Breastfeeding Didn’t Come Easily But I’m Proud I Persisted

Before I gave birth to my first child, I felt so hopeful that I would be able to break trauma cycles and forge my own path. But with that, came so much pressure. I’m the only girl in my family and was the first of all my siblings (and still the only) to become a parent. My pregnancy was planned, but I was young — just 26 and fairly new in my career. I was confident in my choices, but wanted to get it right, so everyone would see that even though I was doing things differently, I wasn’t wrong for not following in their exact footsteps. Breastfeeding, was one of those big differences. I made the choice early in my pregnancy to commit to breastfeeding, something I hadn’t known any of the women in my Puerto Rican family to do.

My grandmother, my mom, and her sisters raised kids in the ’60s, ’70s, and ’80s in the United States, where childbirth and infant feeding had been medicalized for decades, and also declined in Puerto Rico between the ’60s and ’80s. As for my great grandmother, I’m sure she breastfed for at least a while since my grandmother was born in Puerto Rico during a time most women did, but she died when I was too young to ask. Prior to the ’60s, it was the norm on the island, and our Taíno and African ancestors certainly would have breastfed their babies. But, those things never crossed my mind when I was deciding how I would feed my baby.

I knew that infant formula was one of the biggest expenses in the first year of a baby’s life, and we didn’t have a lot of money. I’d only been working full-time as a professional for about a year and a half and my husband was still figuring out his career. If we wanted to have a baby, we had to figure out ways to afford it. And well, I’m not cut out for cloth diapering. Even with our limited income, we were still above the national poverty line, so we weren’t eligible for any kind of government assistance. I had to make breastfeeding work, and couldn’t see any reason why it wouldn’t. But of course, I was a first-time mom and had no idea how complicated something so natural could be.

I spent months researching and learning. There was no one in my family I could talk to that had experiences to share, so I pored over The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding by La Leche League, a non-profit dedicated to education on and advocacy for breastfeeding. I also dived into blogs who had successfully breastfed their babies and also tapped into my own community of mamas.

When the time came, I had a long labor, but a healthy, safe delivery. I decided to nurse on demand, and most days, that meant every two hours or so. As my family came to visit, they marveled at what I was doing. They asked questions and I was happy to be the catalyst for those conversations. Everyone was so supportive, and I felt grateful.

But before my son was even a week old, my mama heart went into panic mode. We had gone to the pediatrician for a regular check up and found out he had lost slightly more than the normal amount of weight in the days since his birth. In my postpartum hormonal haze, I immediately felt that I was failing him. So, armed with free samples from the doctor, I started supplementing with a small amount of baby formula a few times a day. Within a few days, he’d gained the weight back and the doctor said we could stop supplementing. As it turned out, my milk came in the night of that first appointment. It had taken five days — a bit longer than average — but we were good to go after that. Or so I thought.

As my maternity leave progressed, I pumped an ounce or two of breast milk a day in addition to nursing. My freezer filled, and my baby grew. Eventually though, I had to quit on-demand feeding. I needed sleep, which meant we needed a schedule. I felt a little sad not being able to stick to the plans I had made while pregnant, but I knew in my heart I’d be a better mom rested. I was dealing with a lot of stress and postpartum anxiety and the lack of sleep and feeling of isolation that’s common for moms who exclusively breastfeed, exacerbated all of it. So once again, I let go of my plan and implemented an eat, wake, sleep schedule, that we both took well to.

When it came time for me to go back to work, I was nervous about pumping for more than half of his feedings, but still determined. I had a high-quality pump for the time, and a dedicated pumping space, but it wasn’t long before I realized that I was not going to be able to pump enough to replace what he had been getting straight from the tap. We started using the freezer stash for one bottle a day, but that didn’t last for very long and eventually, I had to buy a carton of formula. I’m not gonna lie … it hurt. But, my body just didn’t respond as well to the breast pump as it did to my baby.

I did try different settings and attachments, and was on milk-boosting supplements, eating oatmeal, and drinking tons of water, but there really wasn’t anything else I could do. I had to put my own emotions aside and do what I had to do to take care of my baby. We only needed to supplement with three ounces of formula a day, so my son was still getting mostly breast milk, and as it turned out, I wouldn’t end up continuing to work full time for long. A couple months later, I left my job and started freelancing.

I continued supplementing for a while, and not long after, he started eating solid food — which he loved right from the beginning — and it took some of the pressure off. We ended up having a wonderful nursing relationship that lasted until just after his first birthday. He was happy and healthy, and the transition was easy.

A few years later when I gave birth to my second child, I knew that I would breastfeed her as well. I had spent a lot of time reflecting on how I would handle being a mom of two and what I needed to do differently. I knew that figuring out how to manage my stress and anxiety was step one. I’d learned over the past three years, that a part of motherhood would always be not being able to control and fix everything.

