FFF Friday: “We will bond no matter how she is fed…”

Earlier in the week, I shared an expert’s perspective on the emotional and mental health impact of formula feeding. Megan’s story feels like the perfect corollary to the insight offered in that post; a raw, brave account of mental illness and how this illness influenced a truly informed decision not to breastfeed. 

It is so incredibly humbling to get stories like the one below. The fact that you trust me and this space enough to share them here is not taken lightly… and while I hate that any of you even have to write these heartbreaking accounts, I can’t help but celebrate your resilience and willingness to speak your truths in the hopes of helping others feel less alone. 

So thanks, Megan. And thanks to all of you who share and read and participate – you are all amazing.

Happy Friday, fearless ones,



Megan’s Story

During the summer of 2014, I spent two months separated from my husband.  I took our 4 kids, packed up and went to another state to stay with my parents.  Things were pretty tough.  Traumatic would put it mildly.  But there’s a happy ending.  We both desperately wanted our marriage to succeed.  With blood, sweat and tears on both sides, we reached a really good place by the end of the summer – a fantastic place, even!  That fall, reunited both physically and emotionally, we finally made significant progress in so many areas of our lives that we had been struggling to move forward with over the decade of our marriage.  We remodeled our house (which we bought bank owned and in need of repair).  We instituted family rituals and routines that we had always wanted in place, but never quite could manage because we often couldn’t be in the same room with each other – hurt feelings make it hard to pretend that everything is fine.  But mostly, we both felt very strongly that there was another child ready to come to our family.  It was a very exciting, exhilarating time.  And a very anxious time.  Things were still so new.  We had just demolished the foundation our entire lives had been built upon for the last 11 years, and our new foundation was yet to be truly tested.  We were about to do just that – and how.


The day after my birthday in September, I started what would be my last menstrual cycle.  We were so thrilled!  This baby was figuratively and literally a symbol of our renewed and healing relationship.  Hope for the future of our family.  Evidence and a symbol of just how far we had come, of the new life we had brought to our union.  I was basking in the glow of being pregnant again.


Eventually, however, elation began to give way to a gradual sinking… At first I just thought it was exhaustion from first trimester blahs’.  But as the days began to grow shorter, and colder, we began to see that this was depression.  Depression wasn’t something foreign to me.  I had struggled with major postpartum depression with 3 of my 4 babies, with depression in-between postpartum periods as well.  I had a history of childhood sexual abuse, though, so I mostly attributed my depressive episodes with my work to resolve the effects of that abuse.  I kept figuring “once I get past this issue, I’ll be able to move on with a normal mood”.  Grieving and untangling trauma can be very difficult, and often looks like depression.  As we neared December, however, I hit a new low, even for me.  I went from being just fine and functional in the morning, to being so low that afternoon that I began thinking not just suicidal thoughts, but even thinking that my children would be better off being spared the agony of living with such a mother.  I thought to myself, “I can see how those mothers end up drowning their children in the bathtub.  I can see how that would be merciful”.  Then I wondered, as I brought up the image of the logistics in my mind, how you would drown multiple children, and what would you do with the bodies?  If you did them one at a time, they would freak at seeing the bodies of their siblings…..”  OH MY GOD!!  Did I really just think that???  Right as I thought that, the very clear phrase came into my mind “I need medication”.  That snapped me out of it, and gave me a surge of energy and forward momentum to act on a solution.


I reached out to my husband.  I told him he needed to come home.  I was shaken, I was ashamed, I was afraid.  What was happening?  That was NOT like me.  What was going on?  I couldn’t wrap my brain around it, but I knew that this couldn’t happen again, something had to change!  Dealing with things in psychotherapy wasn’t addressing this issue.  What else would??  Could medication really help?



Near the end of the two months I’d spent at my parents, when things began to calm down and my husband and I had a solid timeframe and plan for our reunification and going back home, my mother sat me down and had a talk with me.  That summer she was finishing up her rigorous PhD program in psychology.  She later said she was too close to the situation to be able to see it clearly for a time, but by the end of the summer, she finally had drawn a few conclusions that put the pieces together.  She read me the DSM-V definition of Bipolar I.  I was crushed.  I fit the description to a t.  I didn’t want to believe it.  Bipolar meant something was wrong with me, and I didn’t want to own that.  That was shameful.  And it meant I had a part in the separation, and I wasn’t the innocent victim.  I needed to be the innocent victim, and I needed him to be the perfect bad guy.


