Every mom has their own unique breastfeeding journey. Mine is no exception. When I dreamt of becoming a mother someday, I pictured myself rocking and breastfeeding my baby. I grew up hearing “breast is best” and that breastfeeding was the healthiest and most effective way to nourish your little one. My friends breastfed their babies. Not once did I picture that my body might have a say in this. That it might prevent me from doing something I once thought was a defining factor of motherhood.
My Journey
36 weeks and six days into my pregnancy with my daughter, Leilah, I started experiencing painful cramps. That night, I was rushed to the hospital with complications from a placental abruption. Even though I was exhausted, I wanted to nourish my baby who was up in the NICU. After a night full of panic and a surgery after labor, I was given a pump. I couldn’t experience chest-to-chest connection after she was born, but maybe I could do this. I produced colostrum but my milk wasn’t here yet, so I was told to keep pumping.
Days flew by while I was recovering in the hospital, and I knew I wasn’t pumping as much as I should be. Besides the exhaustion, it was frustrating to only produce a few ounces. It seemed like a lot of work for hardly any pay off. Regardless, I was excited to go up to the NICU and bring Leilah whatever I could. She was being given formula, but I hoped that soon she would be nursing from me.
Hope Fades
That hope started to fade as I met with the hospital lactation specialist. A nurse had me go down a flange size, and then I was being told to go up two sizes. I tried nursing for the first time, and Leilah struggled to latch. She was becoming increasingly aggravated due to how hungry she was. This was the first time I heard her really cry, and it felt like it was all my fault. The pressure I felt to successfully breastfeed multiplied.
The day we got to take Leilah home from the NICU, the specialist told me that sometimes “it just doesn’t happen for everyone.” She explained that I lost a lot of blood from the labor, and sometimes our body can’t repair itself and produce milk at the same time.
Still Determined
After bringing my baby home, I wasn’t ready to give up on breastfeeding. My friends bought me nipple shields and a Boppy nursing pillow. I started meeting weekly with a lactation consultant. I pumped as often as I could and each time would pray for better results. While on this journey, we fed my daughter formula because I could still only produce a few ounces at a time. I glanced at all the vials and containers that should have been filled with my milk, but instead were empty. My few ounces of milk looked so insignificant compared to the looming, giant containers I was supposed to be filling up.
Throughout this entire course, my partner wholeheartedly supported me. He knew that I was determined and that ending my breastfeeding journey would have to be on my own terms. After frequent lactation consultant visits, the last thing I tried was lactation cookies. I hoped this would be the cure and that my supply would appear overnight. Deep down I knew that it was most likely too late for a supply to arrive, but I just didn’t want to give up all hope. Once the cookies produced no results, I decided it was the best thing for my mental health and family to acknowledge and accept I wasn’t going to be able to breastfeed. My supply was not going to come in. This was another part of motherhood that did not go as I planned. And that was ok.
Acceptance
Accepting that my breastfeeding journey was over was the best thing for my daughter and for myself. I had been losing my mind trying to pump and get Leilah to latch. Now I had more energy for myself and to be present with her. I felt relieved.
Since my experience, I’ve learned there is no right or wrong way to feed your baby. I also discovered that I wasn’t alone in my struggle. I hope my story can resonate with others who haven’t had a picture-perfect breastfeeding experience and give them strength. It’s crucial to give yourself grace in these situations, because motherhood is hard enough on its own. I’m proud of myself for trying everything I could and ultimately accepting that I was unable to breastfeed. The most important thing is always doing what’s best for your mental health and your family.
