FFF Friday: “I’m glad I have recourse to something other than what’s ‘natural'”

“Intuitively and rationally, it makes no sense that this poisonous smelling, lab-created powder has been so much better for my daughter, has made her happier and healthier.”

Sarah’s story will resonate with many of you, but I think those who dealt with food allergies/sensitivities will find it especially powerful. I remember feeling the same way – how could something made in a lab make my baby so much happier than what my body created? It’s a tough question to toss around in a newly postpartum brain, one that is already confused, conflicted, and overloaded. I believe that a large part of the link between depression and early weaning isn’t simply the hormones at play, but rather these very emotions. We are taught that our bodies create the perfect food for our babies, but what happens when this isn’t true? What happens when our babies wretch, cry, writhe and bleed, despite all of our best intentions? 

I’ll tell you what happens: it’s devastating. 

And then, what happens when you switch to formula? If your baby is happier and healthier, you feel guilt. You feel regret. You feel anger. You feel jealousy. And then you feel like shit, because you should be feeling relief and gratitude that your baby is finally thriving. 

It’s a mind-fuck. And that’s before you make the mistake of going online, where a thousand bloodthirsty strangers will tell you that you could have tried harder, done it differently, made a better choice.

And we wonder why there is a high incidence of postpartum depression in women who are formula feeding.

Happy Friday, fearless ones,

The FFF

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Sarah’s Story 

I want to begin this story with my first child, who was exclusively breastfed – not because I’m hoping for the Nobel Prize in Breastfeeding – but to illustrate how unusually challenging breastfeeding was for me (and my whole family,) how committed to it I was (and am,) and yet how much I know I’ll be judged ‘round these parts for publicly feeding my second with a bottle full of formula.

My first was born at home in the major metropolitan area we lived in at the time.  I was the only person I’d ever known who’d chosen a home birth, and I was a crunchy curiosity among our friends and family for this and for things like choosing to use cloth diapers.  Breastfeeding was so obvious there was no thought involved.  When my daughter was finally delivered – an enormous, incredibly alert baby – and immediately and expertly latched on like pit bull, gulping eagerly, the midwife squealed, “Oooh!  One of those tiger babies!  What a great latch!”  No problems there, except excruciating pain and bloody nipples for a few weeks.  I’d never heard that breastfeeding was painful at the beginning, until asking real mothers…. One inane breastfeeding book I had read, “If breastfeeding hurts, something’s wrong.”  I was in a panic until everyone, even the midwife, gently told me – it just hurts, at first.  Which makes sense, when you think about it.  It’s an extremely tender part if your anatomy that is suddenly getting quite a lot of force applied, (if you have a “tiger baby,” anyway,) pretty continually.  I think more women would breastfeed if they were given an accurate picture of its challenges, knowing that some of them are temporary, rather than being given a – frankly – propagandizing picture (“It’s bliss! You’ll feel wonderful! Your baby will never become ill or have allergies for all of her long, healthy life!  You’ll lose all the baby weight!  You and your child will have a close bond forever!”) and then having their actual experience fall quite short of that expectation and think something must be very wrong, and discontinue.

I started noticing something strange, however, after the first rush of postpartum hormones subsided.  Just before initial let-down, every time, I’d experience a brief wave of crushing sadness and horror.  (Think: you just heard that an atomic bomb is headed toward your vicinity, and there’s no time to escape.  That kind of feeling.)  It relieved me to make the connection that I only felt that way at this particular time and synapse, and that it must be due to some chemical imbalance I didn’t understand, but no one else knew what I meant or had had the same experience.  “A sad wave, huh?  That’s interesting,” was all my midwife could offer.  A few years later I discovered that what I had dealt with was Dysphoric Milk Ejection Reflex; a very uncommon disorder that hadn’t even been given a name by the medical community at the time I first experienced it.  I was still undeterred and continued breastfeeding.

When my daughter was around three months of age the supply problems started in earnest, and in the end, nothing other than almost total bed rest for a couple of days at a time made a difference.  I had chosen to stay home with my daughter, and while this was hardly feasible even for me, I can’t imagine handling such a problem while working outside of the home.  I nursed my daughter every hour during the day, and every couple of hours during the night.  It wasn’t until she started solids and finally agreed to drink out of a sippy cup (she’s still a remarkably stubborn little girl!) that she (and I) slept for any considerable stretch at night.  By the time she was ten months old, my supply had dried up completely, although I continued to nurse – i.e., be a human pacifier, as distinct from breastfeed – if she woke at night and needed soothing for another couple of months.

