The Breastfeeding Controversy

This morning some elderly Jehovah’s Witness ladies knocked on my door and since I was bored, I decided to open it instead of pretending that I wasn't home. (Come on - you know you all do it, too!) At the time, I happened to be drinking a rather large cup of coffee - a huge Jehovah’s Witness no-no (and what should have been a big hint that they had NO chance of ever converting me. I'm VERY attached to my caffeine these days.) They began going through their shtick, but then Rory started crying (thank you, Rory!), so I looked appropriately contrite and said "Aw shucks, I'd better get going - my son needs his bottle." And the two little old ladies gasped and said "BOTTLE? My goodness! Aren't you breastfeeding like a good mother should?"

OUCH.

As much as that comment hurt, I’m sad to say that it isn’t something that I haven’t thought of myself, many times. When I pictured myself having children, breastfeeding had always been a part of that picture. I’ve always been somewhat of a hippie, granola crunching girl, so of course I wanted to go the “natural” way in feeding my baby. Besides, women are MADE to feed their children, so how hard can it be, right?

Wrong. Breastfeeding was one of the toughest things I’ve ever tried to do. Rory couldn’t latch on correctly right from the start and before long, my poor nipples were getting cracked and blistered. Ever time Rory sucked, I felt like I was being stapled by his gums. They sent three lactation consultants to see me at the hospital, but none of them could figure out what the problem was. They just said that eventually it would get better. I even hired a private consultant to come to the house several days a week once I got sent home, but she couldn’t seem to help me either. I tried a finger feeder, breast shields, and pretty much every other trick in the book – plus I was having to pump every two hours night and day to keep my milk production up. I was exhausted and depressed.

Finally after three weeks, I realized that I was starting to resent my new baby for hurting me every time I had to feed him and I knew I had to make a change. The first time I gave Rory a bottle, I was a guilt-stricken wreck. But the moment he started to eat, and he looked up at me with his big adoring eyes, I realized how peaceful it was. And finally I was able to really bond with him and fully enjoy the experience of feeding him. Did I feel guilty for not breastfeeding him? Of course – and I still do sometimes (especially when people make comments!). But I know that I made the right choice for us and we’re a lot better off because of it. And there’s no question that my little man is positively thriving on his formula – one look at his chubby baby face proves that he is more than healthy.

So, to the rude ladies from this morning - yes, my baby is bottle fed and I’m proud it.