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When Breastfeeding Doesn’t Go as Planned
I recently decided to part ways with the rocking chair that held a mix of joyful and bittersweet memories—a piece of furniture that had been in our nursery for nearly a decade. Little did I know that moving it to make room for a tent would stir up such a flood of emotions.
It all started on the third day after bringing my daughter home from the hospital. I had volunteered for a home-visit program for new moms, thinking I wouldn’t need any help, especially when it came to breastfeeding. After all, I was an older mom, armed with knowledge and determination to nurse my newborn.
But my daughter was struggling. Instead of gaining weight, she was losing it rapidly. We decided to try a Supplementary Nursing System (SNS) to feed her formula while she nursed. I remember using a syringe to avoid nipple confusion and even took away her pacifier to encourage her to seek me out more. I pumped until my breasts were sore, trying to produce just an ounce for her—just enough to provide the nutrition I thought she needed.
Looking back, I realize I sacrificed her wellbeing for my pride. I was adamant about not supplementing with formula, even as she was clearly hungry. I still remember the first night we gave her formula from a bottle; I cried while she finally slept peacefully.
When my son arrived, I tried to preemptively pump and even traveled for a procedure to correct his tongue tie. I rented a scale to measure his weight before and after nursing. I was determined to make breastfeeding work this time. The pressure I felt was immense; I thought I just needed to work harder—take more supplements, pump more, nurse more.
I vividly remember the last time I nursed my son. We were in that same childhood rocking chair, bathed in the soft moonlight. I wanted so desperately for that magical bonding moment to happen, yet each time I ended up in tears. After ten months, I cried for the last time, but this time, it was different. I felt relief.
Now that my son is six, I’ve finally started to unpack those feelings of disappointment, guilt, and anger about my breastfeeding journey. For years, I pushed those memories away, but with the rise of pro-breastfeeding campaigns, I found myself reflecting on the efforts I made to nourish my children.
Two years ago, during a routine mammogram, I learned I had hypoplastic breasts. The diagnosis was a revelation, the words I wished I had seen years ago. It turns out, some women with this condition can produce milk, while others might not be able to produce any at all. If I could do it again, I might choose differently, but I’ve learned that it’s essential to trust your instincts and listen to what your body is telling you.
For more insights on fertility and home insemination, you might find this post on intracervical insemination helpful. Additionally, if you’re navigating the journey of pregnancy, the March of Dimes offers fantastic resources. And if you’re interested in learning more about home insemination kits, check out Make a Mom for authoritative information.
Summary
This reflective piece discusses the emotional complexities of breastfeeding when it doesn’t go as planned. The author shares personal experiences, feelings of guilt, and the realization that trusting one’s instincts is vital. With a diagnosis of hypoplastic breasts, she reflects on her journey and emphasizes the importance of self-acceptance and understanding in motherhood.