The next year we moved for my husband’s work to another, and demographically very different, part of the country.  Here, EVERYONE has a home birth.  EVERYONE nurses into the preschool years, EVERYONE cloth diapers, NO ONE vaccinates or circumcises, etc.  (Or so it seems.) You get the picture.  I was no longer crunchy, I was disastrously conventional; and I was swiftly and completely cold-shouldered from play groups.  (No doubt in part because I was not nursing my toddler multiple times during a half hour library program – I couldn’t – and no doubt also in part because I look so different.  I’m a petite little Italian in this bright white land of strapping, squatting birthers; I wear foundation and mascara; I wear shoes….)  It’s been interesting to learn that, oftentimes, the folks who preach the loudest against appearances (and specifically, against judging women in particular by appearances) are those who are quickest to do just that.  It also saddens and perplexes me that – increasingly – women are judged (in fact, judge each other) once again by their ability to bear and nourish offspring, and the homes they create.  (What is your “birth story?”  How long did you nurse? What kind of crafting do you do?  Are you “unschooling” your children? And so on.) It makes me wonder what the initial women’s rights movement truly did accomplish, when, in certain circles, I have little value and my conversation has little interest other than describing my (horrific) labor, how many cycles I put our pocket diapers through, or what non-GMO seeds I plan to plant in the family garden in the spring.

In another couple of years, I became pregnant again, and this summer chose to deliver in the local hospital.  We felt it was safest after my first experience, which included a hemorrhage, but it elicited some raised eyebrows.  Then I ended up with a c-section (which didn’t surprise me after my first labor and birth,) and more raised eyebrows and pointed questions.  “Do you think you really needed that c-section?” (Well, I don’t know, but I’m sure glad I didn’t have to find that out for certain in its absence….)  The D-MER waves began this time in my third trimester, before I even began lactating.  This time I had a name for it, though, and a rough understanding of the possible chemical pathways.

My second was born, an astonishingly even bigger and more alert baby girl, who also delighted nurses, midwife, doctors, and staff with her latching performance.  This time, every let-down, not just the initial one, brought the horrible feeling, and, this time, also brought physical nausea with it.  Still no question whether or not I would breastfeed.  I did, however, attempt getting our newest to take a bottle with expressed milk fairly regularly as a precaution – in case I faced supply problems once again.  At one month, my daughter developed a severe milk and soy protein intolerance – and abruptly and consistently refused the bottle.  I immediately and completely cut both dairy and soy out of my diet, and for a couple of weeks, the problem was solved.  Then the symptoms began again: bloody diarrhea, severe eczema, hives, wheezing.  Fish, wheat, nuts, corn, chocolate, eggs, berries in the rose family, grapes, tomatoes, citrus, coconut, even quinoa, believe it or not, rapidly went the way of milk and soy.  My daughter dropped from the 100th percentile to the 40th in a month’s time.  For the next three months I lived on a handful of foods, and she did okay.  Not great, but okay.  Unsurprisingly, I had another supply problem.  Meat – turkey and bison – was my only protein source. (Not wonderful for this former vegetarian.) Over Thanksgiving, the symptoms started again: two more foods (apples and millet) were out.  Another week, and nothing was safe.

I should add here that I tried everything to save breastfeeding; in part, just to save my baby, who is particularly attached to Mommy, from the emotional trauma of weaning her from what she was used to.  I consulted with multiple pediatricians, a pediatric allergist, a neonatologist, and upwards of twenty lactation consultants.  I tried pancreatic enzymes (turned out she has a particularly severe intolerance to pork,) plant-based broad spectrum digestive enzymes (did nothing,) two different types of supposedly hypoallergenic infant probiotics (both caused vomiting,) took mega-doses of hypoallergenic probiotics myself, and obviously lived on the most extreme rotation and elimination diet known to woman.  I even, albeit briefly, contemplated the possibility of living on a specialty formula myself, so that there would be no foreign proteins in my milk, and continuing to breastfeed.  I asked my husband if he thought it was unreasonable to even entertain the idea.  “YES,” he told me firmly.

I made the most difficult decision I have ever had to make, and began to wean her completely to Neocate, an amino acid formula.  This stuff smells and tastes unbelievably vile – just so you can understand some of my internal conflict over discontinuing breastfeeding.  It’s also incredibly expensive. (Forty-five dollars a can.  We’re still fighting her insurance to cover it.) It took us six days to finally get her to take a bottle.  In between, I spent all day dribbling the Neocate in her mouth with a syringe or sippy cup with the stopper removed; she wailed, and spit three-quarters of it out.  The grief of this sudden, early weaning was and still is overwhelming.