Fast forward again to that dismal and garish December.  At this point, my mother’s conversation came back to me in vivid detail.  Maybe she was right!!  A sense of relief washed over me.  This wasn’t my fault!!  I can do something about this that would actually work!  Exercise wasn’t cutting it, praying and reading my scriptures diligently wasn’t cutting it, having a close connection with my husband wasn’t cutting it, having good friends wasn’t cutting it… But if this is bipolar and not just me not “trying hard enough”, then I could see a light at the end of the tunnel.


So, at 20 weeks pregnant with my 5th child, I was officially diagnosed with bipolar I disorder, and began taking lamotrigine.  It pulled me out of my depression!  What elation, what relief!  Of course, I obsessively looked up and read every scientific study I could get my hands on, and I was very worried about the effects on my baby, but most studies concluded that after the 1st trimester, baby was at relatively low risk.  Then I began to notice a ramping up of anxiety.  It started gradually, but I began to notice feeling really great, and very productive, but increasingly I began heading toward fully anxious, crawling out of my skin feelings.  And then I realized, 3 weeks in a row, getting to the point where I was becoming paranoid again.  That was enough.  I went back in to my doctor and pretty much insisted he start me on lithium.  I was 32 weeks pregnant.  It helped!  I was so excited, and the case studies on lithium said that as long as baby didn’t have any troubles eliminating or getting dehydrated, that as far as they could tell, lithium didn’t have any measurable side effects.  Yes, they knew it was transferred to baby in breastmilk, but didn’t really see consistent harmful effects.  I felt comfortable with those odds.


Then came the day, at 37.5 weeks, when I began to wonder how the hormones of breastfeeding would impact me postpartum.  My biggest fear was having a major mood set back after birth, and for good reason.  I had a very clear history of it.  And, the medications were still helping, but I wasn’t actually feeling rock solid stable yet.  I still was having some ups and downs, just not so extreme.  All the research said that breastfeeding was protective against PPD, but nothing was said about bipolar.  So I asked my psychiatrist and my OB what their clinical experiences were.  They both said that almost universally, when moms are having postpartum mood issues, they fairly immediately improved after ceasing to breastfeed.  Clinical experience has to account for something, doesn’t it?


I think the biggest reason I could see their point and trust it was that not even a week before these discussions, I had about 4 hours of “warmup” labor, and it put me into a manic place, followed a few days later by a depressive place.  We increased the dosage of both my mood stabilizers, and that noticeably helped.  So when both my providers agreed with each other about stability and breastfeeding in my situation, I whole heartedly could see their point of view.  If I wasn’t even mood stable before birth, what would be the after birth chances when things really got screwy with my hormones?  It also occurred to me that my psychotic episode the summer before happened while I was still breastfeeding my one year old.  They were right.  Breastfeeding was not the option for me if my main goal was emotional stability.  I was crushed.  And peaceful.  And then obsessive about ordering just the right bottle feeding supplies.  And then crushed.  And then peaceful.  And then obsessive about looking up research to tell me that my doctors were wrong and I could actually breastfeed and I would be able to stay mood stable at the same time….


And then my shipment of bottles, pacifiers and all things formula feeding came in.  I could barely look at the unopened amazon box for a few hours.  I placed it on my couch where it could torment me every time I passed it.  Then I’d have a good cry, and busy myself with something to forget it.  Then I finally screwed up enough courage to open the shipping box.  Then I had a good cry, but left all the bottles and things in their original packaging – I wasn’t really going to use these, was I???  Eventually, after enough tears and grumpiness, I decided I would stop thinking about it.  I invited my older daughters to help me open them.  They were thrilled.  They wanted to touch everything, suck on everything (of course) and figure out how everything worked. Bottles and pacifiers are definitely a novelty in our home.  To this point, the only bottles I had ever owned always lived safely covered in thick dust in the cabinet above the fridge (you know, the useless one you can never get in and out of because it’s too high and you always have stuff on top of your fridge in front of it?).  Boy is this a change.  It did comfort me that the small size bottles, when I held them up and imagined feeding my baby from them, felt very close…. Like maybe I could bring baby really close to me like if I was breastfeeding.  Bottles and pacifiers safely in the dishwasher and ready to be sanitized, I needed a good cry again.


