My Breastfeeding Story

I figured now would be as good a time as any to tell my breastfeeding story and why I loathe the very idea of infant formula.

S was born in October 2010, on his due date no less, weighing an ounce short of 9 pounds.  I had always known I wanted to breastfeed, even as a little girl although I was formula fed myself.  I think it was more my childlike fascination with boobs rather than understanding that it was the best thing I could do for my future baby.  So when I found out I was pregnant (having been diagnosed with PCOS a few months previously), my husband and I were stunned and thrilled and scared.  Only one of us was working and although I was looking for work, it became impossible to get a job once I found out I was pregnant.  So the pregnancy itself, although it progressed smoothly, was a very emotionally stressful one. 

I never once doubted for a second that I would breastfeed, even though I bought me a big ol' tin o' Cow 'n Gate "just in case".  I had read through every single page of What to Expect When You're Expecting and I just knew it would be breastfeeding for us.  So my handsome little angel arrived right on time and was popped straight on to the breast.  I was one of the lucky ones who had actually researched breastfeeding beforehand and was familiar with how to get him to latch (along with help from my midwives) and voila!  He was on, he was nursing, he was a champ from the get go.  However, after several hours of constantly nursing, I was dog-tired and asked for a top-up *sigh*.  So he had a quarter of a bottle of Aptamil and he was out like a light.  He slept for 5 hours and although I hadn't slept for about 36 hours, I only slept for 3.  So when he woke up he was popped on again and we continued nursing.  I *think* he had another top up before we left although I can't be certain as I was pretty exhausted and still a bit out of it from the pethodine.  Anyway, before we left to go home he had his first bath and one of the midwives snuck me a couple of little bottles of Aptamil and off we went. 

We arrived home and we nursed and nursed and topped up and nursed and nursed and one more top up and then my milk came in!!  Hooray!!  My boobs looked a-m-a-z-i-n-g...  I have always been rather lacking in the breast department so when my milk came in I was positively thrilled!  My breasts were enormous and what was better, they had milk in them!  My son was a little champ at nursing by the time my milk came in and although my nipples were quite tender, they were not nearly as sore as I was expecting them to be.  I developed a few small blood blisters but I could get past the pain.  I think the reason why we were so successful at breastfeeding was because I was confident in my body's ability to nourish my child.  I didn't 'think' he wasn't 'getting enough', I didn't let the pain at the beginning of every feed daunt me, I had luckily researched sufficiently to know that everything I was doing was right.  When my milk came in and seeing how huge my breasts got, and seeing how much I leaked when I touched him or heard him cry, I never stopped for one second to think that he might not be getting enough.  And I was right, by day ten he had put on over a lb.  I was so extremely (and rightfully) proud of myself that I had done this, I had nourished my baby, it was my body that had kept him alive.  Needless to say, the formula was thrown away :) 

Fast forward to when my son was about to turn 3 months old, he was a chubby, happy, healthy little chap (and a heartbreaker to boot, I'm still shocked my husband and I have produced such a beautiful child) and we were all about to immigrate back to Africa to live with my parents while we could get our feet under us.  Boy, what a mistake that was.  So we landed at Harare International Airport after travelling overnight with a baby who slept all the way and not five freaking minutes after getting off the plane, was my mother talking about 'toughening' my son up to cigarette smoke o.O  I remember thinking at the time "F*ck".  So we said nicely to my parents that we don't smoke around S.  A few days after arriving my milk supply plummeted.  My son was constantly feeding, he had a horrible nappy rash, I had my parents whinging and whining about going to buy him formula and I was just stressing out.  So off to the doctor we went and I was prescribed a mild anti-depressant that boosts milk supply and off we went.  All was well.  Fast forward 2 weeks and my husband and I are in Cape Town with his family and my husband has just read me something on the dangers to children from cigarette smoke.  I phone my mother and ask her if she would not smoke in the house while S was around.  Yowza did I get an earful about how it was her house and she would do whatever she wanted.  Nice grandmother. 

Fast forward a month and we are back home with my parents.  My mother starts in on me about starting solids.  He was 4 months old.  I told her he wouldn't be starting solids until he was 6 months old.  "I will NOT let that child starve!!  All he's had is the sh*t that comes out of your chest!  Give him formula, he's not fat enough!"  ...

Yeah.  This is where my research journey began.  I eventually started my son on porridge at 5 and a half months old, but boy did I get filthy looks if he didn't have 3 meals a day!  He was also given formula on the odd occasion on the advice of the 'health visitor'.  So here I was, moved to a country I thought I loved, husband and baby in tow, and listening to all this 'advice' that did NOT sit right with me at all.  So I started researching.  It took me a loooooooooong time to get to the risks of infant formula and when I did, I immediately stopped giving him the odd cup and stopped putting it in his porridge.  I felt awful that I had allowed myself to be pressured into giving that stuff to him just so my mother could feel better.  I still feel incredible anger towards my mother for pretty much ruining the first year of my child's life.  I was supposed to be enjoying him, not constantly listening to how fat I was and what a bad mother I was. 

So, is my vendetta against the infant formula corporations because of how I was 'forced' to use formula?  Maybe.  I think though that I'm pretty pissed because I didn't KNOW how awful infant formula really is.  And that I was told it was acceptable.  There are already so many contaminants in our environment, why should my son have to be exposed to more if it is wholly unnecessary????  Why should he have to have his chances of cancer increased even more???  So yes, I think I partly hate infant formula because of the way it was shoved in my face, but I think I hate it more because it is so vilely corrupted.  The people that sell me that shite don't care about my baby.  They don't care that it could kill him.  They only care about the profits they make for their shareholders and that is why I want them to display health warnings on their labels.  So mothers actually know what they are contaminating their children with and more likely to be determined to succeed and flourish with breastfeeding.