I Hate the Idea of Breastfeeding

            Happy Breastfeeding Awareness Month.

 

Courtesy of
https://www.buggfamily.com/

            Last weekend, Hubby and I toured the hospital in which we will be birthing our little hellspawn. Touring wasn’t exactly a necessity; my OB only delivers at this hospital, so we aren’t exactly shopping around; but I wanted to check the place out and get some questions answered.

            I went through the majority of the tour extremely impressed. The hospital is warm and inviting, with friendly staff and top-of-the-line services. Because they are also a birthing center, they also approach childbirth from a more progressive angle; they fully support mothers who wish to attempt unmedicated birth, practice delayed cord clamping, and advocate for immediate skin-to-skin contact after birth. They even have special epidural-free birthing suites for unmedicated birth plans, complete with tubs for labour, birthing balls, and other supplies popularly used in that arena.

            Despite the fact that I am birthing twins and many of these features may not be available to me due to the high chance of needing a c-section, I was very pleased. I loved that the hospital seemed so accepting and non-judgmental of a mother’s choices and desires.

            As the group shuffled to a halt near the end of the tour, half of us out of breath from waddling up and down the halls for an hour, our guide flashed us a bright smile and asked if we had any questions for her.

            One of my pregnant brethren raised her hand.

“Yes, does the hospital provide breast pumps during our stay?”

            Our tour guide’s smile twitched at the corners like an android experiencing a malfunction.

            “Well, yes,” she said reluctantly, “but I promise you, all of our staff are well-trained in breastfeeding, and we have all sorts of tips and tricks to help you. We’ll get that baby latched!”

            Immediately, my skin flooded with the prickly sensation of my feathers threatening to ruffle.

            At this point, the subject of breastfeeding in our culture has reached fanatical levels. It’s not a way of feeding a baby: It’s a lifestyle, a badge of feminism and environmentalism on the left, a submission to God’s will on the right, the only way to raise a healthy infant, the only way to create a singular bond with your baby, the only real route to take. Breast milk is Liquid Gold, don’t you know? Put it in brownies! Sell it on eBay! Donate it to those poor wretched mothers who failed in their Sacred Natural Duty of providing their child with the Very Best! And for the love of Jesus Christ and Blessed Earth Goddess both, don’t you dare ever even think of formula!

            The medical community is pretty much of one mind about breastfeeding: It’s the preferred method for feeding a baby. Recommended by the AAP and the WHO and every flyer and info sheet thrown at you by your OB, the experts have spoken: As the slogan vomited across every Mommy Blog and birth forum says, breast is best!

            See, it’s catchy, so you can’t argue with it.

            Given my tone thus far, you might be expecting me to dive into a tirade, picking apart medical evidence to dismantle decades of advocacy from groups and individuals from all walks of life all over the planet. Well…I won’t. That’s not what this post is here for.

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………………………But...

I would be remiss if I didn’t admit that I am, in fact, highly skeptical of many of the benefits of breastfeeding touted by advocates and even the medical community. The vast, vast majority of studies conducted on breastfeeding are observational, and far too many of those studies that allege the most impressive benefits (like higher IQ, lowering the risk of SIDS/obesity/ heart disease, and a superior immune system) were alarmingly small and held little regard for complicating factors like race, wealth, and parental age. I think there’s something to be said for how breast milk changes its chemical composition to suit the immediate needs of the infant, that is awesome, but other than that…? I’m not so arrogant as to believe that I’m smarter than the AAP or the WHO, but when you cut through the zealotry, one simple question remains unanswered: “By what margin is breastfeeding better than formula?” That, paired with the sheer amount of poorly conducted or small studies whose results have obviously been taken at face value raises a fucking football field of red flags in my little skeptic brain.

