Are You Breastfeeding?

I want to share something that happened last week. First off, it is a good thing that I tend to give people the benefit of the doubt and to think the best of others. These traits served me well in the interaction that I’m about to share, as someone not as kind or tolerant — or simply in a bad mood — would likely have told the other person to “mind their own business” in not-so-nice terms. 

Anyway, one night last week I went to the grocery store to pick up a few things, including a can of infant formula. As I checked out, the clerk inquired, “Do you have a young baby?” to which I replied yes, she’s eight weeks. The next question came as a surprise, especially given what I was purchasing. “Are you breastfeeding?” she asked. Taken aback, I paused for a few seconds, considering my words before replying “a little bit.” (Which, I admit, is somewhat of an odd reply.) Standing at the checkout, a line of people waiting behind me while the clerk bagged my goods, I quickly and briefly explained that my daughter came early, so we needed to use formula to get more weight on her. This isn’t the whole story, but it was the easiest explanation to give in the moment. 

An early attempt at breastfeeding, two days after Delilah's birth.

Of course I shouldn’t have felt obligated to explain or defend myself and, yet, I did. Fortunately, I’m not that easily offended. I know this checker meant no harm by her seemingly innocent question. (And, to her credit, she did not give a judgmental look or word in response.) But truly it is too personal of a question for a complete stranger to ask. And it is the kind of question that has the power to send a new mama spiraling. Even though I wasn’t offended, I left the exchange feeling sad. A fresh wound was poked, a current disappointment brought front of mind. I always planned to breastfeed, exclusively, for as long as I was able. Within an hour of my baby’s birth that plan started to deviate, and within days it was completely derailed. 

There are many reasons breastfeeding has not come easily, to Delilah or I. Because of the nature of the delivery — an emergency c-section — we weren’t able to do skin-to-skin or initiate breastfeeding immediately. When she was eventually brought to me in the operating room, she was bundled up in a blanket and Greg tried to place her head on my chest. But I only had her next to me for a short while. I didn’t get to really hold her and do skin-to-skin until more than an hour later, when I was moved to the recovery room. While there, a nurse tested Delilah’s blood sugar and found that it was dangerously low; they had to give her a bottle of formula. I was so disappointed I couldn’t watch. I had to look away from my baby, and I tried to hide my tears. 

The formula wasn’t enough to raise her levels, so Delilah was whisked away to the NICU and put on an IV. It was in the NICU, several hours after her birth, that I was finally able to try breastfeeding. While Delilah’s blood sugar eventually stabilized and she was taken off the IV two days later, she was losing weight. It’s normal for babies to lose weight after birth, and full term babies typically have enough body fat to tide them over until mama’s milk comes in. An up to 10 percent loss isn’t cause for alarm by hospital standards. But Delilah had lost 13 percent, going from 5 pounds 9 ounces at birth to 4 pounds 12 ounces. The neonatologist recommended a strict formula feeding schedule to get our daughter’s weight back on track. I was told a lot of different (and sometimes conflicting) information in the hospital when it came to breastfeeding, but the general consensus was to limit Delilah’s time on the breast to just a few minutes as her efforts to feed burned too many precious calories. (I was encouraged to pump in the interim.) 

A nurse helps to initiate breastfeeding and get Delilah to properly latch, several hours after her birth.

Working on breastfeeding in the NICU. Delilah still hooked up to monitors, but her IV removed.

Daddy gives Delilah a bottle of formula in the hospital.

With the formula feeds, Delilah did gain weight and she was 5 pounds even at discharge. But then, when she lost a couple ounces after coming home from the hospital, I was actually instructed not to breastfeed at all. Period. At least until her weight rebounded again. So I refrained, for a little over a week. I didn’t want to jeopardize my daughter’s health. But I have no doubt that completely cutting out my baby’s time on the breast severely damaged my already diminutive milk supply and hampered her ability to properly latch, deeply and effectively. When we were in the hospital, we were told our tiny, late pre-term girl had a strong suck reflex. She latched fairly well for her age and size. But an all-bottle-and-no-breast diet gave her what I would characterize as a sometimes lazy and shallow latch.

Clearly, our rocky start led to a litany of problems that have made breastfeeding a challenge. And our girl is still small. She continues to play catch up when it comes to her weight. Even with pumping, I don’t make nearly enough milk to sustain her slow growth. So formula it is. Other women may have given up breastfeeding entirely at this point, but I still try. I try to put her on the breast. I try to improve her latch. I try to pump more. I try to increase my meager supply. I still believe that “breast is best” so I breastfeed "a little bit" — meaning, I do what I can to give her whatever I can, even if it is just a measly ounce. (That’s a good day, for me.) But I also believe that, ultimately, “fed is best.” Babies need full tummies to grow. If I can’t do it, formula can. I’ve slowly made peace with that, but every low-production pumping session still stings. Every time Delilah pushes off my breast and wails with frustration, my spirit breaks.

It was with one seemingly innocuous question during a nighttime run to the market that all these memories, all my inner thoughts and quiet hurts, came rushing back — a sucker punch to the gut, a knife in this fragile mama heart that all too often is filled with guilt and feelings of inadequacy. So the moral of the story is, don’t ask a woman if she’s breastfeeding. It really doesn’t matter how she is feeding her baby, just that she is. 

And she’s doing the very best she can.

Breastfeeding at home. A wonderful bonding experience, even if Delilah doesn't get everything she needs.

Passed out after a breastfeeding session. Content momentarily, but still needing a bottle afterward.