By Riot Trrrt
Posted on Monday, June 27th, 2016
“She’s 9 lbs 5 oz!”
Normally that statement would be a sound of joy. You hear that sentence and you picture a crying baby covered in goo, a crying mother, a proud father, doctors, nurses, and maybe even a machine that goes, “Bing!” 9 lb 5 oz is a healthy newborn weight, a big baby. Something that makes you view a mother as one with a vagina of steel.
Normally that statement would be a sound of joy. You hear that sentence and you picture a crying baby covered in goo, a crying mother, a proud father, doctors, nurses, and maybe even a machine that goes, “Bing!” 9 lb 5 oz is a healthy newborn weight, a big baby. Something that makes you view a mother as one with a vagina of steel.
“What?”
9 lbs 5 oz is a great weight for a baby born prematurely. For a baby born at 4 pounds, they have now officially more than doubled their birth weight. What a great mother! She must have toiled for hours in the NICU, carefully feeding, worrying about her little baby. At four months, that NICU baby has grown so much. That baby is surely on track to do wonderful things.
“I’m going to go get the doctor.”
My baby was not born prematurely. She was born at 39 weeks and 2 days. She was not born weighing 9 lbs 5 oz. She was born weighing 8 lbs 3 oz. At her four month check up, she had only gained 1 lb. It was official. For the first four months of her life, my daughter had failed to thrive.
How did this happen? How could I let my daughter all but starve? I was not some dumb young uneducated teen mom. I was in my 30s. I work with children. I call DCFS on children who exhibit signs of neglect. Was I neglecting my child? Was I evil? What was wrong with me? Was something wrong with her?
I went into pregnancy with a pretty laissez-faire attitude towards breastfeeding. If I had learned anything throughout my short time in this life, it was that God laughs at me anytime I plan on doing something. I had assumed purely because God had made everything else complicated, it would most likely take us years to get pregnant. I was wrong. I assumed I would have a problematic pregnancy. Other than my pelvis trying to fall apart (stupid hormones), it was cool. I assumed labor would go horribly awry and I’d have a c-section and all of my organs removed due to complications. Other than the fact that I was almost forced to have a natural childbirth (another story for another day), it was cool. I ended up with a baby. We were both healthy. Neat. I convinced myself that the only way to get breastfeeding to actually work would be to fully expect it not to.
I was never particularly attached to the idea of breastfeeding. When I was in my 20s, I asked one of my bosses why she was so into it. She held up her baby and said, “Well, it is kind of cool when you think, ‘Hey, I grew this human!” I could see her point. I understand science well enough to know that the benefits of breastfeeding are negligible, but I knew humanity well enough to know that people like to judge women who don’t try, so I figured I’d give it a whirl. I signed up for a two hour breastfeeding class offered through my hospital. I was nine months pregnant at the time, so I spent most of it having to pee and wanting to take a nap. The instructor kept talking about how fabulous the lactation consultants were at the hospital, so I figured it would all come together when the baby came.
When the baby came, the first thing they did was sit her on my chest. The nurses kept telling me to try to feed her. I had just pushed for two hours and really just wanted to hold this whimpery pile of baby that showed no interest in eating. I wanted some time with my kid. Instead, strangers were touching my breasts and grabbing my nipples. I really just wanted to be left alone.
For the first two days, I could barely get the baby interested in my boob. She would kind of eat, but she couldn’t latch. The nurses’ methods of helping mainly consisted of squeezing my nipples and telling me to try again in 15 minutes. On the second night, as I slept for two hours in a row, I was woken up by a nurse who told me I needed to wake my baby up to eat. The baby didn’t really seem interested, so they told me to wake her up every 15 minutes to try for the rest of the night. Now, I may have been a new mom, but I was fully aware that sleep was about to become incredibly elusive. I put her down and slept for two more hours.
The next day, I asked for a lactation consultant to come and help me get the baby to latch. The actual instructor from the class came. I knew my problems would be solved. She squeezed my nipple and told me to change how I hold the baby. Then she left. That was it. Not once did she mention a nipple shield. Not once did she mention nipple ointment. Not once did she mention pumping. Not once did she mention formula. My daughter lost weight, but nobody seemed concerned.
