Fed is Best

I’m so tired of breastfeeding. 

It’s funny how the truth really does set you free.

During my pregnancy, one of my biggest fears was not being able to breastfeed. I’ve never been opposed to formula, but there was so much talk about how nursing creates this magical bond with your baby. And because I already had this nagging feeling that I wouldn’t instantly connect with my daughter after birth, I clung to the idea that breastfeeding might help bridge that gap. It just seemed like the answer.

As someone who tends to romanticize things, I can honestly say that breastfeeding has been impossible to romanticize.

First, let’s talk about clogged ducts and mastitis. Nothing I read, watched, or prepared for really prepared me for the reality of those. The mastitis didn’t last long, but it lasted long enough for me to know I never want to experience that again. And in the hospital? My daughter was too young to nurse directly, so I had to hand express into a cup. That was its own ordeal, and I ended up with a rock-hard boob for three days. There I was, frantically texting my mom and my best friend. We were all consulting Google like we were performing some medical triage, and my mom was out here telling me to express in the shower, while I’m thinking, “Girl, this is too painful!”

And before anyone (read as the mommy police) comes for me, I did what I could with what I had. No pump, no boiling water, no Epsom salt. Just survival mode.

Then there’s the lie that breastfeeding helps you lose pregnancy weight. I haven’t seen that result. In fact, breastfeeding makes me feel like I’m gaining weight. Hyperemesis stripped away all my body fat long before I even started showing. Now, breastfeeding feels like it’s turned my stomach into a bottomless pit. I’ve never been this hungry in my entire life. Even when I think I’m full, 30 minutes later, it’s like someone hit the reset button.

And the thirst? I’m always thirsty. Those gigantic water bottles really do come in handy when you feel like you’ve just trekked through the Kgalagadi after nursing for just 30 minutes.

Honestly, I don’t see myself doing this again. I have enough reasons to summon the ‘girl with the list.’ Acknowledging that doesn’t mean I love Hiccup (yes, that’s one of my baby’s nicknames) any less. What I’m saying is: you can struggle with fertility and still hate the feeling of being pregnant. It doesn’t make you ungrateful or undeserving. You can hate breastfeeding and still choose formula. It doesn’t make you less of a parent. I promise.

I was advised to breastfeed until Hiccup turned six months, but I just can’t anymore. The only reason I’m still going is because, aside from her dad, my daughter’s stubbornness rivals mine. She’s perfectly fine with formula—no adverse reactions—but she just doesn’t want it.

I started introducing formula early so she wouldn’t be blindsided by the taste when we transitioned, especially since her dietician recommended fortifying my breast milk with formula due to slow weight gain. At one point, we were really struggling, even though now you’d never guess because she’s a beautifully chunky girl. But my attempt to fully switch to formula? A failed mission. So, I’m learning patience, one feed at a time.

Here’s my advice: If you’re struggling, and you can afford formula (because let’s be honest, the baby industry is right up there with the wedding industry when it comes to making capitalism thrive), then go for it. There’s no reason tiny human products should cost as much as they do, but don’t let that hold you back. Get the formula. Your baby will be just fine.

Fed is best. Don’t forget that.