But like I said, this post isn’t about my doubts on the science of breastfeeding benefits. For the duration of this discussion, let’s operate under the assumption that yes, breast milk is healthier than formula, but by a margin of spinach to brussels sprouts. Spinach is a top-tier vegetable, packing the most nutrients per serving. Brussels sprouts fall below spinach a few notches, but they’re still nutrient-packed and an extremely healthy choice. Both provide more than enough goodness for a growing body, and though one is healthier than the other on paper, it really doesn’t matter which your child prefers. No one’s going to knock the brussels sprouts out of your hand at the supermarket and berate you for daring to feed your child anything but spinach.

Everyone have that analogy down? Good. That’s where I stand on breast milk vs formula on a nutritional level.

Now that all that’s out of the way, I’m just going to flat-out say it: Breastfeeding (pumping as well) was never in my plan until a few weeks ago. Never.

I’ve dodged the question why for years because, frankly, it shouldn’t be anyone’s business. The Mommy Wars are one of the most disgusting and repulsive human practices in my eyes. I mean, it’s no genocide or racism, but it’s right up there with incels, megaphone preachers, and anti-Stratfordians for me. The practice of shaming mothers for benign choices they make about raising their children is disgusting and anti-feminist. Full stop. However, because I’m sure many of you are here because you’re curious about my reasoning, I will give you a quick rundown of the many reasons I never planned to breastfeed.

A special note before we continue, because of how pathetically thin-skinned people seem to be about this topic: I fully, unequivocally support women who choose to pump and breast feed. At home. In public. Covered. Bare-breasted. I support it all with my whole heart. I do not flinch when the Mamas in my life reveal their breasts in my presence any more than when the friends who have modeled for my photography have. As frequenters of this little blog of mine (and anyone who has talked to me for five minutes) knows, I despise any attempt to force women to be covered up if they don’t want to be. If you want to breastfeed, honey, breastfeed. I will fight anyone who gives you shit. I will heart every “Normalize Breastfeeding” selfie you post on Facebook. I am here for you. My issues with breastfeeding are due to my hang-ups and only extend to me breastfeeding, not anyone else.

We good? Good. Here we go.

My breasts and I have a complicated history. I’ve had non-life-threatening medical problems with them since adolescence, resulting in multiple surgeries that will continue (likely even shortly after I give birth) throughout my lifetime. My first surgeon had casually mentioned that I may have problems breastfeeding due to these issues should I decide to have children, but I hadn’t given that any thought, being around sixteen and happily virginal at the time.

I don’t like the idea of being the exclusive food source of my baby. I don’t. I really, really don’t. For one, exclusively breastfeeding completely excludes my husband from participating in feeding our children. This is unfair to both of us. It creates a parental dynamic that is instantly unequal, placing Mother above Father. I’m already carrying our hellspawn inside of me, a phenomenon that Hubby cannot experience. They are changing everything about my body. I feel them move. They’ve begun to respond to my touch, voice, and the music I listen to (I actually first felt fetal movement while listening to David Bowie in the car.) I’m already getting to know them and bond with them, and Hubby only gets to truly start that process after they’re born. Me being the only one who is able to feed them similarly tethers them to me and distances them from their father. That special bond breastfeeding advocates rave about, that feeling of contentment and joy? Sorry, Moms only. Men don’t care about their babies, anyway, right? Go mow the lawn or watch ESPN or something.

Being an infant’s single food source is also a monumental burden on the mother’s autonomy, just as pregnancy is. For nine months, my body and the choices I make for it are not entirely my own. I’ve had to heavily monitor what and how much I eat and drink, endure symptoms that range from bleeding gums to constant, unending nausea and crippling fatigue to insomnia and depression to agonizing leg and hip pain to straight-up fainting on warm summer days. And those are just the typical symptoms of a healthy pregnancy, let’s not get into the actual complications, or we’ll be here all day. I’m also about to risk my life to give birth (those who know of the US’s high maternal mortality rates know that isn’t much of an exaggeration.) On top of physical autonomy, pregnant women’s careers are constantly put on hold, threatened, or ended. Their income is slashed or vanishes completely. Discrimination in the workplace continues to be rampant despite laws in place. Nine months of physical, psychological, and economical risk. And this is all just from pregnancy.

