Breastfeeding: A Mindfuck

When I was pregnant with my first child, a man at work asked me if I planned to breastfeed while I was standing in line at the soda machine.

Your first reaction to that sentence might be ‘What the actual fuck? Why does he care? Does he have some hot tips for you because of his considerable first hand experience?’ This is likely an appropriate reaction, but this post isn’t about inappropriate questions I’ve been asked while pregnant…

It’s about breastfeeding.

I ended up saying something along the lines of: “I plan on trying.” I suppose that’s a pretty good theme for each of my breastfeeding odysseys. (Because ‘journey’ doesn’t do justice to the hardship and ‘trek’ doesn’t account for the sheer volume of feedings. This breastfeeding shit? It’s a goddamn odyssey).

Though I had taken the local hospital’s ‘The Art of Breastfeeding’ course, when the time came to feed the plobby potato person that just got cut out of me, I found that one class does not an expert make, and that the image I had in my head of a woman (myself) calmly gazing down at her baby while it gently ate was a BULLSHIT FUCKING LIE.

As such, I’ve decided to dive into the shitty things, the painful truths of breastfeeding, but not the obvious physical shit, we’ll address that another time. I want to talk about the covert mental anguish, because outside of the standard physical terrors, there is also a complete shitshow of emotions and hormones that will make you breathe fire, cry tears, and worry almost constantly. I find that the mental and emotional pain is far more debilitating, consistent, and far, far less talked about.

So let’s talk about it.

“Not the obvious physical shit,
the covert mental anguish.”

In my personal experience, the first 2-4 weeks are collectively the worst part of breastfeeding, but there are difficult, strong emotions throughout. Let’s start at the top.

Nurses and lactation specialists magically expect you to know what a ‘good latch’ is, what is feels like, and how to achieve it after being told once while in a completely debilitated post-birth state. Oh? I get it. I think? Just jam my baby’s pea sized mouth hole into my flappy nipple LIKE A HAMBURGER? NO, LIKE A HAMBURGER. WAIT FOR THE MOUTH TO OPEN? HAMBURGER! Oh, never mind just grab my boob and do it for me without asking. HAMBURGER.

The first time I felt like a failure as a mother was while a lactation consultant manhandled my hamburger boob into my daughter’s mouth, because I couldn’t seem to do it myself. GREAT INSTINCTS! Top notch motherly intuition!

The secret here is that breastfeeding is hard. It’s really fucking hard. I wasn’t naturally good at it, my baby wasn’t good at it, and more than likely you and your baby won’t be either if you even want to/get to do it at all. It’s something you have to learn, something you have to teach, and something that will make you feel so many things that you’re basically just always crying.

Crying is a huge part of breastfeeding (and motherhood in general (and also life, yay!)). When your body is leaking from every orifice simultaneously… your eyes are no exception. There are so many tiny, gigantic, ridiculous, justifiable feelings that will make your eyes rain.

• I cried because I felt ISOLATED. A new baby is a shitty eater and a new mom is a shitty feeder. The last thing I wanted was to appear shitty at feeding my child in front of anyone, also, people are very scared of accidentally seeing your nipples - so my nipples and I hid away.
  
  If people came over, I would sneak off to the nursery to feed my kid. If I finally got the courage to go somewhere with my baby, I’d find somewhere private to pop out those nips.
  
  Even when I got the hang of it, and even with my second kid - there is something about living your life in 3 hour increments and hiding away to feed that just emphasized the loneliness of motherhood.

• I cried because I felt STUCK. Stuck feeding and feeding and feeding and never getting to simply get up to get water, to be myself, or do anything productive (you know, because feeding a human infant, not important or critical - definitely not deserving of any credit whatsoever).
  
  On top of constant feedings, for the first couple of weeks I refused to introduce a bottle because I dreaded nipple confusion. The only confusion I should have had was ‘why are my nipples bleeding and would it really be the worst thing if someone else could help me feed this kid?’
  

• I cried because I felt INADEQUATE. My baby won’t latch. Hamburger!? Why am I so fucking bad at this? Why do I need to use a nipple shield - do other moms need this? My kid would probably eat better with a mom who knows what she is doing (you know, like all those really great, worry-free Instagram moms (cough, fake, cough)).
  

• I cried because I felt DREAD. There was no worse feeling in early motherhood than the setting sun. I’d watch the light change in my house prison and my anxiety would peak - how many times will this kid eat tonight? How long can this last? How can I keep doing this alone? (Not alone - full husband credit where credit is due, but in regards to breastfeeding - there’s just really not a whole lot for him to do).
  