The night that she finally broke down and took a bottle from my husband, she rapidly downed ten ounces; and then went to sleep without any more noise than a yawn, and slept for six hours straight.  (She’d been getting up every couple of hours prior to this to nurse, and taking close to an hour to settle down before sleeping.)  The next night she slept for nine hours straight, again without a peep.  Intuitively and rationally, it makes no sense that this poisonous smelling, lab-created powder has been so much better for my daughter, has made her happier and healthier.  (I almost feel unreasonably insulted, especially after trying so hard to accommodate her.)  But there it is.  I resent the fact, though, that any time I want to feed her in public, now, I have to take a deep breath and begin explaining.  I’m pretty darn sure I’ve gone to far greater lengths to breastfeed than almost any other woman out there, and yet I know I’ll provoke contempt.  Appearances again.  There are so many reasons, even in just this one instance, why someone may be doing something that doesn’t appear to be in their child’s best interest.  Infant allergies, maternal medication, adoption; I wish I could lobby to change the slogan to “Breast is usually best, but it’s not really my business anyway.”

I also want to say here that supply problems are a lot more common than many lactation consultants, and the most ravening of lactivists, are willing to admit, if my own experiences and the experiences of friends and family are anything to go by.  I don’t know why that should be; I don’t know why millions of years of evolution, or the creative power of God, or both, or whatever you reason or believe, or both, hasn’t straightened that out for so many women and their babies.  My default – or rather, my husband, the biologist’s, – default response is, “Nature weeding out the unfit.”

Regardless, I’m glad I have recourse to something other than what’s “natural,” at times.  I’m glad we can sidestep evolution.  (Or fallen nature, or, again, whatever you’d like to call it.) I’m glad for unnatural human compassion that works so hard in these unnatural laboratories so that unnatural (and wonderful, infinitely precious) children like mine can safely eat, and thrive.  I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m so glad for formula.

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Have a story you’d like to share? Email it to me – formulafeeders@gmail.com.

FFF Friday: “If someone wants to judge me…that’s their choice.”

Welcome to Fearless Formula Feeder Fridays, a weekly guest post feature that strives to build a supportive community of parents united through our common experiences, open minds, and frustration with the breast-vs-bottle bullying and bullcrap.

Please note, these stories are for the most part unedited, and do not necessarily represent the FFF’s opinions. They also are not political statements – this is an arena for people to share their thoughts, and I hope we can all give them the space to do so.



D-MER, or Dysphoric Milk Ejection Reflex, is a problem that is seldom discussed in breastfeeding literature. It’s a tricky condition to diagnose, because other things can make breastfeeding a negative experience – postpartum depression, psychological responses to physical pain or sensations, associations with past abuse, body image issues…  D-MER, however, causes a “dysphoric” response (depression, anxiety, anger, negativity) with milk let-down, and it typically subsides as soon as that physiological process ends. In my opinion, this is a vastly under-diagnosed condition due to the perception that these feelings are shameful or “abnormal”, because we are told that breastfeeding should be a lovely, enjoyable bonding experience. Further, the vast majority of D-MER resources operate under the assumption that weaning is not an option, and that it can be resolved through medication. For those who want to continue breastfeeding, this is wonderful – but for those who do not feel comfortable taking certain medications while nursing, or at all, this advice may cause more frustration than comfort. 

FFF Andrea’s story, which unfolds below, demonstrates the conflicted feelings of a woman who wants to breastfeed, but also wants the happy, emotionally-attuned family life she so deserves. I hope that her willingness to share her journey will encourage other women living with D-MER to come out of the closet regarding their true feelings and experiences. This is a real problem, affecting real women, and it’s time we had some real, honest discussions about it – because in many ways, it is the most literal “booby trap” of them all.

Happy Friday, fearless ones….

