Yesterday marked the two-month checkup for my little one, Leo. During the appointment, the doctor casually inquired about how often I nurse him each day. That seemingly innocuous question threw me into a whirlwind of uncertainty. Am I the type of mom who sticks to a feeding schedule, or do I allow Leo to nurse on demand?
I can easily rattle off the benefits of both approaches. Scheduled feedings offer:
- Improved digestive regularity
- Reduced likelihood of snacking
- Better milk supply management
- Easier scheduling for outings and appointments
Conversely, on-demand feeding means:
- Less crying
- An abundance of milk
- A more relaxed lifestyle (thanks to frequent nursing)
- Enhanced bonding time between mom and baby
I found myself at an impasse. I embody both types of mothers: the organized, ambitious one who needs Leo to fit into her routine, and the nurturing mom who wants to wear him close and respond to his every cry. This conflict seems to highlight a broader philosophy of motherhood.
Why can’t I be both? Why isn’t there a space for mothers who embrace both sides? The parenting community often feels divided, a concept echoed in a meme I stumbled upon this morning.
On any typical Tuesday morning, I’m juggling lunch for my other three kids while Leo cries in his bouncer. I scoop him up and nestle him in the Baby Bjorn against my chest. He soon settles into a peaceful observation mode, and I feel a surge of empowerment. I’m meeting his needs, and everything feels right.
Then reality hits. A pressing need to use the restroom arises, coupled with my older daughter needing help with a project. Suddenly, I feel trapped in the Bjorn, and the task of transferring Leo to the bed becomes a delicate endeavor. He stirs awake just ten minutes later, leaving me with a baby who has only napped for a fraction of the time I hoped for.
The following day, I decide to try a different approach. Remembering yesterday’s frustrations, I place Leo in his crib for a nap while I attend to lunch preparations. But as soon as he starts crying, my heart races. I find myself checking on him every few minutes, soothing him with gentle pats and pacifier replacements until he finally drifts off.
Once again, I feel empowered—until he wakes up just fifteen minutes later. His cries escalate, and I can’t bear to see him so upset. I scoop him up, whispering soothing sounds in his ear, and once more, he’s nestled against me in the Baby Bjorn.
After what feels like an eternity, I receive a call from the pharmacy notifying me that my prescription is ready. I glance at the car seat, wishing I had tried to put him to sleep there instead. Frustration mounts, and I reluctantly place him in the car seat, only for him to wake immediately.
Feeding time mirrors this chaos. There are days when I prefer to keep track of when he last nursed. I carefully monitor the clock to decipher whether his cries signal hunger or tiredness. A schedule offers me a sense of control and the freedom to leave him with my partner, Sam, for short periods, knowing he’s getting enough nourishment.
But everything changes when I accidentally bump Leo’s head on the car seat handle. The best way to calm him is to nurse him, even if it was just a short while ago. So, I sit in the car to feed him, and he gives me that sweet smile after nursing.
Moments later, while preparing dinner, Leo shows signs of hunger again. My hands are messy, and I struggle to decide if I should prioritize my meal or his needs. Every day presents this tug-of-war between the two parenting philosophies, and I find myself caught in the middle.
I cherish the moments when I feel his breath near me during sleep—until I want to spend some intimate time with Sam and can’t figure out how to move him to his crib. I love when he’s cozy in his crib—until I find myself getting up repeatedly to replace his pacifier.
I enjoy strolling with him in the stroller—until he cries, and I’m juggling pushing it with one hand while holding him with the other. I love using the Baby Bjorn, knowing he’ll fall asleep easily—until I need to help my daughter after her bike fall and wish I had the stroller instead.
Why can’t I blend both approaches? Why can’t I wear him some days and schedule his feeds the next?
When the doctor asked about my feeding routine, I hesitated for a moment before responding, “Sometimes it’s eight times a day, sometimes it’s on demand. It’s a mix, really.” She smiled and reassured me, “As long as he’s thriving, that’s what matters most. But how are you feeling about it all?”
That’s the crux of the matter. The so-called mommy wars only serve to create confusion and defensiveness among mothers. We should embrace the idea that it’s okay to be a mix of both worlds.
We can make decisions each day based on our unique circumstances, whether it’s baby-wearing, scheduled feedings, or finding a balance. If you’re interested in exploring more about home insemination, check out this insightful blog post on intracervical insemination. For reliable information, visit Healthline for guidance on pregnancy and home insemination.
Ultimately, I’m both types of moms, and that’s perfectly okay. I feel empowered, I feel successful, and I know I’m doing what Leo needs of me.
Summary
In navigating the complexities of motherhood, many parents find themselves torn between different feeding philosophies—scheduled versus on-demand. This blog reflects on the internal conflict that arises from trying to be both types of moms, embracing the chaos, and finding empowerment in blending different parenting styles.