And why was I crying?  I had hope for stability.  I was making choices that would not only benefit my new baby, but all my children and my marriage too.  I was making a choice to skip the living hell that is the ups and downs of bipolar – a choice that would afford me the chance to be in the world of people, living in the moment and enjoying that living.  Bipolar depression is completely exhausting and isolating, and bipolar mania is terrifying and crazy making because you can’t trust your gut or calm down enough to take in the moment.  Why would I want that?  Wouldn’t I want the best thing for everyone I love, including myself?


That night, my husband held me while great sobs wracked my frame.  I didn’t want to grieve.  I didn’t want to have to grieve.  I didn’t want to need to grieve.  I wanted to just treat this as a matter of fact, and then move on.  Grieving is scary – what if I get going and can’t stop – what if it’s not actually grief but just that ugly old depression again?  I felt broken, helpless, like a failure… Why did I have to be bipolar?  Why couldn’t I be stable?  Why did I need medications?  Why weren’t they working better yet?  Where was the line between a normal emotional response and a bipolar swing?  In truth, I don’t think they can really be distinguished, after a point.  The feelings are there either way.  The options are learn to sit with it in a way that isn’t destructive, or adjust medications.  After my intense crying session, I felt better.  That was a good sign that this was grief!  But grief usually comes in waves. I woke up the next morning after nightmares about having to bottle feed next to my breastfeeding friends.  I felt so surreal, to be bottle feeding – and horrifying.  I got up, sad and even angry.  Angry that this is my situation.  Angry at myself, angry that this is just part of living and having a body.  I’m grateful for my body and the children I have been able to conceive and give birth to, and the four I was able to breastfeed, even if it was a great struggle for my mental health in every postpartum period.  I’m grateful for this baby too – this little miracle child of the seaming back together of my marriage that was hanging by a thread only just one year ago.  And I feel raw.  I don’t want one more thing put on my plate that I don’t feel I have the capacity to do and do well.  I don’t want to see anyone pregnant and brimming with excitement about breastfeeding.  I don’t want to imagine them taking their brand new baby onto their chest, and having their baby root and suckle.  I don’t want to imagine that and a hundred other images I have in my head from my own babies.  I just want to fall down face first and sob until I have no strength left to sob.   And I want to not have to sob, to be able to either breastfeed, or get over it.


So why is it so emotional?  Why can’t I just “get over it”?  I never realized how much of my self worth was wrapped up in my ability to breastfeed, and ultimately in my capacity for perfection.  Good mothers feed their babies, but the best mothers know that “breast is best” right?  Good mothers know that emotional stability and consistency are keys to raising well-adjusted children, but the best mothers are just born with that natural ability.  Good mothers often sacrifice and put their children first, but the best mothers never have needs of their own and can endlessly give whatever their children require without resentment or burnout.  Wow.  What a load of distorted thoughts!!!  Does any of this sound familiar to you?


The truth is – the best mothers recognize their limitations, and plan for them.  The best mothers accept reality, get help, surround themselves with supportive people, and don’t try to brute force themselves into good mental health through sheer force of will and determination.  The best mothers recognize that breastfeeding, while extremely biologically engineered to create bonding, is not the same as bonding.  It’s a tool.  Bonding is a choice – one that continues through the child’s entire life span, and has many stages and phases.  You can’t breastfeed your teenager back into a close relationship with you if you haven’t stayed close through his earlier childhood and tween years…..  The best mothers understand that our imperfections are gifts to ourselves and our children.  Seeing that we aren’t perfectly put together all the time lets them know that it’s okay that they aren’t perfectly put together all the time either.  It gifts us all a sense of “we’re in this together – I’m ok, you’re ok”.  Which brings the sweetest sense of safety, connection and reassurance I’ve ever known.


The best mothers know that when we love ourselves, warts and all, we are providing the greatest example for our children we possibly can.  An example of just showing up, being transparent, and having self-compassion and self-kindness.


And that’s why my bottles are currently sitting in my dishwasher sanitized and ready to be packed into my hospital bag.  That’s why I have histamines and decongestants ready to go to dry up my milk supply.  That’s why I have a list of friends and family who have agreed to help support me after birth.  That’s why I’m still taking my mood stabilizers.  That’s why I’m going to finish writing this, and then go enjoy the last precious days of being a family of only 6, before our world changes to welcome our new one.  She’s precious no matter my weaknesses, and we will bond no matter how she is fed, because I will be emotionally stable enough to enjoy her.


Want to share your story? Email me at formulafeeders@gmail.com.

