If you told me when I started this blog - back when I was rolling around in mosh pits and worshipping the electric guitar - that I'd write a post about breastfeeding, I'd probably scoff and bury my face in my hands. If you told me that when I was writing this post I would have a double breast pump strapped to my chest, I'd probably fall over. I never thought I'd have much to say on the matter - but hear me out.
I'm really not mumsy. I won't buy in to brightly coloured/nauseating plastic toys and marketed products for babies. I've been selective about our baby groups - no dishwater tea in a freezing village hall for us. I still like to go shopping and buy clothes suitable for a 25 year old, not something that should be hanging in my nan's living room. I try hard to be a 'minimal mum' and raise my babies like monkeys - I'm not quite sure what that entails exactly - but I like to be fuss free and relaxed. I want to introduce them to the world and enjoy it, instead of obsessing over the latest sleeping technique for example. I'm also honest, I don't have much time for the fake facade some mothers try to portray.
So anyway, aside from the fact I currently look like a milking cow, I think I'm still the same Hannah, now or pre-motherhood. Still not mumsy.
Personally, breastfeeding was always a mumsy subject. I thought if it didn't work for me that I'd just switch to bottles. I wish I still felt that way, and a little less obsessed. Little did pre-motherhood Hannah realise that it's not a simple switch. That breastfeeding, something so natural, turned out to be incredibly important to me and incredibly hard to do.
It's also something that gets rammed down your throat whilst your pregnant - like a pile of bricks that get layered onto your shoulders. No matter how un-mumsy I was, or how unbothered I was about how I'd feed my child, I still felt a claustrophobic pressure.
Before I go on any further, I should point out this isn't a tirade against breastfeeding, or bottle feeding. I am combi feeding Arlo (combination feeding/mixed feeding/you know, a bit of both). He feeds from the boob, he has bottles of expressed breastmilk and bottles of formula. So I'm on everyone's team here.
We attended NCT classes, and a few of the lessons were focused on breastfeeding. It wasn't about the different options of feeding your child - it was just about breastfeeding. We were shown how to achieve a successful latch, involving a demonstration involving oranges. I learnt different feeding positions, that breastfeeding should never hurt and that perseverance is key. Looking back now, I was misinformed and deluded. We spent hours watching videos of women breastfeeding their babies, sitting around in discussion circles and playing truth vs myth games. We were only told about the issues and uphill struggles we'd all face with odd bits of information on paper, which were dotted around the room for part of a session. I left the classes feeling like breastfeeding was the be all and end all.
It's been a long journey to get where we are today, and even now we're still trying to establish a 'routine'.
Arlo has always been good at latching. For one of his first feeds I was misguided by a midwife and he ended up suckling on my nipples. Although I was swearing my face off, in agonising pain, the midwife reassured me it was fine. However when we were left to it, we managed. We continued feeding through the night without a problem. Michael, Arlo and I spent the night bonding in our little bubble protected by blue curtains. We were purely baby led - and we just gave Arlo what he wanted, when he wanted it. The majority of the time, he slept, and that was fine by us. I fed him without a hitch and lathered on the nipple cream to keep them from going raw.
The next day we had to demonstrate breastfeeding to the midwives in order to be discharged, being forced to perform. The midwife insisted on showing me how to do it all over again, using a different technique, shoving Arlo's face onto my boob with quite a force. She gave us about a thousand things to measure up when he latched on. Lining up his chin to the edge of the nipple, supporting his neck - not his head, using my arm to support his body and my fingers to control his neck, putting his body on the side blah blah blah. At one point, one of the midwives had my boob pinched between her fingers, rubbing my nipple over Arlo's mouth, then proceeding to push the back of his head so he was pretty much choking on my boob, whether he liked it or not. As if. I almost felt like laughing.
But I cried instead. I felt hormonal and so sorry for my newborn. I was confused. I was being told different things, different techniques and no options. I wanted to go home, snuggle up in bed with my baby and figure it all out ourselves, given what we were told so far was so contradictory. Eventually one of the midwives was happy enough to discharge us - and we were free. We were clueless, but we were free.
The next few days consisted of sleeping a lot and skin to skin. Every successful feed would be followed by a failed one. On Day 3, shit got real. My milk came in, and my boobs were like footballs. Arlo couldn't latch onto them at all. My nipples were so sore and cracked.
So with a screaming baby, we ended up going to the local hospital to see some of the maternity support workers. Upon arrival they looked at me with sad eyes and made a lot of disappointed noises. We were pretty much told off when they found out Arlo had slept for 5 hours straight the previous night and insisted that we should feed him every 2 - 3 hours, whether that meant waking him or not. They demonstrated how to hand express, which was a slow process. So they suggested we fed him with some formula - they didn't actually use the word 'formula' though. They somehow managed to avoid saying the word completely, as if it would burn their lips.
