Impressions on Breastfeeding

I noticed with great interest several posts on my Baby Center app last night heralding the end of National Breastfeeding Week. They said they were sick of being made to feel guilty for formula feeding their babies.  And I say, amen.  Yes, as one who’s exclusively breast fed this little one (well, except for that first week), I say, leave the formula feeders alone!

You know I’ve had a contentious relationship with the concept of breastfeeding from the beginning.  Obviously I’m not against it – how can you be? But I am against the politicizing of it. And I’m against the religious-like fervor people tend to have about it. Fact #1 – I was formula fed, and this was in the early 70s when formula wasn’t that great, and grew up to be a perfectly healthy, strong individual (as did nearly all of the nearly entire US population that was formula fed in the 20^th century). Fact #2 – if breastfeeding is so perfect and awesome for our babies, why do we breastfeeders have to supplement our babies with vitamins for the first six months?  Fact #3 – if breastfeeding is so perfect and awesome for our babies, why do breastfed babies tend to lose weight early on (but make it up later) whereas formula fed babies never have this problem?

I believe some of the hype about breastfeeding being “better”, but not all of it. I think once you start listing advantages, they start piling on – one minute you’re talking about better immunity (ok), but then the next it’s higher intelligence? Nobody’s ever proven that. Again, I was formula fed and I think I’m pretty smart.

Still, here I am, an exclusive breastfeeder, and I enjoy it. I’m glad, grateful, indeed, that I’m able to do it, that it works for us, and that my baby is nice and healthy and gaining the right amount of weight. But as I predicted, it is a bit of a pain in the ass. I will say though, now that I’m in it, I would amend that statement to read feeding your baby at all is a pain in the ass. I’ve often wondered how much more disruptive it would be to always have to get up in the middle of the night and mix up bottles of formula – far worse than just rolling over half asleep and sticking a boob in baby’s mouth. When you’re out and about, to have to have enough formula on hand, keep it the right temperature, etc. Always make sure you don’t run out (horrors). But then there’s the breastfeeding bit. One thing I didn’t anticipate was NEVER being able to wear any clothing that can’t be taken down from the top – or conveniently pulled up in a way that won’t leave you naked in public. Most people may not think about this issue, but for me, a dedicated dress-wearer, it’s a real problem. About 75% of my wardrobe is currently unwearable. I tend to wear the same stretchy tank tops and low-cut V neck T shirts over and over. I’m going to a wedding Saturday and can’t wear anything nice, or vintage, because I have to wear something I can breastfeed in…so here we go with the same stretchy jersey tops.

Then there’s the pumping. Oy. Pumping is a constant source of stress for me. I can see how it’s great for working moms who are away from their babies all day and need to a) keep their supply going, and b) express enough milk for the daycare times. But what the heck do you do when you’re home with your baby all day, but also have to pump? Every time I strap the thing on I find myself in an absolute panic, terrified that just after I pump myself dry the baby will be hungry, and it takes a couple of hours to get a supply going again. So far I’ve managed to avoid this by distraction tactics – pump, and then jump in the car for a couple of hours of errands. But I have a couple of things to pump for this week and I’m having a hard time – tried to pump this morning, but I had just fed the baby so I got literally nothing, and had to just stop. And I know from experience that the day is now shot – he’ll be eating a lot later, and my supply is crap after the morning has passed.

At my four month appointment last week the pediatrician said I can start introducing solids at six months, which I figured would be the plan. Six months is now only about six weeks away. I cannot WAIT for this development. I don’t know how Bumpus is going to take to food, or when – just because I can start at the end of September doesn’t mean he’ll necessarily take to it, and I will certainly continue to breastfeed for many months after (assuming I can, and he wants to). But just the idea of the pressure of me being the baby’s sole food-giver being alleviated somewhat makes me so happy – I don’t have to have that terrible, cave woman fear of “what if he’s hungry and I’m all dried up?” that I currently have all of the time (especially when I have to pump for something). The idea of, “here, eat this mashed banana while I pump” makes me very happy.

Lately he’s been feeding differently than before – he’ll often suckle a little bit and then pull off and stare at me, and then try again, and pull off and stare, etc. I often worry if this means I’m drying up…but this has been going on for weeks and he’s gaining weight, so he must be getting something. What does it mean? Is he just waiting for the let down?  (The Let Down is the name of my all moms emo band, btw). Is he connecting the fact that the boobs are part of my body? Is he distracted by things around him now? Who knows? But it is odd.  He’s also super fussy at the boob, squirmy and constantly pulling off like he forgot how to do it. I am dreading this on the trip to NY/DC in two weeks. A fussy, squirmy baby who’s constantly arching his back, squirming, and whining while you desperately try to feed him is no bueno on an airplane.

So as much as I’m kind of looking forward to someday stopping, I know a big part of me will miss it. One of my favorite things in life is to get home from a day out, strip down to my undies for comfort, and hang out with the baby on the bed, just feeding and watching him roll around and explore. I try to do this most days as a nice little cool down after a bunch of errands. Breastfeeding is definitely a good bonding experience – but I posit that it wouldn’t really matter if he were on the breast or if I were cradling him with a bottle; it’s the closeness that matters.