FFF Friday: “We still have our babies’ best interests at heart…”

So, this week has basically been my own personal episode of “House, MD”. Or maybe “ER”.  Or, “Grey’s Anatomy” without all the hot doctors.

I won’t go into all the details, mostly because I have a mild concussion at the moment and am seeing 2 keyboards in front of me instead of the usual one, which is rather disconcerting…

But you know, this all makes me realize – I have a hard enough time with medical stuff and pain without having a newborn on my hands. I can’t even begin to imagine what Louisa went through… so her story feels very appropriate this week. Moms who have traumatic births or suffer from physical ailments in the immediate postpartum period need special help and special care – not universal “bests” and static recommendations.

Or something like that. Not sure I’m making any sense right now….!

Happy Friday, fearless ones,

The (mildly concussed) FFF



Louisa’s Story


I had planned on breastfeeding from the moment I found out I was pregnant. The thought of it made me slightly uncomfortable, but I was going to do it no matter what and find a way to be comfortable with it. I attended the classes, bought the supplies – breast pump, nursing cover, special bottles for when I went back to work. I even pictured what times during the day I would pump while at work. I had a fairly easy pregnancy, no complications and a big, healthy baby boy. And then everything came crashing down…


I went in for a routine check at 39 weeks where I was promptly told I was not going to be leaving the hospital until I had our baby boy due to skyrocketing blood pressure. I was excited and terrified. Labor was, well you know labor. Nothing too horrible except it lasted for 42 hours and then everything changed.


Our son was laid on my stomach after he was born and I could tell something was wrong, no crying, not moving and not breathing. I had barely touched him before the doctors yanked him off me to start resuscitating him. As you can imagine, I was hysterical, I was convinced he was dead. Once they got him stable they briefly held him up to show me and then rushed him to the NICU. When the NICU doctor came and talked to us I heard big medical terms; nuchal cord, metabolic acidosis, subdural hematoma, etc. quotescover-JPG-51


After I was finally wheeled to recovery, around 6 am, mere hours after delivery, the nurse started to promptly show me how to use the breast pump and instruct me to do it every 2 to 3 hours. I was in a fog and could barely pay attention to the instructions. However, my first concern was waiting for the epidural to wear off so I walk and go see my son. I spent an awful 5 days in the hospital of which was a blur of trying to rest, going to the NICU and trying to keep everyone updated on our son’s condition. To top it all off, I had to somewhere in there try to find time to pump. I actually remember the nurse fussing at me the day after labor because I had only tried pumping once and I certainly wasn’t doing it at night, I was trying to get much needed rest. Plus I was more concerned with visiting my son.


Once I was finally let out of the hospital, I went home with a nasty, itchy rash on my back of unknown origin. I did the pumping thing around the clock and was completely and utterly exhausted. And I was also going up to the hospital two times a day. I continued to pump to give the milk to the nurses to inject in our son’s feeding tube and got somewhat more successful. It actually made me feel accomplished, I couldn’t control my son being in the hospital, but I could at least give him the best medicine and food possible, my breast milk. This continued for about a week (an eternity at the time).


But then, the rash on my back was not getting any better, was spreading to my arms and was extremely itchy and now my boobs were so itchy they hurt. It was as if I was allergic to pumping, it was that deep, under the skin itch you can’t scratch. I seriously wanted to scratch them off. I finally went to both my OBGYN and my family doctor who gave me antibiotics and a cream. Which, the cream, of course, I couldn’t use while pumping. So I tossed it aside and hoped this was just a yeast infection of some sort and took the antibiotics. And then I started getting extremely ill, like being woken up out of a deep sleep to run to the bathroom with excruciating stomach cramps kind of ill.

It was about this time that I had several mental breakdowns at the hospital. I felt like I was constantly watching the clock to see when I needed to rush home and pump instead of spending time with my son. While the NICU was encouraging me to pump there, it just wasn’t comfortable for me with nurses coming in and out and seeing my son hooked up to a million different things. So I would visit with our son for a couple of hours then rush home to pump and then come back. It was exhausting. And finally, the light bulb went off, why am I doing this to myself? I should be spending the time with my son and stop worrying about rushing home to pump. I mentioned it off hand-idly  to my husband that I was thinking about stopping breast feeding all together. At first he didn’t understand why. But luckily that night, the nurse that was duty with our son understood completely and reassured me that I had to do what was best for me and my baby. She felt like society puts way too much pressure on women to have to breastfeed and that they’re a failure and lazy if they don’t. So that was it, I stopped cold turkey. I was thankful my son had at least a week of breast milk before I quit.