At this point, my baby’s poor latch was starting to wreak havoc on my boobs. I pointed this out, and I was told to change how I held her. We were released from the hospital, and I tried diligently to get the baby to latch. Sometimes she did, sometimes she wouldn’t. We took her to the doctor, where they were concerned about her weight. I had to come back every two days for three weeks to get her weighed. Each time, she gained just enough weight for them to say, “Keep trying every two hours”. I was given the very useful suggestions of, “Drink whole milk!”, “Eat Oatmeal!”, and “Eat More Carbs!”.
After four days, I was crying every single time I tried to nurse. I decided to pump to just to relieve the pain of the poor latch. I called a lactation consultant hotline to find out how much I should give the baby. I was told that if I gave her milk from a bottle, I would cause nipple confusion and she would never nurse again. Not once did this voice on the phone mention a nipple shield. Not once did she mention nipple ointment. Instead, she told me pumping would harm my baby. Not once did she mention formula. I hung up the phone and sobbed. I then figured out how to use a breast pump. The baby drank the milk so fast I thought she would spit it up for sure.
This was the first time I flat out ignored a lactation consultant/doctor, and not coincidently, the first time my baby was full.
I made an appointment to come in to a consultant, but they had to get approvals through insurance. The breastfeeding class made it sound like it would be so easy. After all, consultants were covered through Obamacare! However, no person in our insurance network could agree on who the lactation consultant was for our network. We were told to go to one, and after we went, we were told she wasn’t covered. We were told to go to another. We were promised this one was covered. I handed the lady the referral at the doctor’s office and told her I knew this one was required. She told me that even when you have referrals, that means nothing. I was told I had to have referrals from both my OBGYN and my baby’s pediatrician. Insurance for lactation consultants became the largest fiasco of all time. I ended up seeing two different consultants, and there were insurance issues with both that took months to clear up. If there was something that a first time mother was not equipped to handle, it was dealing with insurance screw ups throughout her entire maternity leave and beyond. If there was something that I don’t feel I should have been expected to deal with in that time, it was insurance drama.
The lactation consultants that I saw were, in all fairness, much better than Hotline Lady. I felt like they were there to help, not judge, and I trusted them. They at least recommended a nipple shield. They advocated pumping, as long as I used paced bottle feeding. The told me about that amazing All Purpose Nipple Ointment that seriously saved my boobs. They all assured me that she was receiving adequate supply from my boobs. Nobody mentioned formula. My baby got weighed before and after feedings and they all marveled at my supply. They all swore my daughter had a posterior tongue-tie and insisted we take her to an ENT doctor to get it snipped. That would fix the latch! The ENT doctor (another referral) looked at us like we were nuts and said that even if she had one, we surely didn’t want to put her under anesthesia when we could simply wait for her head to get bigger. In all, my baby went to five different doctors a combination of thirteen different times in the first four months to address her weight gain. Eleven of those appointments occurred in the first two months.
At the doctor weigh-ins, the baby never gained enough weight to be considered good, but she always gained just enough so that the doctors weren’t too worried. It took almost a month for her to get back to her birth weight. At two months, she had gained an extra pound. We were told she was on the right track and to come back at four months. I went back to work when she was seven weeks old. I pumped every three to four hours, around the clock. At night, I nursed her every 2-3 hours. I had a very structured work schedules, so I couldn’t really pump more at work, but she got enough milk to get through the day.
I became obsessed with pumping and having enough supply. I had really severe postpartum depression/anxiety and completely fixated on producing milk. I ate the cookies. I drank so much milk that I would get sick. I ate so much at every meal that I felt nauseous all of the time. I didn’t particularly like breastfeeding- in fact, I really started to hate it. I hated that I constantly felt like I wasn’t good enough. I hated that all of the pressure of feeding my baby fell on me. I hated the look that I got at every weigh-in. I hated pumping in the car while my husband drove me from work to doctor weigh-ins. I hated crying every time on the way home. I hated crying when it hurt to feed her.
All I wanted to do was be able to enjoy my baby. From the moment she was born, people had been yelling at me that she wasn’t eating right, that she wasn’t growing enough. Aside from her weight gain, she was a pretty good baby. She cried and refused to sleep like the best of them, but that was just her M.O. She didn’t act like a baby who was starving. She didn’t cry excessively. All of her milestones, aside from weight gain, were on point. She was a daredevil from the beginning when she learned to roll over at three weeks. She just didn’t grow.
