By: Claire Thompson
Updated: Feb. 12, 2021
Originally Published: Jan. 22, 2012
I’ll admit it: I had an idealized vision of breastfeeding. Despite hearing my friends’ gripes about the experience, I brushed off their horror stories of cracked nipples, inconsistent latching, and overwhelming fatigue—believing these were challenges that wouldn’t apply to me. I pictured serene moments in a rocking chair, my newborn peacefully nursing while I indulged in novels, effortlessly shedding the weight I had gained during my pregnancy, fueled by a love for raspberry chocolate chip muffins. I imagined that the bond between my baby and me would be instantaneous and magical.
A part of me holds the kind-hearted nurse responsible for my misplaced optimism. “Breastfeeding is a beautiful experience,” she assured me while placing my baby at my breast. “You’ll get the hang of it in no time.”
Unfortunately, I did not.
My daughter, Lily, was born four weeks early. The doctors explained that her latch was underdeveloped, and she exhibited what they referred to as a weak suck—a term that struck me as both amusing and somewhat offensive. Regardless, Lily showed little interest in breastfeeding, although my breasts, engorged and painful, were eager to nourish her.
Twelve hours after her birth, I was convinced she would starve. Her incessant crying left me frantic. Once we returned home, I sprawled on our king-sized bed with Lily cradled on my chest, imploring her to nurse and settle down. Eventually, she latched on, but the trouble was, she couldn’t consume much.
Premature infants like Lily often take longer to feed, requiring more energy and effort. This left me tethered to her almost constantly. With no family nearby and a husband whose work schedule remained unchanged after our child’s arrival, I found myself with mere minutes to shower, clean, or even think about self-care. Brushing my teeth became an extraordinary accomplishment.
One evening, my husband, Mark, peered into the nursery and remarked, “You two look lovely.” Meanwhile, I was surrounded by dirty dishes and laundry piled high with spit-up. I had applied mascara days earlier in a futile attempt to feel human, and here I was, feeling anything but beautiful. Mark appeared well-rested, and I couldn’t help but feel envious.
As I focused on providing proper nutrition for Lily, her feeding struggles became increasingly evident. Despite my efforts, she seemed to be losing weight, while my feelings of frustration grew. The weight of motherhood felt heavier than ever. Three weeks post-delivery, I took Lily to her pediatrician, Dr. Smith.
“She’s lost weight,” Dr. Smith said, his disapproval palpable as he peered over his glasses at me. “What have you been doing?”
“I’m breastfeeding her!” I exclaimed, my voice rising in desperation. The tension in the room was thick; Mark’s face flushed with embarrassment. I realized I was standing over Dr. Smith, shaking my fist in frustration. I was determined to prove I could do this. He scribbled something on his prescription pad and handed it to me without making eye contact. The note simply read: La Leche.
When I called their helpline, the woman on the other end had a refreshing tone that only fueled my irritation. I felt overwhelmed and incompetent. She instructed me to purchase a plastic bottle, fill it with formula, and secure it to my chest with tiny tubes leading to my nipples. This supplemental nursing system would allow Lily to receive both breast milk and formula, a compromise I never imagined I would have to consider.
Despite my initial hesitation, I was determined to make this work and provide my daughter with the best possible nutrition. I sent Mark out to gather the supplies, and he returned with everything I needed. Armed with cautious optimism, I attempted the supplemental feeding method.
- Prepare the formula.
- Pour into bottle.
- Tape tubing to breasts.
- Set baby up to nurse.
Easy, right? Not so much.
Managing a squirmy newborn while trying to keep everything in place proved to be quite the challenge. Lily screamed in frustration, my nerves frayed as I struggled to keep the tube attached, all while feeling overwhelmed by my chaotic surroundings. Motherhood was proving to be far messier than I’d ever imagined.
After what felt like an eternity, Lily finally began suckling, seemingly at ease with the contraption. But by then, I was too drained to celebrate, and the moment I cleaned up, she was awake again, demanding to start the entire process over.
A week later, Dr. Smith noted that Lily had gained weight. Despite my own exhaustion, I felt a sense of accomplishment. I had successfully implemented a supplemental system. Even though some friends viewed formula as taboo, I felt like a capable mother.
One day, seeking a short respite, I decided to take a walk with Lily in her stroller. In a moment of distraction, I turned away just long enough for the stroller to roll down the steps, tipping over on the pavement. My heart raced as I feared the worst, but when a neighbor rushed over to help, I was relieved to hear Lily’s cries. It turned out that a pillow I had placed under her head had cushioned her fall. For once, I felt I had done something right.
Grateful, I realized I needed to reevaluate my approach. Would I prefer a formula-fed child or a breastfeeding baby at risk due to my fatigue? The choice became clear.
That day, I returned home and discarded all the supplemental nursing equipment. I took a long, hot shower and decided to stop breastfeeding altogether. Within two hours, Lily consumed twice as much formula from a bottle in a fraction of the time, then slept for four glorious hours—the longest stretch yet.
When we finally awoke, the room was filled with warm sunlight, and a raspberry chocolate chip muffin awaited me. As I savored a bite, I smiled at Lily, who returned my gaze with a cheerful blink. It felt like the beginning of a beautiful journey together.
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Summary:
Breastfeeding a premature infant can present unique challenges. This personal account highlights the struggles and triumphs of a mother trying to nourish her preemie while facing the realities of fatigue, frustration, and the need for support. Through determination and adaptability, she finds a way to provide for her baby’s needs, ultimately discovering the importance of self-care and making informed decisions for both her and her child.
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