I gave Arlo a 10ml cup of formula and he seemed happy enough, so we were all happy enough. We were sent off on our way with new instructions, again - to hand express and breastfeed as much as possible then top up with formula, every 3 hours, not a minute later. I was sent off feeling like a failure.
2 days later we went back for our day 5 postnatal check up. By then my nipples were bleeding so I had to use nipple shields to breastfeed Arlo. The midwife we met that day was clearly experienced, practical and openminded - she gave us the most valuable feeding advice, although it was totally different to anyone else's. She told us it was okay to continue combination feeding, if that was what suited us. That using formula is in fact a spectacular opportunity and in some ways a luxury that science has given us to feed our babies. She explained the best way of keeping my supply if I wanted to continue breastfeeding and she told me what would happen if I decided to stop. I realised that no one had actually explained any of this to me before. She gave me options.
We promised ourselves that day that we'd take control. We were tired of the mixed advice and judgements from the professionals. We stuck with what worked best for us and we did what we felt was right. In all of the following appointments Michael and I confidently told the midwife or the Dr that we were combination feeding. They all took the opportunity to tell us how to get back to exclusive breastfeeding - but we just nodded, letting it all fall out the other ear.
The positives to bottle feeding won't be found anywhere. The health services have ensured that any information available is totally biased. To sum it up quickly, bottle feeding allows mum and dad to feed baby. You don't have to subject yourself to hideous nursing clothes. You get your body back. You don't need to get half naked in public, because let's face it, there are pervs out there that stare. Feeds tend to be a lot quicker and babies are apparently fuller for longer, therefor they sleep better. Formula contains more iron apparently, and a solid supply of vitamin D.
The positives to breastfeeding are endless. Given that the World Health Organisation recommend breastfeeding - you can find the benefits listed everywhere. The amazing gold dust that is breastmilk is made up of complex ingredients which can't be replicated. Also, unlike what that one midwife tried to show us, there isn't a mathematical equation to solve every time you want to feed your baby. There aren't bottles to clean, sterilise and make up - you can just whack out your boob.
It's the journey to established breastfeeding that's the battle. My cousin said to me recently that you just have to fight through the initial pain caused by breastfeeding, then your nipples become resilient and it's a hell of a lot easier. I think she's right, and I'm going to remember that for next time. Some ladies take off and it's all smooth sailing, but some of us have soft sensitive nips that aren't use to being suckled by hard gums every 2 hours. For anyone who hasn't breastfed, or hasn't experienced sore nipples - it feels like a cheese grater has had a good go on them. (Yeah, that!)
Combination feeding suits us just fine. It means Michael can feed Arlo too and we've slipped into a 50/50 parenting style, which Michael appreciates. It's convenient and it comes with the best of both worlds - along with all the added benefits of both milks.
However, there's more to consider than the type of milk itself. I find the physical act of feeding your baby is different depending on how you feed them. When I breastfeed Arlo I feel bonded with him. I feel like an essential part of is life, of his being. When I bottle feed him, he stares into my eyes and we have a spectacular few minutes of staring into each other's souls. Both equally as special, but different.
If I consider stopping breastfeeding, I proceed to feel useless as a mother, I feel irrelevant to Arlo. I'd tell Michael that I could just leave one day and Arlo wouldn't even notice, he wouldn't need me. So in my head I've created an irrational attachment to breastfeeding. It gives me an essential role, it gives me purpose. I blame our initial struggles to establish feeding and the judgments made for it.
Following that, we've had to create a rule that we are the only people who bottle feed Arlo. Not only is it really disturbing to see your own baby fed by someone else, it's also something exclusive that shouldn't be taken away from a bottle feeding parent - just because the bottle isn't growing out of their chest, they still deserve that liberty.
Happy mum = happy baby, happy baby = happy mum. In perspective, feeding your child should be kept simple, it shouldn't be an uphill challenge at all. There shouldn't be judgements and pressure. I frequently realise, when I'm having another meltdown about not entirely breastfeeding, that it's not worth the tears, the worries, the guilt or the extra time. What counts is that your baby is happy and fed.
The lack of consistent education and support makes establishing a feeding routine difficult and confusing. After speaking to all the health professionals along the way, NCT and the midwives at the hospital, I learnt one option, one goal and millions of contradicting ways to do it. What I should've learnt before having Arlo, was everything I've learnt since having Arlo. I didn't learn it from someone in particular or constructively in practice - I learnt it the hard way and all by myself.
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