And boy am I glad I did. Because that was when all hell broke loose. The rash was finally clearing up and the itchy boobs gradually got better, (although that took a good month for them to go back to normal). But I was getting sicker and sicker. That night after I made the decision to stop pumping, I couldn’t go back up to the hospital for three days because I was so sick. I spent my 31st birthday exhausted on the sofa and completely devastated to not be able to visit my son. I went back to my OBGYN and they took a stool sample. I found out I had C-Diff (a very serious and severe intestinal infection) and E-Coli. I was started on antibiotics right away (it took two rounds for the C-Diff).


Long story, long. I stopped breastfeeding by choice not because I wasn’t producing milk but because it was turning me into a wreck and I couldn’t be there for my son. Not to mention the illnesses would have eventually forced me to stop anyway. And now looking back, I know I was also battling severe post-partum depression which I also finally got treatment for.


I still sometimes am hesitant to tell people I bottle feed or after I tell them I wait for questions or an eyebrow raise. But I know I made the best choice for myself therefore making myself a better mother. When our son finally came home, I was a crazy person, sleep deprivation takes you to a whole new level of crazy. Plus, this being our first child we had no idea what we were doing. So the formula feeding was definitely helpful at 3am when I just needed 2 hours of uninterrupted sleep so I let my husband take over. Or in order to keep my sanity I had to get out of the house and take the baby to the park (and I’m not one of those that would have been able to whip my breast out in public if I was still breastfeeding).


And now as I plan for our future children, breastfeeding is not going to be part of the plan. I know I had a really horrible experience with everything the first time around. But I realize, I want to be able to adjust having a new baby and enjoy their newborn stage without worrying about pulling out the boob at 3am or wonder if they’re getting enough milk. And for those times that I need to get out of the house with or without the baby, I know I can do it and leave my husband in charge and not have to worry about pumping enough milk to cover the time I’m gone. For all those breast feeding moms that can make it work, awesome job, you rock! But for all us other moms, for whatever reason, can’t or choose not to, we rock too. We still have our babies’ best interests at heart and a healthy mom equals a healthy baby!



Want to share your story? Email me at formulafeeders@gmail.com

FFF Friday: “The best choice for us was actually formula.”

As Emily has observed, many of the FFF Friday submissions start with the words “I always wanted to breastfeed.” I know I’ve personally said those words too many times to count. 

But that’s not the only story out there. There are many women who feel as Emily did, and that is just as important and valid to talk about – perhaps more. There’s this idea out there that as long as a mom “tried to do her best”, she should be immune from judgment. This is, in many way, just as judgmental and limiting a script as any other uttered in the infant feeding discussion.

What is “doing your best”? Is it martyring yourself, like so many of us have, in the name of exclusive breastfeeding? Is it having a medical excuse? Being *this* depressed, *this* sick, *this* abused?

Or is doing your best really doing the best you can as a parent, in the best way you – as an individual – think you can?

I prefer the latter definition. By that logic, we’ve all “tried to do our best”. Sometimes our best does not mean breast.

Happy Friday, fearless ones,



Emily’s Story

I’ve heard a lot of formula feeders start off by saying “I always wanted to breastfeed.”   My story starts with “I never wanted to breastfeed.”  I remember not being comfortable with it when I was a child and never did feel comfortable about it, even when I considered it as a logical adult.  The thought of having a baby or machine sucking on my nipples just made me cringe.  Some have made assumptions that I was sexually molested or have daddy/mommy issues (I wasn’t and my parents are awesome, thankyouverymuch), but there really isn’t some reasonable answer to why I feel that way.  And no, I don’t consider boobs to be only sexual objects.  It just is what it is.

My son had been an unexpected surprise.  I was still waffling about if I wanted to have kids at all when I found out I was already pregnant, and up until he was a couple of days old I was unsure how I felt about him (and then, of course, I fell madly in love with him).  When I was reading about how freaking amazing breastfeeding is I was filled with dread.  I deeply feared that I’d have to endure it, but then as I was considering the bonding aspect of it, it occurred to me that with being already unsure about him the last thing I needed to be doing was giving myself more of a reason to experience negative feelings for him.  Whatever else I felt, I had determined that I was going to do right by him.  Nothing I read in true scientific studies suggested that he wouldn’t be perfectly fine on formula, and I was truly terrified that I’d end up hating him if I made myself breastfeed him.  That’s not doing right by a child, I don’t care if breastmilk really is all that and the cure for the common man-cold.  It made sense to me that the best choice for us was actually formula.


