“There is no one right way to do any of this. Every baby and mom are unique.”
“Whatever keeps the baby fed and healthy.”
“You’re doing your best and making the best choices for your family based on the resources and information available to you.”
"Sometimes things don't go as you had planned or hoped, but different doesn't necessarily mean bad, it just means different."
All of these are words directly out of my mouth/clumsy fingers and into the ears/eyes of other mamas* and I definitely meant them with every ounce of sincerity. Being a parent is hard enough without adding tons of extra pressure to follow a specific set of "rules" outlined by some mysterious hivemind displayed on the socials. The important thing is to keep one's baby safe and healthy, to be adaptable to the unique needs of your own family dynamic, and to just fill that wee child's life with joy and love while meeting their needs as best you can.
All of these are good words. I mean them when I say them to others. They are truths that need to be heard.
But obviously I don't apply them to myself. I don't get that same grace. Not I, said the cat.
The pressure I put onto my own self is astronomical. I take all those words, crumple them up into a little word ball, and chuck it an awkwardly short distance away (hashtag no upper body strength). Which really isn't fair, but I find it to be true.
The biggest example being around feeding our hungry, hungry baby. For nine months in-belly and five months out, she has been literally kept alive by my body. Every single day since she has been born, she has physically latched onto me to get that sweet, sweet boob juice that has helped her grow and thrive. But that wasn't sustainable and I was ALL the waterworks when having to adapt.
This week, I'll be out of country for several days. It'll be the longest and farthest I've ever been away from our sweet girl, and I've spent the past month or so preparing in all ways, especially on the food front. In March, I began my psychotic calculations in earnest and realized that the milk deficit we were operating under (with daycare bottle consumption outpacing amount pumped while at work) would mean that our freezer supply of milk would not be enough. Not by a long shot. So, we hashed out a plan to start supplementing with formula.
And I wepppppt.
It was by no means a failure, and in fact, the intricate planning in advance has made it possible to supplement milk and not just fully switch to formula - but it somehow felt like I was letting her down. Like I couldn't help her. My boobs and body weren't enough.
“Whatever keeps the baby fed and healthy.”
Sure. Sure. But I failed. In my mind's eye, I failed.
Cue my sketching out notes for daily proportion of milk to formula, ramping up to be more formula heavy as days went on, tapering off the ratio when I knew there would be enough for my time away. Freezing, thawing, mixing up formulas, plotting out the logistics for my husband while I'm away. Making sure she gets as much of my glorious antibodies as possible during her boob-less days.
And it'll be fine. It's fine. She took to the formula like a champ (probably didn't even notice since I ramped it up so slowly). She's happy and growing. I've done nothing wrong, but every day I pour formula for her, I feel my heart just ache. Which is absolutely foolish, and really it should be a relief to not have her life so lynch-pinned to one food source. Breastfeeding is such a delicate ecosystem and we've been lucky to have to go well so far, but it could end any time. My supply could drop, her latch could just stop being good,** there could be any number of issues with clogged ducts or mastitis - basically, there are infinite ways my boobs could go out of commission, at any given time. Any feed could be our last. Which sounds dramatic, but is just so damn true. So, I should be grateful for alternatives.
I'm trying to be grateful. We've had a good run. We're still having a good run. I haven't failed. But at this point, my brain still won't believe any of that. It's a work in progress. Momming is always a work in progress. Why share all this? Just because. Because we all put too much pressure on ourselves, not just moms but everyone. And it's silly. Our inner monologues should match the same kindness we grant to others. We're all just doing our best. Go team.
 |
| Eat when the baby eats?? Is that the saying? |
* Okay, not like, mouth into eyes or fingers into ears but like.... written or spoken... or... shit. You get what I mean!
** I mean, she's VERY interested in the world around her right now so, her latch is basically a bob and weave OR she latches super concrete but then whips about like she's trying to bag a marlin. It is... uncomfortable at best.
