'Happy' World Breastfeeding Week?

The day we brought Morgan home from the hospital, I was exhausted – physically, emotionally, mentally. In hindsight, we probably shouldn’t have invited all of our immediate family over for a takeaway and newborn cuddles a mere 24 hours after shooting a tiny human out of my foofoo. But at the time, all I could think was that I wanted to show our little miracle off to our loved ones! I felt a need to share him with the world, and to respond to well-wishes and social media responses in a timely and politely British manner. I’ve mentioned before that I’m the sort of person that needs a clean Inbox at work, and I need a clear workstation to cook. This habit carried on well into Morgan’s first few weeks with us, and I look back and think it was one of the worst things I could’ve done for my mental well-being. I urge any new mothers going forward: delete the apps, put your phone down, shut the door, and just bask in those snuggles as long as you can without distraction of the outside world!

I couldn’t tell you much of what happened in those first few days of being a mum. At our Day 3 check-up with the midwife, we got the news that Morgan’s weight had dropped significantly since birth. He’d gone from 7lb 0.5oz, to 6lb 4oz (nearly an 11% decrease), and he was placed immediately on an intense feeding schedule. I’d decided to breastfeed from the moment I knew he could latch on and I was comfortable doing it, even though my thinking has always been “fed is best, I’ll know when the time comes what path to choose”. Instantly, it was like a switch had been flipped in my head – and I just HAD to breastfeed from here on out. I was adamant that I didn’t want to top-up with formula, even though I was running myself into the ground with 3-hourly feedings, expressing straight away afterwards, and giving what was expressed to Morgan in between feeds. It was fucking GRUELLING, to say the least. I was knackered, constantly crying, and yet Morgan’s weight kept going lower and lower with every check-up we had.

Every midwife we saw suggested I top up his feeds with formula, but I would just nod through my sniffles, go home and put the pump back in the steriliser – ready for yet another expression session. I could barely express more than 4oz over a half hour period, and before I knew it, the pump would have to be sterilised again, and Morgan would be crying for the boob. As I type this, I can’t believe what a situation I put myself – and Morgan – in. It would have just been so much easier to do as the midwives (and every other woman around me) was saying to "just" use the formula. And yet, I refused.

There’s something about infertility that you will never shake, and that is the feeling of your body failing you. Our bodies failed in conceiving a baby naturally. My body failed at growing our first babies to full term. I was NOT about to fail at breastfeeding, either. Looking back, I realised that my determination (or stubbornness, should I say?) was what powered me through those awful midwife sessions, and the blur of the first few weeks of motherhood.

This week is World Breastfeeding Week, and I am seeing more and more stories of women whose breastfeeding journeys are a far cry from the Mother Earth ‘Breast is Best’ type Karens of the world. Yes, the physical benefits you can pass over to your baby through breastmilk are extraordinary. Passing over immunities and vital nutrients to a newborn in the midst of a global pandemic being Numero Uno right now – of course we wish our babies to be fed the most exquisite liquid gold money can’t buy, if it means we can keep them as safe as possible! But what society fails to deliver is the downside of breastfeeding that I’m literally reading about all over social media right now: Mastitis. Tongue tie. Cow’s Milk Protein Allergy. Undersupply. Oversupply. Leaky boobs. Blocked ducts. The GUILT at not being able/not wanting to breastfeed, for god’s sake!!

Morgan gesturing my feelings towards breastfeeding (lol)

One key piece of advice I did take from my NCT group was to make sure your baby was THRIVING, not just surviving. Morgan was a content newborn, sleeping literally ALL the time – to the point that I had to set my alarm Every. Three. Hours for the first month or so, just to make sure he would actually wake for a feed! But was I thriving? Absolutely not. I ran myself ragged sticking to that feeding schedule, and would he put on weight? Nope. I dreaded midwife appointments, because I knew they’d ask me all the same questions to see if I was sticking to the rigorous feeding schedule. I fully believed in the “Breast is Best” mantra so much I kept refusing the formula top-ups at home, because the minute I gave him something artificial, it meant I’d failed yet again.

Morgan is now 6 months old, and about four weeks ago I started introducing formula to him. Something inside me finally snapped, and I realised the emotional and physical toll breastfeeding was having on me, and it was not a good one. I’ve been asked if I enjoyed breastfeeding, and the answer is a firm no. I was staring at the formula in the baby aisle at Sainsbury’s, and literally just went to myself “fuck it” and picked up a tin of SMA. I still breastfeed Morgan through the night (out of laziness at having to prepare a bottle whilst I sleepwalk), but now we’re weaning him onto solids he has food and formula throughout the day. Where he’s starting to get fuller, I’ve noticed he’s dropping his night feeds – and lo and behold, this mama is getting more than four hours sleep in a row at night! I literally haven’t had a full night’s sleep since before I was pregnant, so this is something I am fully embracing.

Just so you know, when Morgan was 16 days old, we were finally discharged from the midwives’ care as he eventually crept back up to his birth weight. This was after EIGHT midwife appointments post-birth, so you can imagine our relief at finally being free from their clutches! He has continually weighed (on the bathroom scales, because you know, Coronavirus has cancelled any Health Visitor appointments anyone was scheduled to have) near-bang-on his percentile line, and those days and nights of constant sleep rapidly deteriorated into full-blown teething meltdowns at around 8 weeks old. Calpol and Teetha are our best friend, and my breast pump has been steadily gathering dust since lockdown. I never managed to produce enough milk to warrant freezing it for “daddy to help with the feeds”(lol), and I’m wearing pretty lace bras WITH UNDERWIRE again.

So, here’s to you, Mama. Whether you breastfed or not, whether you enjoyed it or not, whether it was easy or not – so long as you and your baby are happy, please keep doing what you’re doing! I managed 5 months and 1 week of breastfeeding, and in hindsight knowing how much happier I am now, I think I should have stopped a lot sooner. If we were lucky enough to have another baby, I’m not sure I’d put myself through the emotional toll of exclusively* breastfeeding again. Besides the pumping issue, I escaped the physical crap of breastfeeding relatively unscathed. Unfortunately, my issues were more with my own personal demons and trying to prove a point to absolutely no-one but myself.

Thank you, World Breastfeeding Week, for highlighting that everyone’s feeding journey is different and that it’s not as easy as the adverts in the antenatal waiting rooms make out to be. Big shout out to everyone’s honesty this week, it’s been bloody refreshing to see the raw-ness of each of your stories that hide behind the lens of the “perfect” Insta life!

KEB x

*I've read that "exclusively breastfeeding" means literally not even bottle feeding breastmilk to baby. What the fuck? Like, it's not enough that baby is getting 100% breastmilk, it has to be fed via ONLY the boob, too?! Give a mama a break, for crying out loud! If you've managed to feed your baby solely breastmilk since day 1, I fucking salute you - however way baby gulped it down! It's literally the hardest thing you'll ever learn as a mama. FACT.

I mean... Thanks for the free boob job, buddy. Legit one of the best things about breastfeeding. Do it for that alone, I won't blame you.