Susan Senator

A loved one recently had a baby and this made me remember the particular issue of newborn-feeding. Before Nat was born, I was so determined to breastfeed because of all that I had heard about it, that I went to La Leche League pregnant. I knew everything about it, all the benefits, the positions for holding the nursing infant, the convenience, the transmission of your immunities to the baby, the weaning, etc. I heard, for the first time, the anti-vaccine hysteria, the fears that moms had of putting “those germs” into “these pure, perfect babies.” Even back then I did not agree with that sentiment, and this was way before anyone was connecting shots with autism (other than Andrew Wakefield).

I did not agree with the anti-vaccination mentality, but I did agree that Breast was Best. That’s why it was such a calamity when, a week after Nat was born, I came to the conclusion that I was not going to breastfeed. After all I had learned, all that I had planned, it seemed that Tiny Nat was never full enough and was often crying. When he wasn’t crying, I was, because I was in horrible pain. I did not see how my mams were going to “toughen up” or get used to this; I did not see any progress in terms of Nat’s appetite. I did not know what I was doing wrong, and I didn’t feel like I could call any of those La Leche League Ladies I had lounged with for long learning lessons about lait, pre-partum. My sister, whom of course you all know I adore, had not had any children. Neither had any of my friends, most of whom were not even married yet! My mom had bottle-fed. There was no one to ask. Lactation specialists probably existed, but were not readily available. I had a book or two, and I had the nurses at Beth Israel where I had given birth, but every single one of them had given me different advice.

There was Nat splayed across my chest, screaming and screaming. A tiny little quivering pink wormy thing that I loved so much I could barely think, so I was always terrified of breaking him. Anyway, I remember the moment. “I can’t do this, I can’t do this,” I sobbed to Ned.

“Sue, it’s okay,” he said. “What does it matter?” Ned felt that it truly did not matter which way a baby ate; he just could not stand to see me so torn up, literally and metaphorically. He then even made me laugh, I remember that. And I think that was the deciding moment. We were in this together, and we decided together.

We gave Nat his first formula, the green and white label Similac dry mix, and Nat drank and drank. I grieved for a very long time, not being able to do what I had planned for so carefully. I was ashamed to tell all of my La Leche companions of the traitorous decision I had made. Later on in life I would still feel that shame, that somehow I had failed at something right away as a mother, and that I had not done what was best. If any woman can breastfeed, why couldn’t I? How did they rise above the pain and the screaming?

When Max was born, the exact same thing happened. I could not make it work. And he was a much bigger baby than Nat, and so greedy and needy in terms of food. Max drank four ounces of formula the very first time I offered it to him, and was the most content, fat little baby I had ever seen. (Oh. My. God. Stop remembering that…)

I actually did nurse Ben successfully because by then I had locked in place all the right supports and I figured out a way to get through some of the physical pain. But I never ever like it when people bully others into believing that you really really should breastfeed, and that it kind of means something if you don’t. Yes, of course there are health benefits, and it is lovely to connect in that primal way with your infant; but it ain’t everything. It’s one good thing out of so many. The sooner a mom learns not to beat herself up, the better.

Soon after their first few weeks with the bottle, Nat and Max slept the night. The night. What joy. So I could sleep, Ned could sleep, and then we could be our best to parent them the rest of the time. What could be more important than that?