• I cried because I felt OUT OF CONTROL. I don’t know how much milk my baby is getting. Is it enough? I can’t measure, I have no data, if this baby isn’t eating enough, it’s something I’m doing and it’s definitely my fault. Am I pumping enough? How do I portion these bottles if I don’t know how much this blop is eating normally?
  

• I cried because I felt UNPREPARED. I don’t know if I have enough pumped milk stored in my fridge. I don’t even know how much pumped milk I’m supposed to have? Is there a rule? Will my baby have enough to eat if I’m gone? What if something happens to me?
  

• I cried because I felt TRAPPED. My baby won’t take a bottle. If she won’t take a bottle then nobody else can feed her. I will be here, feeding this child for the rest of my goddamn life.
  
  Let us not forget cluster feeding. Cluster feeding is the most trapped I have ever felt while breastfeeding, it was the worst part with my daughter and the thing I dreaded the most with my son.
  

• I cried because I felt CONTRADICTED. I am the type to over-research. Maybe not so much anymore, but in early motherhood for certain. The internet is not the place to be when you’re looking for definitive answers. (Also, the questions I Googled? Yea, no definitive answers because all babies are people and all people are different).
  
  I read about how important it is to breastfeed because my body will make what my baby needs at that time.
  
  I read about how important it is to have a stash of breast milk in the freezer.
  
  I’m sorry, how the fuck am I supposed to have a stash and rotate it while giving baby what they need NOW? Tell me. I still don’t know. I straight up didn’t create a freeze stash with either of my kids because it made no fucking sense to me, then I stressed out about it constantly.
  

• I cried because I felt OVERWHELMED. I didn’t know how to breastfeed and just when I got the hang of that I got to go back to work and figure out how to pump. I don’t know how to pump. I’m sorry, but pumping is the weirdest shit ever and I just had a human cut out of me and someone eating from my body for 3 months. THE FUCK?!
  
  Pumping will get it’s own post, because fuck pumping.
  

• I cried because I felt GUILTY. I don’t want to pump. I cannot possibly reiterate enough how absolutely awful pumping is. It’s shitty and I hate doing it, but the children simply must eat. Now, feel bad about not wanting to do the thing, bad mom.
  

• I cried because I felt CULPABLE. I didn’t pump as much as I expected. Obviously, something I did or didn’t do, ate or didn’t eat, drank or didn’t drink caused this most grievous lactation subtraction. How will my baby eat?
  

• I cried because I felt PROUD. They can’t all be bad things. I’ve felt really fuckin’ proud of myself for feeding two kids. I made it through the early weeks where my nipples felt like glass was being sucked out of them. I made it through finding a piece of my own nipple scab on my baby’s face. I made it through mastitis. I made it through multiple clogged ducts and an infected montgomery gland. I made it through my boobs growing 4 fucking cup sizes.
  
  I pumped for a collective 15 months despite hating every minute of it and I’m really, really proud of myself for that.
  

• I cried because I felt LIKE A GODDAMN DAIRY COW. Self explanatory, you’s a cow bitch.
  

• I cried because I felt DEFEATED. I needed to supplement with formula. I wasn’t producing enough, my baby never seemed satisfied. I didn’t want to venture into the world of formula because I never had to before, but I cannot continue being screamed at every single feeding.
  

• I cried because I felt REPLACED. I bought formula. How do I split this? How much is he supposed to eat? Is this best for him? Is this best for me? Why am I so fucking upset by this? Fed is best, I’ve always thought fed is best, why am I so distraught?
  

• I cried because I felt LOSS. My baby seems absolutely, perfectly content from a full bottle of formula. A level of intimacy I had with my son faded as I held him close, belly full of substitute. I felt that loss and I felt a freedom. Neither felt good, but both felt warm. It was growth, but it hurt. Growing pains often do.
  

• I cried because I felt SHAME. I don’t want to breast feed my baby anymore. This feeling comes up from beginning to end. It came up every day for weeks with my first kid, it came up many times before having my second, and it came up as recently as today. Today being the first day I replaced one of his feedings entirely with formula in order to begin weaning at 9 months.
  
  I want to do what I think is best for my baby, always. I want to do what I think is best for my family, for myself. There is GUILT and WORRY and WONDER and DOUBT no matter what option I choose, because I am a good mother. No matter what I feel or how others see me…
  
  There is no wrong option if my baby is eating (but also, convince yourself of this every day regardless of your mood).

And there you have it. The mindfuck. I truly did not understand the effort and time associated with breastfeeding before doing it. I was not prepared or warned by any doctor, nurse, friend, aunt, grandmother or by my own mother. There are so many big emotions caught up in feeding a small human. It’s something I’ve lost myself in, it’s something I’ve been proud of myself for, and it’s something I have a hard time believing had to have been done for our species to survive - because it fucking sucks.