KARA MARIELA

As my pregnancy neared its end, the desire to breastfeed my baby was an instinctive choice. The decision came naturally, without much thought. Both my husband and I were fed formula as infants, and we had never seen our families or friends breastfeed. So, the concept was entirely new to us, and we didn’t have anyone close who could offer guidance or share their experiences.

With my limited exposure to breastfeeding and no prior experience, I realized I hadn’t adequately prepared for the journey ahead. 

Throughout the pregnancy, I was clearly preoccupied with the excitement our families had for our firstborn—the excessive amounts of baby stuff seemed to be more frequent topics. I unintentionally overlooked the most important part: my need for postpartum support. 

It never occurred to me that, despite being a natural process, breastfeeding would demand significant effort not only from the mother but also from her village. 

I learned most of what I know about breastfeeding during my hospital stay. We missed the initial opportunity for my baby to latch right after birth because she had to be taken to the ICU shortly after being placed on my chest, still covered in vernix from the womb. When I returned to my room, my husband and I had to hand-express my colostrum for the nurse to feed our baby in the incubator.

It was only on her second day that we finally had the chance to try breastfeeding, and I’ll never forget that moment when she latched for the first time. The feeling of my body nourishing the baby felt unreal, almost surreal, and filled me with indescribable joy. I knew, beyond a doubt, that breastfeeding was the best decision for my baby and me. 

My confidence stemmed from the incredible support I received from the hospital’s nurses and doctors, as well as my husband, all dedicated to ensuring the success of our breastfeeding journey. Little did I know that the real challenges lay ahead, waiting for us at home.

The Homecoming Struggles & Triumph

Even though I noted down all the information provided by each doctor and nurse, once we left the hospital, I felt as clueless as any new mother could be. 

I had never considered issues such as low milk supply, latching difficulties, bleeding nipples, and the social stigma surrounding breastfeeding; or, at the very least, I was too naive to think that these challenges wouldn’t happen to me.

The thought of the possibility of failing to breastfeed didn’t cross my mind until this point.

The first month following childbirth was incredibly overwhelming. Families wanted to be with the baby all the time, the relentless 24-hour feeding schedule, and the continuous stream of ‘baby advice’ seemed to flood in. It often felt as if the idea of a mother needing privacy and precious moments alone with her baby was an entirely foreign concept.

The help was definitely needed and appreciated, but there’s no denying that the euphoria of welcoming a new baby into the family could leave little space for a new mother to heal.

As far as I can remember, the only time I could truly feel at peace was when I was left alone, breastfeeding my baby. 

However, those peaceful moments turned into a stressful task when the pediatrician gave my husband and me a one-week deadline to help our baby regain her birth weight.

I had an appointment at the lactation doctor’s office earlier on the same day we brought our newborn to her pediatrician checkup. It turned out that my baby wasn’t latching effectively to transfer my milk. She corrected my baby’s latch while simultaneously observing my breast milk flow as I pumped on the other breast. I distinctly remember her saying that my milk supply was high, and she assured me that there was nothing to worry about if I wanted to continue direct breastfeeding my baby. She even waited for me to finish nursing my baby, then advised me to check the baby’s weight, and my baby had gained more weight than before we nursed.

Although this should have been encouraging, my anxiety and intrusive thoughts seemed deafening. I was too afraid that my body alone wouldn’t be enough to provide for my baby. The tension was amplified after the pediatrician said that if my baby didn’t achieve her birth weight goal within a week, he would advise us to admit her to the hospital.

Consequently, we decided to purchase bottles so that we could pump my breast milk and have better control over how much our baby was drinking. In hindsight, I acknowledged it was a setback in my attempt to successfully breastfeed my baby.

I would pump every two hours and store my breast milk in the fridge. Sometimes, I pumped during feeding times; my husband fed the baby, and I would keep pumping to refill the bottle. 

When we returned to the pediatrician’s office, despite the fact that our baby had achieved her birth weight goal, he asked me how much I usually pumped and then stated that my breast milk wasn’t sufficient for my baby. He advised me to supplement with formula after every feeding session and proceeded to prescribe it. I initially didn’t realize how unsupportive and discouraging his advice was about my choice to breastfeed.

At that point, I didn’t understand that supplementing with formula could lead to a decrease in my breast milk supply as it replaced the demand for breast milk, rather than increasing it.

It was daunting enough to be at the doctor’s office with my newborn as a first-time mother, experiencing this and feeling uncertain about what to do besides following the doctor’s advice. I feared that not following his guidance might put my baby at risk. I ended up listening to the pediatrician and chose to supplement my baby with a mixture of formula and expressed breast milk.

Preparing the formula was stressful for me because my mind kept telling me that if I didn’t get the precise dose, something bad would happen to my baby. I would make the formula, throw it away, then remake it again, only to throw it once more because I couldn’t silence the disturbing noise in my head. This same pattern occurred every time I attempted to clean the bottles; I found myself stuck in this cycle 3-5 times. All the while, I anxiously watched over my baby.

My husband took on the responsibility of preparing formula and washing the bottles. If he couldn’t do it due to work, we’d ask my little sister for help, and sometimes our parents pitched in to assist with making formula or feeding the baby.

As she was bottle-fed and more hands got involved in feeding and soothing the baby, it worsened my mental health. My focus became distracted, and I began to prioritize other people’s feelings over my own and what my baby and I needed.