Exclusively breastfeeding my hellspawn would mean a lot of the same. Work and an income? With two babies attached to my breasts every 1-3 hours? Tell me another one. Sleep? Sweetie, Dad doesn’t have breasts, guess who’s getting up with every. Single. Cry? Caffeine to combat sleep-deprivation? Honey, please. A night out with friends and maybe a few cocktails? Oh, my sweet summer child. No, no, let’s focus on latching, tongue-tie, mastitis, nipple spasms, leaking through your clothing, engorgement, cracked nipples, and dirty looks from people who think breasts should only be seen in pornos. It’s a woman’s duty!

And that’s the thing, the major problem I have with the zealotry surrounding breastfeeding. At this point, from Mommy forums to your doctor’s office, it’s expected, without question. Exclusively breastfeeding is a major decision that requires major sacrifice and has major consequences for a mother’s physical, emotional, and economical well-being. Yet mothers are supposed to just do it, without so much as a thank you for your sacrifice. Why? Because that’s what good mothers do. We thanklessly sacrifice. Everything. It’s totally natural. It’s what being a mom is all about.

Never mind about Dad’s sacrifices. He braided his daughter’s hair today and posted it on Instagram. Oh, my God, let’s write an article celebrating this Perfect Father on BoredPanda!

When we found out we were having twins, I truly thought the societal pressure to breastfeed I was already feeling would diminish. Surely people understood that breastfeeding was an insanely tall order for two newborns who will undoubtedly sleep and eat at different times, creating double the sleep deprivation and double the work?

Nope.

Any time I dared bring it up, I was flooded with “well-intended” tips on how I could increase my milk supply enough for twins—all from people who were not twin parents. (My OB, who is a twin herself, was the only person to immediately say, “Yeah, I seriously don’t know how twin moms breastfeed without supplementing. That would be all you did with your entire day, every day.”) I was sent links to “revolutionary” products like a twin nursing pillow and blog posts from twin moms who went on and on and on about the incredible difficulties they faced while breastfeeding their babies; the lost job and missed weddings and total lack of sleep and bleeding nipples and stress-fueled fights with their partners and mental breakdowns and literal days spent stuck on the couch just feeding, feeding, feeding, but oh, it was all worth it in the end because…breast is best!

But Dee! cry the slightly-less-militant breastfeeding activists of the internet, What about pumping?! You can totally pump and store your breastmilk! It may not be ideal, but you’ll still be able to give your babies that all-too-important LIQUID GOLD!

Once again, I must reiterate that I wholeheartedly support mothers who express breast milk. For those who can’t or choose not to breastfeed but still want their children to drink breast milk, it’s a wonderful option, and it gives many women the opportunity to go to work again—assuming their employers support their decision to pump at work as wholeheartedly as they should according to the law (surprise…not as common as it should be!)

Pumping for twins poses many of the same time issues as breastfeeding. Assuming I even can build an adequate milk supply, in order to maintain it, I would need to pump roughly every 2 hours. That’s pumping, storing milk, washing and sterilizing the equipment. Every 2 hours. Night and day, weekdays and weekends, wherever I may be. On top of the sleep patterns of the twins, our entire lives would be dictated by that clock. Grocery shopping? Gotta be home in time to pump. Dinner with the extended family? Time to sit in the bathroom for 45 minutes and pump. I work for a small business and am almost always the only employee in the store during my shifts. I’m not sure how accepting even the crunchiest customers would be if I sold them tea with bottles dangling from my breasts, attached to a whirring machine.