I was proud that despite breastfeeding being a generally awful experience that I was able to keep going, but I’m not sure why. I suppose that I just wanted to be able to say I tried. I have a background in the sciences. I believe in doctors. Doctors would never fail me. They would tell me to do things differently if I needed to do things differently. It wasn’t a supply issue. Websites run by Kelly Mom and La Leche League tell you that formula will tank the supply you have, and you just need to keep trying. In fact, according to message boards, many women give up on nursing altogether with formula, because they can. That sounded just like me. I should probably keep trying, or else I might get judged for not trying enough. Now, in my brain, I knew that these websites will never suggest formula, but surely my doctor would if it was necessary? Obviously the reason they are not saying this is because we just haven’t reached a point of panic yet. Maybe, as every lactation consultant and doctor said, it was just because my husband and I are short. Maybe we will just have a petite baby. At one point, I did actually bring up the idea of formula with the pediatrician. I got a look and was told, “Well, you can try it, IF YOU WANT, but you can also just keep doing supplemental pumping.”
I made an appointment to come in to a consultant, but they had to get approvals through insurance. The breastfeeding class made it sound like it would be so easy. After all, consultants were covered through Obamacare! However, no person in our insurance network could agree on who the lactation consultant was for our network. We were told to go to one, and after we went, we were told she wasn’t covered. We were told to go to another. We were promised this one was covered. I handed the lady the referral at the doctor’s office and told her I knew this one was required. She told me that even when you have referrals, that means nothing. I was told I had to have referrals from both my OBGYN and my baby’s pediatrician. Insurance for lactation consultants became the largest fiasco of all time. I ended up seeing two different consultants, and there were insurance issues with both that took months to clear up. If there was something that a first time mother was not equipped to handle, it was dealing with insurance screw ups throughout her entire maternity leave and beyond. If there was something that I don’t feel I should have been expected to deal with in that time, it was insurance drama.
The lactation consultants that I saw were, in all fairness, much better than Hotline Lady. I felt like they were there to help, not judge, and I trusted them. They at least recommended a nipple shield. They advocated pumping, as long as I used paced bottle feeding. The told me about that amazing All Purpose Nipple Ointment that seriously saved my boobs. They all assured me that she was receiving adequate supply from my boobs. Nobody mentioned formula. My baby got weighed before and after feedings and they all marveled at my supply. They all swore my daughter had a posterior tongue-tie and insisted we take her to an ENT doctor to get it snipped. That would fix the latch! The ENT doctor (another referral) looked at us like we were nuts and said that even if she had one, we surely didn’t want to put her under anesthesia when we could simply wait for her head to get bigger. In all, my baby went to five different doctors a combination of thirteen different times in the first four months to address her weight gain. Eleven of those appointments occurred in the first two months.
At the doctor weigh-ins, the baby never gained enough weight to be considered good, but she always gained just enough so that the doctors weren’t too worried. It took almost a month for her to get back to her birth weight. At two months, she had gained an extra pound. We were told she was on the right track and to come back at four months. I went back to work when she was seven weeks old. I pumped every three to four hours, around the clock. At night, I nursed her every 2-3 hours. I had a very structured work schedules, so I couldn’t really pump more at work, but she got enough milk to get through the day.
I became obsessed with pumping and having enough supply. I had really severe postpartum depression/anxiety and completely fixated on producing milk. I ate the cookies. I drank so much milk that I would get sick. I ate so much at every meal that I felt nauseous all of the time. I didn’t particularly like breastfeeding- in fact, I really started to hate it. I hated that I constantly felt like I wasn’t good enough. I hated that all of the pressure of feeding my baby fell on me. I hated the look that I got at every weigh-in. I hated pumping in the car while my husband drove me from work to doctor weigh-ins. I hated crying every time on the way home. I hated crying when it hurt to feed her.
All I wanted to do was be able to enjoy my baby. From the moment she was born, people had been yelling at me that she wasn’t eating right, that she wasn’t growing enough. Aside from her weight gain, she was a pretty good baby. She cried and refused to sleep like the best of them, but that was just her M.O. She didn’t act like a baby who was starving. She didn’t cry excessively. All of her milestones, aside from weight gain, were on point. She was a daredevil from the beginning when she learned to roll over at three weeks. She just didn’t grow.
