience.  Why bother with all of that? It kills me that Ezra has to wait for me to prepare his milk, warm it up, test it, and eventually--finally--get it to him while he cries, looking at me to just do something.  I hate it for him.  Noah and Avery never had to wait, I was always just right there. I know it's no big deal to some, but to me, it signifies a huge failure.  I cannot feed my baby.

I'm angry, I'm frustrated, I want to give up but I can't quite give myself permission to do that yet.  I feel judged, and I hate having to feed him with a bottle in public.  I want to wear a sign that says "I tried dammit, but my body betrayed me."  I know the reality is that the only voices I'm hearing are my own.  No one is actually looking at me and thinking, "Wow.  She doesn't love her baby enough to give her baby breastmilk."  Nope, that's all me. 

It's up to me to turn this around.  What I can do: the reality is, I can still feed my baby.  It may not be the way I want to, but it's how he needs it right now.  While I cannot rub his temple the way he likes when he nurses because I'm holding a bottle, I can still snuggle him, talk to him, sing to him and rock him.  I may not be able to nurse him while strolling through the park or wherever we happen to be, but I can promise him that mealtime will always be snuggle time, no matter where we are, and I will never prop a bottle up for my own convenience.

My prayer and hope is that we can get my supply going well enough again that this is the only container of formula we have to buy.  The rest of that prayer is that we can get Ezra off the bottle and back on the breast.  For now, I'm trying to take it one step at a time.  It's not my picture of ideal, but it's what has to work.