By: Mia Thompson
Updated: November 9, 2020
Originally Published: January 28, 2018
While driving home from work yesterday, I received an alarming text from my partner, Alex, who was caring for our seven-month-old daughter, Ava. “When will you be home? We have a situation with the milk.” My stomach dropped, and panic set in. I immediately called him, asking, “What do you mean by a situation with the milk?!”
It turned out that he had pulled a bag of frozen breast milk from our new chest freezer in the garage, and after warming it up, it had an off smell. He tried several more bags, all from different months, only to discover they were all spoiled. When I got home, I confirmed my fears by tasting it (yes, I did). That evening felt surreal as I anxiously awaited a few bags to thaw overnight, replaying every possible scenario in my mind. We hadn’t experienced power outages, nor had I left any milk out to spoil before freezing. Noticing my distress, Alex asked if I was okay, and I simply shrugged. It was then that I realized I was grieving.
I was mourning the potential loss of about 500 ounces of milk—equivalent to approximately 20 days’ worth of nourishment—that I had meticulously stored over the past six months. Saying it out loud felt absurd. Who grieves over milk? But my sorrow wasn’t just about the milk itself; I was reflecting on the countless hours spent pumping in a cold, sterile room at work, the tedious nightly ritual of cleaning pump parts and bottles, and the investment in the chest freezer dedicated solely to preserving my supply. The illnesses, personal sacrifices, and complications I endured were all for the sake of keeping my baby fed, happy, and thriving.
To clarify, I am fortunate to have an oversupply, which means I produce more than enough milk for Ava—sometimes excessively so. This is why I could stash away 500 ounces. I recognize that some mothers would envy this “problem,” and I appreciate that every day. However, oversupply is not without its challenges.
Last summer, after several nights of waking up painfully engorged and leaking milk, I developed a clog in my left breast that wouldn’t resolve. I spent hours massaging it in the shower, even using an electric toothbrush! Supplements, nursing on all fours, pumping, and heating pads all became part of my routine. Eventually, the lump turned red and warm, necessitating a doctor’s visit that led to a diagnosis of mastitis. A week later, I developed a fever and had to return to the doctor, who ordered an ultrasound. I was diagnosed with an abscess and sent to a breast surgeon the same day. Fortunately, he was able to aspirate the abscess rather than resort to surgery, diagnosing it as staph. After a stronger antibiotic, I felt better within a couple of weeks.
This entire ordeal spanned about six weeks, during which I was grateful to continue nursing Ava. However, I constantly worried about our breastfeeding relationship and whether it would survive this complication. My feelings mirrored those from the night of the milk crisis, filled with uncertainty about my ability to nourish her.
I know I’m not alone in this. Many friends with young children have shared their struggles. One friend spends hours pumping nightly to ensure she has enough milk for daycare the next day, while another adheres to a strict diet due to her baby’s food allergies. Some mothers exclusively pump just to provide their milk, while others face challenges that prevent nursing altogether, despite their best efforts.
We rely on nipple shields, special pillows, supplemental nursing systems, lanolin, breast pads, nursing bras, hospital-grade pumps, lactation spaces, and support groups. We bake lactation cookies and eat oatmeal daily, even when we’re tired of it, in hopes of boosting our supply. We endure the painful early weeks when nursing feels like a battle and rise multiple times each night while the rest of the world sleeps.
Throughout this journey, we carry the heavy responsibility of nurturing another human being—our most sacred role as mothers. We often conceal the emotional burden of breastfeeding behind tired smiles, just as we discreetly cover our infants with nursing scarves in public.
As it turns out, Ava ended up drinking the defrosted milk today. Thanks to an incredible online community, I learned that I likely have high lipase levels in my milk, a benign condition that alters the taste at colder temperatures. As long as she continues to drink it, we’re in the clear.
Yet, the grief I felt lingers, highlighting how deeply invested I am in this breastfeeding experience. Beyond the countless hours spent producing and storing milk for Ava, I cherish the unique bond that nursing has forged between us. I am truly thankful for the opportunity to breastfeed, despite the challenges that accompany it.
To all the mothers grappling with the emotional weight of breastfeeding—whether you have too much, not enough, or have chosen a different path—I see you. Your efforts are commendable, and you are doing the best you can each day; that is more than enough.
For more insights on navigating motherhood and home insemination, consider checking out this Home Insemination Kit article. It provides valuable information for those exploring their options. Additionally, you can find authoritative guidance on the topic at BabyMaker. For further assistance, the CDC’s resource on infertility and pregnancy is an excellent tool.
In summary, the journey of breastfeeding is not simply about nourishing a child; it’s an emotional experience filled with complexities, challenges, and moments of joy. Each mother’s story is unique, and every effort made in this journey is valid and valuable.
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