I Thought Breastfeeding Would be Magical Bond with My Baby. Instead, the Magic Was Finding What Worked For Us

Finally, after 26-hours of labor and an emergency C-section (none of which was on my birthing plan, by the way), it was time to breastfeed my son. My sleep-deprived brain conjured up the loveliest of visions for this first milestone. It would be glorious. I would remember these heartfelt scenes when my grown-up kid waved goodbye on his first day of school or as a teenager when he pleaded, “Mom, I’m the only kid with a 7:30 curfew!” I was so ready to deepen our growing connection, but there was one major problem: my son refused to latch. At first, I thought the angle must be the problem. The hospital lactation consultant was consulted and I attempted all of the different nursing positions. We checked out the ever-popular cradle hold. When that didn’t work, we moved on to the football hold—not that I’d ever held a football. This one allowed me to cradle his head in my hand so I could guide his latch, but it didn’t score us a touchdown. The lactation consultant saw my heartbreak. Each time my newborn didn’t nurse perfectly she’d say, “Sometimes it just takes time to find your groove.” But the more my son and I tried and failed, the more I felt like a failure.

Finding a New Plan

When my little guy and I went home, we went straight to the pediatrician and another lactation consultant. We looked to see if he was swallowing. We listened to the tiny sounds of him sucking my nipples off. I knew my dry, cracked nipples were going to ignite and burst into flames at any moment—another reason to assume there were issues. The consultant suggested it was a combination of a lazy latch and perhaps my magical boobs being not-so-magical after all. Maybe I wasn’t making enough milk to satisfy him. It was time to supplement with baby formula. Following orders, I supplemented and continued to try to breastfeed. Every time I scooped out the powder for the formula, chunks of my heart got scooped out with it. My first big parenting plan was a flop and I couldn’t help but feel this meant I was a total flop as a parent. My insecurities as a mother rose, unlike my oxytocin levels. But I stuck with the plan because that what good moms do.

I was exhausted trying to keep up and eventually, through a scary bout with thrush for both me and my baby, I finally decided on a new plan. I realized that the reason I had derived my original plan was to help me feel confident as a new mom—but the more I pushed my agenda, the more my confidence left me. I was hiding behind pre-made rules that weren’t working. I didn’t think this was what parenting was all about. It was time to make a different plan that supported my son’s needs. In motherhood, “going with the flow” can be the plan—or in my case, “going with the milk flow.” It was clear that I needed to work out a Plan B. It was tricky to release my original perfect image, but that vision wouldn’t feed my son. He loved his bottle, so our new plan involved me using my breast pump to bottle my magical milk and bottle-feeding. And although the new plan wasn’t what I had envisioned, its helped me to realize that the only plan to have as a parent might just be no plan at all. Because motherhood isn’t about being there to create a “perfect” plan, but about being able to recognize when a new plan is the best path—for everyone.