I was proud that despite breastfeeding being a generally awful experience that I was able to keep going, but I’m not sure why. I suppose that I just wanted to be able to say I tried. I have a background in the sciences. I believe in doctors. Doctors would never fail me. They would tell me to do things differently if I needed to do things differently. It wasn’t a supply issue. Websites run by Kelly Mom and La Leche League tell you that formula will tank the supply you have, and you just need to keep trying. In fact, according to message boards, many women give up on nursing altogether with formula, because they can. That sounded just like me. I should probably keep trying, or else I might get judged for not trying enough. Now, in my brain, I knew that these websites will never suggest formula, but surely my doctor would if it was necessary? Obviously the reason they are not saying this is because we just haven’t reached a point of panic yet. Maybe, as every lactation consultant and doctor said, it was just because my husband and I are short. Maybe we will just have a petite baby. At one point, I did actually bring up the idea of formula with the pediatrician. I got a look and was told, “Well, you can try it, IF YOU WANT, but you can also just keep doing supplemental pumping.”
At four months, we went to a brand new pediatrician. We hadn’t been to the doctor for two months, as the old doctor seemed satisfied that she passed her birth weight. We weren’t given signs to look for. I was a new mom. I didn’t know that it was very strange for a three month old not to be able to hold up newborn-sized pants. I didn’t know that it’s a very bad sign when babies don’t have fat rolls. Her grandparents watched her everyday, and they never said anything about how she looked. My sister saw her at three months and seemed shocked at how small she was, but she even said that it must be that she just wasn’t around babies anymore.
“I’ll be right back with the Doctor.”
I looked at my husband as the nurse ran out of the room. He gave me a look of complete understanding and pity. He knew I was approximately 45 seconds from completely losing my shit. He had watched me obsess about pumping. He’d watch me panic if I thought bottles weren’t clean enough. He had watched me cry when latching was so painful that it felt like needles. He ran out to Target at 9:40 pm to buy me a nipple shield when I had finally learned what one was. He drove us to every weigh-in, every doctor’s appointment, every ENT visit. He looked at me and said, “I think we finally found the right doctor.”
“So I think it's time we discuss formula.”
After four months, my daughter wasn’t even on the 1st percentile curve for weight. We got her blood taken. She was anemic, but she was fine. I went home that night and fell down the dark hole of WebMD as I tried to desperately learn about all of the possible effects failing to thrive could have on my daughter. Brain damage. Heart conditions. Kidney troubles. Later on, Learning issues. I was convinced that my belief in doctors had failed me. Wasn’t there an episode of Law and Order about this? In the episode, they made it very clear that a good mother would look at the signs and go buy formula. A good mother wouldn’t ignore her baby. However, I had now gone to five different doctors because I knew something was wrong. ONLY THE FIFTH ONE SUGGESTED FORMULA.
We came back two days later, and my daughter had put on a pound. We returned the next week. She had gained two more pounds. The new doctor could not believe that nobody had ever suggested supplementing with formula. My husband still rants about the first doctor and believes her to be truly negligent. I will never forgive that first consultant from the hotline who told a crying mother that she would harm her child if she pumped.
The best part about this doctor was that she never looked at me like I was stupid. The minute she suggested formula, I dove in head first. In those four months, it never occurred to me that formula would really solve the problem, which in hindsight seems so strange. I had no aversion to formula. I knew it was just as good as breast milk. I would say that out loud. I believed it. However, I had been told that if I used it I might never be able to nurse again, and I wasn’t ready to give up completely. I think that my new doctor realized that I had fallen right into the trap of Big Lactation. She told me that everything would be fine. The doctor would make sure my daughter didn’t have digestive problems. Anemia can be fixed with supplements. Eventually, my daughter would catch up. I gave her bottles of formula that first night, but still nursed her as she fell asleep. It turned out that when I wasn’t obsessed with supply, I had an appreciation for snuggling with my daughter. I went from counting the days until six months was up to still happily nursing each morning after a year. I’ve asked her pediatrician what went wrong. I was told that it appears that the milk I produced didn’t have enough nutrients. Sometimes, it just happens. It won’t necessarily happen with the next child, but it did with this one, and as a result, my child needs to eat something else.