I knew in my heart that any kind of ‘help’ that resulted in the baby being away from the mother, or interfered with the mother and baby’s chance to bond, wasn’t the help that I needed.

It wasn’t long before I felt a strong urge to try breastfeeding my baby once again, so I did. I gently placed her tiny mouth on my breast, and her lips immediately latched onto the nipple as if it were her natural instinct. It was painful and even caused some bleeding because we were struggling to find the right latching position. 

However, I found the resilience to continue, believing that failing to offer my baby what I deemed best for both of us would weigh on my conscience.

I never imagined that the little strength I had could turn into a milestone of triumph. That small moment has brought us here today, fast forward two years later, with my baby thriving and our bond stronger than ever.

I felt like I had reclaimed what was rightfully mine: my choice as a mother and my bonding moments with my baby.

Overcoming Low Milk Supply

The toughest moments occurred when my milk supply was low, which often happened when I wasn’t feeling physically or mentally well. Whenever I was sick, stressed, depressed, or fatigued, my breast milk supply dropped. My baby would urinate less, which only increased my stress.

When my baby was younger, I typically included additional pumping sessions to boost my milk supply while also continuing to cluster feed my baby. Sometimes, this involved pumping on one side and breastfeeding my baby on the other breast—it was a handful, to be sure. I can’t recall the exact timing, but when my baby was a bit older and started eating solids, I stopped pumping altogether. Since that point, I’ve been exploring additional ways to restore my milk production.

I found the following steps to be helpful: drinking more water, increasing my intake of protein-rich and carbohydrate-rich foods, consuming lactation booster drinks and vitamins (which I only took when my milk supply dropped), and breastfeeding my baby more frequently. I also made a conscious effort to get more rest and create some personal space whenever possible.

Furthermore, I refrained from taking any medications when I was ill, even though they are generally considered safe for nursing mothers. I tried taking them two or three times when I was seriously unwell, and it consistently had a negative effect on my breast milk supply.

To help with my baby’s fluid intake during this nerve-racking period, I reminded myself to give her fluids every hour, as recommended by our doctor. And it didn’t have to be water. My baby really liked coconut water, so I would give her that, as well as watery fruits like watermelon, and quite recently, her favorite Boost Juice.

Unhelpful Breastfeeding Advice 

The most challenging aspect of nursing my baby, apart from having to nurse up to 15 times per day and maintain my milk supply, was tuning out external noise.

Regrettably, I’ve received a few peculiar and invalidating comments and advice from people regarding my breastfeeding role.

“(My baby’s name) should have been given formula instead.”

I was feeding my baby solids and not engaged in any conversation when someone suddenly voiced that criticism. Another person in the room even responded with an agreeing “yes.” At that moment, my baby was in perfect health, and they knew that I had been exclusively breastfeeding. It was evident that their intention was purely judgmental. To add to the frustration, it happened to be one of my painful breastfeeding days because my baby was teething. I could barely say a word as I held back tears, so I pretended I hadn’t heard anything. It was probably my best attempt to avoid starting an argument. I cried after I left; it felt necessary.

“Your baby must be refusing to drink because your breast milk tastes bitter.”

I was still pumping at that moment, so the baby was being bottle-fed my breast milk. She didn’t finish her bottle when someone asked me what I had just eaten and made that comment. As if it wasn’t frustrating enough for me to throw away my breast milk and see my baby not finish her milk, hearing someone tell me that my baby doesn’t like the taste of my breast milk was the least helpful response anyone could have offered. I was too tired to dignify that baseless comment with a response and tried my best to leave the situation as soon as possible.

“Your baby can’t sleep at night because you drink coffee.”

I was responding to questions about the baby’s sleep. When I mentioned that last night had been a bit tough, someone decided to lay the blame on me while jokingly laughing. It certainly didn’t make me feel better or prove helpful, especially considering I was only getting not more than two hours of sleep.

“You look like a cow.”

This comment went beyond mere rudeness. I was alone, pumping, when the person directed this insult at me. I felt powerless as the person laughed and left the room. I couldn’t help but wonder if making such a comment would make that person feel better afterward.

“You should consider covering up; there are people around.” 

I was carrying my tired and hungry baby, breastfeeding her as we walked to the car to head home when someone expressed concern about others not feeling comfortable seeing me nurse my baby. As if I didn’t have enough on my plate. At that moment, I genuinely didn’t have the mental capacity to do anything other than speak the truth: I don’t care. Honestly, if anyone takes issue with me caring for my baby, it shouldn’t be my concern. I’ll continue to nurse my baby, yes, in public, and basically wherever my baby needs me.

As expected, none of the unsolicited remarks ever came from a fellow nursing mother. 

Despite all the setbacks, we’ve reached two years of breastfeeding, and this chapter will eventually come to an end.

There will be no more waking up every hour or two at night to feed and comfort my baby. No more watching her drift to sleep on top of me, clinging to me with both hands, rendering me immobile until she wakes up. No more nursing while singing her song requests, reading her books, answering her curious questions, and having heartfelt conversations—just the two of us, lost in our own world.

As this chapter unfolds, these are the memories I want to look back on. Not the hurtful comments or the tears, but the collection of tiny moments shared between my baby and me—the ones that define the earliest part of my journey in motherhood.