I unapologetically and enthusiastically formula feed tiny human and that seems to either piss off or delight people, so what better way to kick off my first real blog entry?
I have read some crazy opinions on formula feeding, in one popular forum a user referenced it in the same sentence as cigarettes. Stating that “there must be something severely wrong with it if they are not allowed to advertise it, like fags.” I’m no fool and neither are other formula feeders, we all know that breastfeeding has to be promoted as it does have better health implications for both mother and baby (although that research doesn’t take into account mental health). Time and time again I hear words like ‘failure’ and the phrase “that’s a shame” when speaking about formula but never about breastfeeding. That leads into the fact it’s pretty much impossible to write about formula feeding, without writing about breast feeding. However it is possible to not tear to shreds the choice you didn’t make, something most of the internet, random strangers and occasionally ‘friends’ are yet to discover.
I’ll split the main body of the blog into two: ‘in the beginning’ and ‘now.’ Honestly, if you want the ranting and shock factor, just head to ‘now.’ If you prefer to have background context, read the whole thing.
In the beginning
Let’s get the obvious “questions” out of the way: yes I breastfed, along with formula, for just shy of two months. No, I had no problems doing so in public, in fact sometimes I relished in the freedom and novelty of simply being able to get out a tit or two. I did it anywhere and everywhere, basically I treated it like an extreme urban sport, parkour but with boobs if you will. Yes the bond it created between my tiny human (TH) and I was beautiful and no I didn’t have any pain (just this one weird experience with a rush of blood, late at night, during which I was convinced TH was one of the undead.) I also had no problems stopping, just one strange incident with a singular engorged breast.
So why the formula? Oh milk of Satan, artifical powder of doom that shall hence forth ensure TH’s IQ will be on par with that of a well developed chimp. As his name otherwise suggests TH wasn’t actually that tiny, having being untimely ripped from my womb this 9lb 6oz beast wanted feeding immediately. I happily let several women push and pull at my nipples until those drops of magical colostrum landed on his eager tongue, marvelling at the magic of how such a tiny amount would satisfy his appetite. Bullshit. After five hours of screaming and furious rooting in the small hours of the morning I knew TH was hungry and there was nothing in those nips for him. Drugged up, barely able to move and alone I asked for formula, which I was begrudgingly given along with a lecture on my supply.
The guilt started there, the sense that approximately nine hours into motherhood, I’d failed TH already. It was overwhelming and if I’m totally honest, still difficult to write about now as I’m so ashamed I allowed it to bother me. This guilt was compounded a few days later at home, I thought I’d cracked it (I’m sure there’s a bad nipple joke in there somewhere) but I hadn’t, over two days TH lost more and more weight. I sat in the armchair, sobbing, unable to breath during the midwife’s second visit repeating that “I’d failed.” The next day I would be sent to hospital if he didn’t put on any weight. I spent the rest of the day furiously making TH latch on while crying. Then came the two hour 9pm scream (TH, not me,) that resulted in myself and my husband cracking open our first bottle of cow and gate. TH immediately stopped and drunk.
And that’s when I stopped. Stopped feeling guilty. Stopped caring what the midwife would think. Stopped caring what my peers would say. I just stopped, looked at my now content TH and remembered I had a backbone and my own mind. I hadn’t failed anyone or anything, it was a choice that was mine to make. I chose combination feeding.
Now
Fast forward to now and I’ve become increasingly passionate on the subject of formula feeding and that women shouldn’t apologise for doing it, whatever their reason. Obviously all of this, apart from the first, is my own experience and views. I am in no way claiming to have or know every reason women choose to formula feed. To prevent rambling, I’ll subsection this.
Medical
We’ll start with medical. It’s easy, they can’t, don’t be fucking nosey, get over it. Don’t patronise them with tales of the joys of breast feeding, it only serves to possibly make them feel like shit and you look like a twat.
I didn’t love breastfeeding
As outlined previously, once I got over the initial, soul destroying issues of feeding I combination fed for two months. Breast feeding support is easily accessible in my local area and I took full advantage of it. I LOVED the breastfeeding group (and still miss it now) but that was about it. I largely found it perfunctory and boring. There were so many other ways to bond with TH, I didn’t get why this one was so special.
I didn’t want to express
TH is a milk machine, he eats and eats and eats. The most popular thing people say about him is “surely he can’t be hungry again?” when he most certainly is. To have enough milk to be away from him for the day, I would have had to spend the whole previous evening expressing. I ain’t got time for that shit. I wanted to play with him, cuddle him, watch him and rock him to sleep. Not sit alone in my room squeezing a tit into a plastic pump for hours.
I wanted to be by myself sometimes
Maybe the not loving breastfeeding is linked to this but I really did not relish the role of sole provider, I wanted my husband to do it too. I wanted him to go out for more hours than was viable if I was breastfeeding and leave me alone. I love time alone and cherish it even more now.
I wanted to go out, away and yes: drink
I am still me, I am me but with TH who I love fiercely and beyond compare. But I am also still the me who loves to put on a face full of make up, blow dry my hair and go out for lots of lovely pinot. My desire to indulge in the spoils of adulthood didn’t disappear when I pissed on that stick, nor when TH made his appearance. In fact I spent most of the first few weeks feeling furious that I couldn’t have a glass of wine due to all the drugs I was on. Now he’s a little older I eagerly look forward to the nights my parents take him and we just get to be a couple again.
I hated the clothes
I was totally done with easy access tops and dresses the very second I pulled one over my head. They were all hideous, or hideously expensive. Frankly speaking I live in a uniform of bland h&m basics now, so I’ve not really upgraded that much.
I didn’t believe the hype
Once those first few days of crippling guilt left me, I remembered I’d already thought about this. The large majority of my adult friends were not only formula fed as babies but also appeared to be fairly normal individuals, hell some are even clever and hold down respectable jobs that require a university degree. They are also, for the most part, healthy and to the best of my knowledge don’t have a shit load of allergies. There is a whole world of misleading language around health and formula feeding, that is used to make women feel guilt. For example “breastfeeding reduces your risk of cancer” is often misinterpreted as “formula feeding raises it.” This is simply not true, your risk is the same as before, same as all the women who don’t have children at all.
But I did believe the sleeping myth
And I definitely can’t write about TH’s sleep because then everyone will hate me.
I feel at this junction I’ll draw conclusion. Reflecting on what I have written I can see perfectly well I was unwilling to give breastfeeding my all, formula feeding gave me freedom to still be myself when it suits TH’s needs. I’m not saying I want to go back, that I miss adult only holidays, spending all my money on me, going out the house without having to give myself three hours to prep for it etc (we all know this narrative so I won’t bore on.) I would not swap my life with TH for all the pinot in the world (mmmmmm although he has started teething) he is literally the best bloody thing ever. However I refuse to apologise for those selfish moments I still need for myself. Some people are happy to be a ‘mother’ and very little else, good for them but good for me too. There is no shame in any of the reasons to formula feed, a happy mum means a happy baby, myself and TH are certainly both those things.
What I will apologise for is this first entry. I’m worried it rambles, that it will disappoint and fall flat. I would appreciate feedback on style and form. Sorry, not sorry.
Ps: neither can I fathom why my last two paragraphs are bold and underlined, I’ve spent 10 minutes trying to undo it. Sorry.
Gobshite and Tiny 