The FFF
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Andrea’s Story
I formula fed my first and for the most part didn’t mind.  I knew he was turning out healthy and he was advanced for his age too.  I had no doubt that formula was a good alternative for those that didn’t want to or couldn’t breastfeed.  However a part of me always sort of wished breastfeeding worked out for me.  However I had depression only during breastfeeding and it just got worse as the days went on.  After a bit of research sometime later I found out that it was D-MER and was a bit relieved that I wasn’t abnormal and others experienced it too.
Fast forward a couple years and we had our second on the way.  I hoped that breastfeeding would work out and was determined off and on to exclusively breastfeed.  I researched D-MER and found out that if you had it before you would likely get it again.  That thought scared me quite a bit because I remembered how miserable I felt and the dread I felt before he latched on.  I found out that Wellbutrin had some good results with D-MER though and started researching the use of Wellbutrin while breastfeeding.  I took it for ADD already with great results, but had stopped before I got pregnant.  However, I just couldn’t find enough research to make me feel comfortable with that.  I knew only a little transferred through the milk, but I couldn’t help but wonder how much it affected a baby’s brain since they were so tiny and still developing quite a bit.  My education background made me wary as well.  To me, formula honestly seems to be a much safer alternative because it doesn’t have a drug in it that affects the dopamine levels in her brain.
Fast forward again and my daughter was born at a very healthy 7.11 pounds and 20.5 inches.  She had (still does have) the cutest chubby cheeks!  I decided to go ahead and let her latch on and she did, very fast and pretty good, too.  I remember telling the doula that we would take it one day at a time and wistfully stating that I hoped it would work out.  It was an experience I wanted to have.  I knew I’d bond with her just as well with formula; in fact it would be better than breastfeeding if the depression came.  We were in the hospital for 2 days and she breastfed really well; in fact I’d say she had a voracious appetite.  She had a wonderful latch, but she went at each feed so thoroughly that I got peeling and cracked nipples.  It only hurt when she latched on fortunately and sometimes that was because she’d just inhale the nipple.  On the third day I was pretty much couch- bound with a baby that was feeding pretty often for short cluster feeds.  If she wasn’t feeding she was using me as a paci or insisted on sleeping with her head right next to the nipple.  I could get up to maybe use the bathroom, but that was it.  My milk had started coming in and I began to feel those same depressing thoughts and I had some random bouts of anxiety as well.  Faint as they were at that moment, it was still undesirable.  I also found myself really hating the couch-bound aspect.  I couldn’t find a position that didn’t hurt since I had a couple stitches.  I also had a son that needed me.  My husband was helping out a ton, but my son insisted on having me help him go to bed at night and to pat him back to sleep if he woke up.  I wanted to be with him at bedtime and more as well, but with the way my daughter was feeding, it was very hard.  So midway into the third day we switched to formula.  Admittedly I felt relieved.  I wasn’t tied to the couch and my mood started improving with the slowly diminishing letdowns.  The more my milk dried up the better I felt.
A few days later though it was clear the formula wasn’t agreeing with her.  She was comfort feeding so much that she would drink about 6 ounces over a couple hours between fussing.  Then she’d cry and fuss herself to sleep.  We tried paci’s and all, but she wouldn’t take them.  I also noticed that she had silent reflux.  I decided to try Similac Sensitive since that was what my son was on.  I remembered that he didn’t do well on Enfamil Gentlease so maybe it would be the same with our daughter.  It seemed like she improved briefly, but she actually got worse.  So as a last option I bought a can of Alimentum and gave that a shot.  She started doing so much better.  It was an amazing improvement.  I fell in love with the formula, she is such a happy and calm baby now.  She does just as well on Nutramigen as well, which is a bit more affordable.
Part of me felt bad though.  I occasionally wonder if she’d have had this problem if she were breastfed.  I also wished a bit that breastfeeding had worked out.  I wanted that experience and the convenience as well.  I felt a bit guilty that I enjoyed holding my daughter more now that she wasn’t attached to me and voraciously feeding almost all the time as well.  She had such a high demand and was always tugging and pulling at me as well as feeding quite hard at times. 
I can’t help wonder if some of the guilt I feel is because all my friends breastfeed.  The only person I could talk to about the whole breast or formula dilemma while pregnant was with my mom, who had done both with my brother and me.  I tried talking to a friend, but she wasn’t very helpful.  I got some clear anti formula comments from another friend as well.  I laughed it off, but it did hurt a bit.  I know part of me feels envious because I did hope it would have worked out.  It’s just an experience I wanted to have that wasn’t tainted with depression or random bouts of abnormal anxiety.  At this current moment I’m trying hard to not get down that it didn’t work out.  It is so nice that my husband can help with feedings.  It’s nice that I don’t have a baby attached to me almost all day as well. It’s especially nice that my mood isn’t going downhill and that I won’t wonder someday if the Wellbutrin changed her brain at all.  I can help out more with our son too.  I do enjoy feeding her much more now.  It’s a wonderful bonding experience and as I say, since you need two hands for feeding with a bottle you can’t read a book or surf the web like you can while breastfeeding.  Sure you can watch TV, but I rarely pay attention to that, I love watching her and it helps keep me aware of her cues on when she needs to burp or is done. 
Overall, I know that this is better for me emotionally.  While most don’t understand DMER or why I won’t breastfeed while taking Wellbutrin, I know the truth.  If someone wants to judge me on my reason for not breastfeeding, that’s their choice.  I hope that someday moms won’t feel this huge push for breastfeeding and have more support for formula feeding.  We have enough to deal with as moms, how one chooses to feed their baby shouldn’t be one of those nerve-wracking issues that can be laced with guilt if the choice isn’t breastfeeding.
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Share your own experience for an upcoming FFF Friday. Email me at: formulafeeders@gmail.com.
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