I would plan and prepare, but also give myself permission to take things as they came. That didn’t mean I would never get upset or cry buckets of tears when things didn’t work out the I wanted them to, it just meant that I would forgive myself and move on when they didn’t. Ultimately though, I went into the experience knowing that I had gotten through infancy once, and that I would get through it again. This time, my confidence came from a place of experience.

I was lucky enough to have another uncomplicated labor and delivery (still had anesthesia issues though!). I gave birth to a healthy, huge baby girl on her due date. She was over nine pounds and almost 22 inches, so she needed more milk faster than my son did. She latched well, but she was sleepy and a little lazy and would stop trying to latch if my milk — colostrum really — didn’t letdown right away. A nurse ended up giving me a little sugar water to put on my nipple to keep her interested. I’d never heard of it, but didn’t worry too much. I knew we’d have plenty of time to get nursing figured out.

But, as is common for babies her size, by the next day she’s lost too much weight too quickly. That evening, I was encouraged to offer her formula if I wanted us to go home the next day. Of course, I did it.

Before we left the hospital I called in the lactation consultant in to check her latch and assess how we were doing and she saw no issues. My milk ended up coming in later that day — at day three this time instead of five — but I wanted to continue supplementing until we checked in with the pediatrician. After her one-week check up, we were given the all clear to stop supplementing and we went home and settled into a nice — but very frequent — nursing routine.

Things went smoothly for awhile, and then my world came crashing down. When my daughter was three months old, my mom passed away at just 57 years old. I was devastated and immediately thrown into several weeks of stress. My little one handled it all so well, but it totally threw off our routine. She slept longer and nursed less because of course, there was always one more thing to get done before I woke her to eat.

When things finally calmed down, we went to her well visit and found out she hadn’t gained any weight in a month. Thankfully, there was no panic, since she hadn’t lost any weight, but once again, I felt like a failure.

I already had contacts lined up before I gave birth so I contacted an International Board Certified Lactation Consultant (IBCLC) I had found through the La Leche League, and she came to see us the next day. She discovered something the hospital lactation consultant had missed. My daughter had both a tongue tie and a lip tie, which was affecting how efficiently she was removing the milk. She had been doing it with lots of effort and because of our very frequent nursings she was still gaining weight well enough until that routine was shaken up. Because she had a good latch and I never experienced any discomfort, we had no idea, and we likely wouldn’t have ever known had it not been for the tumultuous time in our lives.

Once again, I broke out the breast pump (instead of supplementing with formula), we got her ties revised, and for weeks, we just kept pushing forward. It was exhausting, especially coming off of such an emotional period in my life, but I stuck with it, and for the most part we continued nursing as if nothing had happened, though I did feed her more frequently for a while.

By the time she was six or seven months old though, she started to dip on her growth curve. Rather than stress myself out, I started supplementing with those same three ounces of formula a day I had turned to for my son. But, the doctors were still concerned she wasn’t gaining quickly enough. They wanted us back in for weight checks every week and eventually wanted to take a stool sample. My mom intuition however, told me enough was enough.

My girl had continued to grow taller, she was sleeping well, her hair and nails were growing, and she met all of her milestones early. Beyond that, she was the happiest baby. So, I stopped going for the weight checks and didn’t do the stool sample. I knew in my heart that she would gain the weight in her own time and that checking every week was just too much.

She had always been a physically active baby who walked at 10 months old. That, combined with the knowledge that I was feeding her all homemade food and absolutely no processed foods, was enough to explain why her growth curve had changed. It felt like she was under a microscope and being compared to other babies rather than being looked at as an individual. By the time she went for her next wellness visit a couple months later, no one was concerned. She was growing and developing beautifully, and still mostly on breast milk. A few days after her first birthday, she stopped nursing all on her own.

I breastfed both of my kids for a year. Neither of those years were` without trials and obstacles to overcome, but they were a success. To this day I feel a huge sense of accomplishment for persevering and meeting my nursing goals. It was honestly the small wins that got me through. With each month that passed and each milestone they met, I grew more and more confident that I’d get to that one-year mark. Each day, week, month, that we successfully nursed, made me more determined to keep going.

Nursing them forced me to learn how to let go of my expectations and make room for new and beautiful things, it taught me how to put my pride aside and put another human first. It taught me that even when I feel like I’m at my physical and emotional breaking points, I can keep going. It taught me early on that no journey into motherhood is perfect and to never let yourself get too comfortable as a parent.

Nursing those babies made me more confident and taught me to listen to my intuition just like I’m sure my ancestors did as they fought for survival through colonization, through slavery, through natural disasters, through industrialization, and the countless other challenges that threatened them. It taught me that I too will always have the strength to keep going for the ones I love, and it taught me to always appreciate what my body — and my mind — are capable of.