Mommy Moments: Milk Drunk

I've written before about the journey of breastfeeding here and here.  It’s a roller coaster and I’m currently in a very low valley, desperately wishing I could get back on top.  To date Charlotte has only had breast milk as her liquid nourishment, but that’s likely to change this week.  I was able to build up a decent (180 ounces) of frozen milk during maternity leave, but due to a regular shortfall in production, it’s nearly gone and it’s inevitable that I start to supplement with formula. 

As I write today, I have six frozen ounces of milk available to make up my daily four-ounce-shortfall.  You can do the math to know this means that something’s got to give and I’ll likely have to start supplementing Charlotte’s bottles by Wednesday.  It’s not like I live under a rock or didn't know this day was coming; since returning to work in July, and as I reached into the freezer almost daily to thaw a bag or two, I knew it was only a matter of time.  But I thought I’d come to terms with it.  I tried to mentally prepare myself.  To pre-mourn the end of this wonderful era.  But, to be totally honest, it breaks my heart.  Two times this past weekend I walked down the aisle of a store to purchase formula and couldn't handle the surge of emotions.  I got so far as to look at a few of the name brands and the prices before I literally ran away.  And by the time I made it to my car I was in full meltdown mode. 

I spoke with my lactation consultant last week and she “diagnosed” me as being incompatible with a pump.  You name a trick or a tip and I've tried it; including relaxation techniques, looking at pictures of Charlotte, reading magazines and books, smelling the scent of my baby on a piece of her clothing, compressing and massaging.  I drink water like it’s my job, ensure I don’t miss meals, and eat lactation-inducing foods, like oatmeal, often.  I've experimented with times and lengths of the pumping sessions.  I’ve done it all and I never get more than seven ounces total in a day, sometimes much less.  I need twelve ounces and even with the two ounces I get before I go to bed each night, I’m still at least three ounces short each day.  Yet I still do it.  And I’ll still do it until the end of this journey when Charlotte is weaned. 

I've suffered through eight clogged ducts and three bouts of mastitis with Charlotte alone.  Breastfeeding means that no matter what, I’m the one that gets up with her in the middle of the night and first thing in the morning.  It means I've had to breastfeed in public places, pump in a car (both parked and moving), have to plan our outings around feeding schedules, have often times had milk stains on my clothing, and it means missing some time with Anna.  But it’s SO worth it to me.  It’s what my body was made to do and a gift I want to give my daughter. 

This all may seem trivial, but it’s heartbreaking to me.  I feel like my body is failing me, but really it’s not.  When we’re together I’m all Charlotte needs, she nurses and is happy and content afterwards.  It’s extracting the milk from my body when she’s away from me that’s the challenge.  Every woman is different and I've sat next to friends and heard stories of women that can fill two 8-ounce bottles in 10 minutes, while it can take me up to 20 minutes to pump four ounces, on a good day.  I’m currently taking a supplement that may help, but will make me smell like maple syrup and requires taking 3-4 capsules 3 times a day.  Because I pump at work and am committed to seeing my girls for a few hours in the evenings, it means I have to make up the time spent away from my desk and pumping by working most evenings and some weekends.  It means I have to endure the awkward glances and stares as I use our Mother’s Room in the office or occasionally rinse pump parts out in the bathroom sink.  You’d be surprised, but I've even been “heckled” for my choice by other working mothers in the office.  But I wouldn't trade it for anything.  And I’ll keep doing it all until Charlotte is weaned.  It’s a promise I made to both of us.  Even if I sit there and pump one lone ounce. 

I saw this article online a few weeks after I returned to work; I've kept it up in my iPhone web browser and have read it several times.  Each time I end up a bawling mess because it rings so true.  SO TRUE.  If you make it to the end, you’ll read my favorite paragraph:  “I am a formula mom. I am a breastfeeding mom. I know what it feels like when your breasts "let-down," and I know what it feels like when your heart "lets-down." The beauty of our stories is that we are all feeding with love. I've been to the jagged edge of each feeding choice. I have nourished both of my children in the best way that I could, pleading each week with the scale in the doctor's office, praying for just a few more ounces. My superpower isn't my milk, it's my steadfast love for both of my boys. It's my determination to heal them, to grow them, to go to the ends of the earth for them. That is my superpower. That is my strength.”  Insert girls for boys and these are my sentiments exactly. 

It's as simple as that.  No matter where the milk comes from.  I feed with love.