I wrote this post back in September when I stopped breastfeeding Vivienne, and honestly, I still miss feeding her this way. I was the most “successful” breastfeeding the third time around, but I write success in quotations because no matter how you feed your baby, you’re successful. There’s no right or wrong way I’ve learned, and trust me, I’ve tried it ALL.
My breastfeeding journey has come to an end. I’m closing this chapter with a combination of sadness and a huge sense of pride. I looked in the mirror the other day and shook my head in awe at the chest staring back at me. These breasts that fed three babies are now flatter than those of a prepubescent tween when just 6 months ago I looked like a legitimate porn star.
I breastfed my three girls with varying levels of “success”. Caroline was 70% formula from day one. I fed her what little milk I made until she was six months old. Elyce was exclusively breastfed for two months and then 60% formula and 40% breast for the next two months. My supply completely dried up when I returned to work four months postpartum. Vivienne, to my complete surprise, was 100% breastfed until 5 1/2 months. For me, breastfeeding was painful, stressful, and exhausting, but it also brought me profound joy and became my absolute favorite part of having newborns. I am sad, not because I feel guilty, but because I wish I could have done it for much longer. Unfortunately, it is not always up to us. Our bodies do what they can and no amount of teas, pumping, or breastfeeding superfoods was going to change mine. I did what I could for as long as I could and I’m proud of the four of us.
I think back on those early days and the cries – mine not theirs – are so raw I still get tears in my eyes. The rock-hard engorgement that had me strapped to a hospital-grade pump while Dave tried to squeeze milk from a bowling ball. Tears streamed down my face, wondering how something so “natural” could feel like such torture. I think back on five-day-old Caroline being taken by ambulance to the ER, watching her guzzle down formula after a lumbar puncture while I sobbed, no milk in yet to feed my baby. I think back on my twice-weekly lactation appointments with Caroline before I learned to trust myself, knowing that whatever advice I was about to receive would surely contradict what I was told at the previous appointment. I think back to the appointment with Elyce when I was told I should introduce formula because she was only in the 7th percentile for weight. I think back on the mastitis, and near-weekly clogged ducts I would get with Vivienne. Just shivering in pain as she latched, willing myself to feed through it. I look back on not knowing any better with Caroline, learning with Elyce, and finally feeling confident in feeding with Vivienne…
Breastfeeding is hard and it is so individual. For me it became great with time. As the softness returned, chapped nipples healed, and the latch became second nature, we settled into our rhythm, and that time became ours. I miss those moments just us.
I’m sure so many of us would go back and do some things differently. With Caroline, I wish I would have stopped sooner. By the end, I was barely pumping two ounces a day while at work, but I held on with everything I had until six months – some arbitrary date I put in my head. The thing is, you don’t know what you don’t know – and you have to learn for yourself.
I didn’t feel the pressure or guilt I felt with Caroline, but I held on extra tight this time around knowing Vivienne is my last baby. It broke my heart to stop. I won’t miss the clogged milk ducts or mastitis. I won’t miss drinking teas I didn’t like or second-guessing every second glass of wine. I won’t miss the pumping – who would ever miss that hell? But I miss the ease of only needing myself and my baby to feed. Some women miss being pregnant, I miss breastfeeding. I leave this stage and move on to the next knowing I gave it my all. I am grateful for how both breast and bottle-feeding taught me to trust my instincts and showed me that every motherhood journey and every baby is different. I’m grateful for how feeding my girls has shaped me as a mother.