“I can’t believe this is the same baby!”
Now, at 12 months old, my baby is back at the 50th percentile for weight. She still wears 6 month pants, but she’s getting there. She’s no longer anemic, and she’s a great eater. I still nurse my daughter every morning, but I haven’t turned on a breast pump since we were given formula to feed my little girl. I enjoy nursing now, because it helps her wake up and get ready for the day. Plus, we get to hang out before I go to work.
I don’t mind breastfeeding anymore, but I hate Big Lactation. Every time someone shares a meme about predatory formula companies, my amygdala fires and my blood boils. Every time someone talks about how formula samples are the devil, I have to bite my tongue. Maybe even five years ago, that was the case, but times have changed. Hospitals are now required to educate women on breastfeeding. They have lactation consultants telling you every reason not to use formula. Hospitals no longer send women home with formula samples. I was very specifically told that if I gave my daughter formula, it would wreck my supply. I was told I wouldn’t even want to nurse any more.
Women on breastfeeding message boards talk about doctors suggesting formula as if they are trying to set women’s rights back 20 years and destroy milk supplies. Do you know what would have happened if Doctor #1 suggested formula? My daughter would have gained weight. I have seen internet comments where “well-meaning citizens” say “There is no such thing as low calorie breastmilk”. I don’t need to be told that if I MUST give formula despite adequate supply, I need to attach a lactation aid to my boob or else my child reject breastfeeding. I don’t need to be told by doctor websites that they “cannot recall seeing a baby for whom slow weight gain in the first 2 to 6 weeks was the only sign of a problem.” I needed formula.
We talk about supporting women with breastfeeding, but that means supporting women with all problems, not telling them that problems are in their head or that they just need to keep trying. I was told I would be supported and I really tried to find that support. All that I ever found was judgement and correction. Part of supporting a new mom is giving her all of the options, not just options that support an agenda. The only support that existed was support to get me to continue breastfeeding, and it wasn’t working. It wasn’t my supply; it wasn’t in my head. My baby was not growing. I get that it is a lactation consultant’s job to help women breastfeed, but it should never be at the expense of a baby’s health. I know that not all lactation consultants would do the same as the ones that I saw, but I think that it is time that they admit that Big Lactation is a big business, between pumping supplies, breastfeeding supplies, storage containers, products designed to increase supply, etc. Formula is not an enemy, and it does not deserve to be treated as such.
I do believe that in many ways, at some point people turned feeding a child into an agenda. That is not okay because that is not how feeding a child should be. It should just be about making sure that a child gets fed. Why? Every child deserves a full belly.
About the Author:A master of dry sarcasm, I’ve devoted my life to the pursuit of knowledge and good music, subverting the system, celebrating good times, enjoying the weirdness of life, pointing out the ridiculous, and helping others. I consider myself a breaker of glass ceilings/chains, a fighter of equal rights, and a lover of chocolate chip cookies.
“I’ll be right back with the Doctor.”
I looked at my husband as the nurse ran out of the room. He gave me a look of complete understanding and pity. He knew I was approximately 45 seconds from completely losing my shit. He had watched me obsess about pumping. He’d watch me panic if I thought bottles weren’t clean enough. He had watched me cry when latching was so painful that it felt like needles. He ran out to Target at 9:40 pm to buy me a nipple shield when I had finally learned what one was. He drove us to every weigh-in, every doctor’s appointment, every ENT visit. He looked at me and said, “I think we finally found the right doctor.”
“So I think it's time we discuss formula.”
After four months, my daughter wasn’t even on the 1st percentile curve for weight. We got her blood taken. She was anemic, but she was fine. I went home that night and fell down the dark hole of WebMD as I tried to desperately learn about all of the possible effects failing to thrive could have on my daughter. Brain damage. Heart conditions. Kidney troubles. Later on, Learning issues. I was convinced that my belief in doctors had failed me. Wasn’t there an episode of Law and Order about this? In the episode, they made it very clear that a good mother would look at the signs and go buy formula. A good mother wouldn’t ignore her baby. However, I had now gone to five different doctors because I knew something was wrong. ONLY THE FIFTH ONE SUGGESTED FORMULA.