On top of that, on a very personal and totally singular note…the idea of pumping fills me with humiliation. I can’t really explain why. When I think of myself attached to pumps designed to extract something from me, I feel…exploited. Objectified. Used. Something in that wheelhouse. I think of the row of women hooked up to pumping machines in Mad Max: Fury Road, or June in The Handmaid’s Tale, staring blankly into the middle distance while a machine pumps milk from her under the invasive eye of Aunt Lydia. It isn’t that I feel pumping lessens a mother’s bond with her baby—I don’t feel that way at all—it’s something about being hooked up to a machine and extracting something from my body to be used. The thought of (me, not anyone else) pumping just makes me feel…lots of complicated negative things.

I also feel that the government’s embrace of pumping is less of a benevolent pro-family gesture and more of a way to continue to deny mothers the paid leave that literally every other developed country on the planet offers, but I’m not going to dive into that digression/minefield.

As you can tell, I feel very strongly about how breastfeeding is pushed and how mothers are bullied into it. So it may surprise you to hear that I’m actually going to give breastfeeding and pumping a shot with my hellspawn.

Why? Once again, I’m going to just say it straight up, Bard-style: My poverty, but not my will, consents. About a month or so ago, Hubby and I were crunching numbers, seeing how far his income would stretch when I stop working to care for the babes for a while, as my paid leave is…not a thing. When we ball-parked how much formula would cost for twins?

                                    

“Look,” reasoned the frugal voice in my head. “We have twins coming, and we’re not exactly wealthy. Is it really financially responsible to pay for food when we can get it for free?”

So, yep. I ordered my government-mandated breast pump and threw the freaking twin nursing pillow on our registry. We’re going to try breastfeeding and pumping with formula supplementation (because I’ll bet my problematic tits I won’t be able to produce nearly enough for two infants.) If it works, great. Hopefully I’ll get over my personal discomfort with the idea. Hubby can participate in the feeding, better balancing the Parental Bond Scale, we’ll save some money, and if I can figure out the pumping-at-work problem, we won’t have to stay on a single income forever. I’m sure I’ll have lost what scraps of dignity I still cling to by the end of pregnancy, anyway, so, cool. Let’s see how it goes.

I know that this post seemed like a tirade against breastfeeding despite my constant insistence that I happily and openly support any healthy way moms choose to feed their babies. And I’m sure it’s confusing that despite my multiple reservations, we’re going to try it anyway. I honestly think I’ll likely get more comfortable with breastfeeding and maybe even pumping as they become part of my everyday routine. I doubt I’ll ever love or even like it, but my hellspawn will be fed and we won’t end up homeless.

The thing I truly hate about breastfeeding isn’t the act itself: It’s the zealotry surrounding the practice. It’s steeped in sexism, in the assumption that mothers must sacrifice everything for their baby (but certainly not the father,) because that’s what women do.  It ignores the oppressive economic factors at work in parenting in this country, especially against women. And worst of all, it’s yet another way to publicly shame women, sanctioned by the left, right, and medical community alike. Formula feeding isn’t anti-vaxxing. It isn’t harmful or dangerous or a menace to public health. Yet I see it so often treated with the same disdain. I can’t tell you how many mothers I know who couldn’t breastfeed for one reason or another, and they completely broke down. They called themselves failures. Failures. Are you fucking serious? Each of them put their bodies on the line to carry their babies for nearly a year, went through the terror that is birth (whether vaginal or C-section,) and love their babies with every fibre of their beings. Yet because of our culture’s very recent obsession and fanaticism with one way to feed an infant, these women felt like horrible mothers. I don’t care what side of the breastfeeding street you’re standing on, that is fucked up, especially when we’re talking about a nutritional margin of spinach to brussels sprouts.

If my surgeon from years and years ago is right and I end up having a lot of trouble breastfeeding, if I can’t produce enough milk for twins, here’s what’s going to happen: I’m going to go on a major coupon-clipping spree and I’m going to feed my babies formula with no shame whatsoever. I refuse to be admonished for feeding my children nutritious food. I reject mom-shaming. And anyone who tries to give me any sort of shit about it can kiss my likely sleep-deprived ass.

I anxiously await your hate mail.