Doing what's breast

I think it's mighty difficult as a new mom to not be obsessed with breastfeeding. Although I hardly remember the first fevered days at home after Clementine was born, I can dimly recall using the breast pump every two hours, even in the middle of the night, letting it suck on my increasingly tender nipples for ten minutes and feeling lucky if I were able to produce an ounce from each side (oh yes, I have the double pump and let me tell you nothing says sexy like being hooked up to one of those babies). I planned my whole day around pumping to get my supply up, and because I then had problems getting Clementine to latch and warding off mastitis and other awful breast infections, I continued to plan my life around my pumping schedule for much longer than most moms have to.

I never questioned whether or not I would breastfeed before darling C. arrived, and while I was struggling through those first awful weeks, I never doubted it would eventually work itself out. After all, the world tells you that breastfeeding is natural and wonderful and the only right way to feed your baby (at least that's what the world I'm a part of tells you). How can it really be so hard? Of course after months of trying, I realized Clementine wasn't ever going to latch and that I had some real decisions to make. I spent most of my maternity leave obsessing over feeding her. If I wasn't trying to latch her, calming her down from the fit she would throw when I did try or feeding her a bottle, I was pumping, pumping, pumping to get her milk. Was this a sustainable system? Supportive friends kept telling me I could quit any time and know I had given it all I had (one even suggested burning what she called "The Womanly Art of Unattainable Perfection" as a way of freeing myself), but I couldn't help but think I was depriving my baby of something she deserved.

I bring all this up because I've been reading a lot of other mommy blogs lately and see how many people struggle with breastfeeding, despite the notion that it is easy, natural and instinctual. I have read dozens of stories about women crying to their lactation consultants (was that even a common job title a dozen years ago?), worrying themselves sick and feeling like a failure as a woman for having trouble, and I've waded through lots of rhetoric on all sides of the issue. Breastfeeding is a hot political topic to moms, and no one is opinionless on the subject. I don't think I could ever find the time to recap all the arguments pro or con (because of course it isn't that simple), but I was fascinated to pick up my first ever issue of Brain, Child this morning (while pumping, no less--it's the only time I have to read these days) and see a hot debate on the topic in their letters to the editor. Apparently, the magazine had taken a stand on an AAP recommendation that adoptive mothers try to induce lactation and breastfeed, and that stand brought thunderous applause and boos from the many moms out there who hold their opinions on breastfeeding near and dear to their hearts. All of the letters were articulate, heartfelt and thought-provoking, and even if I didn't agree with the whole of any one, each had a kernel of my experience or truth within them.

So what I ultimately think is this: breastfeeding is one of the most personal decisions a woman has to make when she becomes a mom, and many things must be a part of her decision--the health of her child, the flexibility of her life and career, her mental health, her ability to breastfeed, etc. While for some people it is the easiest decision in the world to make, for others it is near impossible for a variety of reasons. Whatever. Women become impassioned on the subject, I think, because if they don't believe in their philosophy wholeheartedly, it negates all the work and struggle they have put in to feeding their kid and even in deciding what to do. It's a shame we find it so hard to support decisions that are different than our own, but I think I understand why/how.

Me? I'm still pumping. From time to time I see a mom effortlessly lift her shirt and nurse her kid, and I feel a little twinge of jealously and regret. I still try to work on Clementine's latch, but she still resists, and I have honestly given up hope. It sucks. Every month I say I will quit, but I've kept at it so far. I don't know why exactly, but it's a mixture of a sense of responsibility and guilt and desire as far as I can tell. I'm just trying to figure it out, and I'm not going to give up pumping until I do.