We came back two days later, and my daughter had put on a pound. We returned the next week. She had gained two more pounds. The new doctor could not believe that nobody had ever suggested supplementing with formula. My husband still rants about the first doctor and believes her to be truly negligent. I will never forgive that first consultant from the hotline who told a crying mother that she would harm her child if she pumped.
The best part about this doctor was that she never looked at me like I was stupid. The minute she suggested formula, I dove in head first. In those four months, it never occurred to me that formula would really solve the problem, which in hindsight seems so strange. I had no aversion to formula. I knew it was just as good as breast milk. I would say that out loud. I believed it. However, I had been told that if I used it I might never be able to nurse again, and I wasn’t ready to give up completely. I think that my new doctor realized that I had fallen right into the trap of Big Lactation. She told me that everything would be fine. The doctor would make sure my daughter didn’t have digestive problems. Anemia can be fixed with supplements. Eventually, my daughter would catch up. I gave her bottles of formula that first night, but still nursed her as she fell asleep. It turned out that when I wasn’t obsessed with supply, I had an appreciation for snuggling with my daughter. I went from counting the days until six months was up to still happily nursing each morning after a year. I’ve asked her pediatrician what went wrong. I was told that it appears that the milk I produced didn’t have enough nutrients. Sometimes, it just happens. It won’t necessarily happen with the next child, but it did with this one, and as a result, my child needs to eat something else.
“I can’t believe this is the same baby!”
Now, at 12 months old, my baby is back at the 50th percentile for weight. She still wears 6 month pants, but she’s getting there. She’s no longer anemic, and she’s a great eater. I still nurse my daughter every morning, but I haven’t turned on a breast pump since we were given formula to feed my little girl. I enjoy nursing now, because it helps her wake up and get ready for the day. Plus, we get to hang out before I go to work.
I don’t mind breastfeeding anymore, but I hate Big Lactation. Every time someone shares a meme about predatory formula companies, my amygdala fires and my blood boils. Every time someone talks about how formula samples are the devil, I have to bite my tongue. Maybe even five years ago, that was the case, but times have changed. Hospitals are now required to educate women on breastfeeding. They have lactation consultants telling you every reason not to use formula. Hospitals no longer send women home with formula samples. I was very specifically told that if I gave my daughter formula, it would wreck my supply. I was told I wouldn’t even want to nurse any more.
Women on breastfeeding message boards talk about doctors suggesting formula as if they are trying to set women’s rights back 20 years and destroy milk supplies. Do you know what would have happened if Doctor #1 suggested formula? My daughter would have gained weight. I have seen internet comments where “well-meaning citizens” say “There is no such thing as low calorie breastmilk”. I don’t need to be told that if I MUST give formula despite adequate supply, I need to attach a lactation aid to my boob or else my child reject breastfeeding. I don’t need to be told by doctor websites that they “cannot recall seeing a baby for whom slow weight gain in the first 2 to 6 weeks was the only sign of a problem.” I needed formula.
We talk about supporting women with breastfeeding, but that means supporting women with all problems, not telling them that problems are in their head or that they just need to keep trying. I was told I would be supported and I really tried to find that support. All that I ever found was judgement and correction. Part of supporting a new mom is giving her all of the options, not just options that support an agenda. The only support that existed was support to get me to continue breastfeeding, and it wasn’t working. It wasn’t my supply; it wasn’t in my head. My baby was not growing. I get that it is a lactation consultant’s job to help women breastfeed, but it should never be at the expense of a baby’s health. I know that not all lactation consultants would do the same as the ones that I saw, but I think that it is time that they admit that Big Lactation is a big business, between pumping supplies, breastfeeding supplies, storage containers, products designed to increase supply, etc. Formula is not an enemy, and it does not deserve to be treated as such.
I do believe that in many ways, at some point people turned feeding a child into an agenda. That is not okay because that is not how feeding a child should be. It should just be about making sure that a child gets fed. Why? Every child deserves a full belly.
About the Author:A master of dry sarcasm, I’ve devoted my life to the pursuit of knowledge and good music, subverting the system, celebrating good times, enjoying the weirdness of life, pointing out the ridiculous, and helping others. I consider myself a breaker of glass ceilings/chains, a fighter of equal rights, and a lover of chocolate chip cookies.