People I know and encountered in real life didn’t give me any grief about it- in fact the nurses at the hospital asked me which way I was going just so they’d know to send me either a lactation consultant or some of those spiffy 2 oz. premade nurser bottles.  They even gave me a few extra packs of those to take home.  It was only when I got online that I was immersed into the dreaded mommy wars.  You go on to these mommy communities because, let’s face it, it is possible to get a lot of really good advice about everything from getting those darned teeny socks to stay on a baby’s feet to a plethora of breastfeeding info.  It is my habit to research the heck out of things, especially when it comes to my children.  Seriously, it took me two weeks to decide on a convertible carseat when my son was outgrowing his infant carrier.  I’d already researched breastfeeding on my own for well over a month during my pregnancy, but with these communities I know way more about it than I really ever needed to.  The most insulting assumption was people saying I must be one of those moms who doesn’t give enough of a damn to educate herself, if I chose formula from the get-go.  The very idea was just unfathomable to them.  2 and 2 do not go together, you can’t love your baby if you never even tried.  The only time I ever felt regret for not breastfeeding was from these women.  It was not all of the moms there, but just a handful were more vocal about how strongly they believe in the importance of breastfeeding.

Sometimes, for an hour or two, I’d fall into their trap about not loving my son enough to sacrifice my feelings on the altar of motherhood and do it for his sake.  Then my son would low-crawl over to my stack of magazines and giggle as he happily shredded them, and I’d move on to the next topic.  Something like, “What solids have you done so far?”  Every once in a great while I’d read how a mom who felt as I did succumbed to the pressure to do it, and what she’d describe is exactly what I knew my experience would have been.  Resentment of her child every time she had to lift her shirt up, the cringing, discomfort, distaste, and dread in between feedings- in other words, she was almost completely devoid of the joy of having a baby.  The joy that that was always there in my own breastfeedingless experience.  It makes me immeasurably sad that there are those who would say that breastfeeding is more important than that, and if you really love your baby those terrible feelings are just something you’ll live with.  Why the hell do we lend any credence to people like that, anyway?

These days both of my kids are too old for me to care about what people think of my choice.  I do still get to enjoy the occasional shock and outrage when I answer The Question simply with “I didn’t want to.”  No remorse.  No trying to explain it away.  I really don’t give a crap anymore about what my kids ate the first six to twelve months of their lives.  They are alive and vibrant, and they know that they are fiercely loved.  My son just started tae-kwon-do and my daughter is trying out preschool ballet and her first fall soccer this year.  He is sweet as can be and she is my diva.  He loves video games and is fascinated by his father’s military career, and she will throw on cowboy boots with her princess dress and go ride their Powerwheels 4-wheeler.  We are taking him to an air show two states over just to nurture his dream of becoming a jet fighter pilot.  To bystanders they are the same every day kids as every other kid, and everything, all that truly matters in my world, to me.   I am not usually one to be able to not care what people think of me, but the happiness my kids bring me enables me, in this case, to rise above it.


Want to share your story? Email me at formulafeeders@gmail.com.


FFF Friday: “What matters to me is not my ‘breastfeeding relationship’ but my ‘relationship relationship’.”

My feelings about Toni’s story can be summed up in two words: Absolute Awesomesauce. 

Hope this gets your weekend off to a good start. I know it did for me. 

Happy Friday, fearless ones,



Toni’s Story

I never wanted to breastfeed.  I understand that it’s supposed to be good for babies and I don’t doubt that it is but I also don’t believe that formula is poison or even less good than breastmilk.  I don’t think comparing formula to fast food is at all fair and if anything the culture of mom-shaming that surrounds the breastfeeding debate only deepened my ambivalence towards breastfeeding.

I recently reread Hannah Rosin’s article, “The Case Against Breastfeeding” and her words ring so true to me still today while I mother a toddler and the whole feeding debate isn’t nearly as central for me.  In fact, I think because the emotional investment has dissipated for me, I can finally look at feeding in a clear light.  Rosin writes, “[W]hen people say that breast-feeding is “free,” I want to hit them with a two-by-four. It’s only free if a woman’s time is worth nothing.”

Yes. Yes. Yes. I always understood that having a baby would be a huge time commitment but that didn’t mean I was willing to sacrifice all my time and comfort.  And I didn’t want to pump.  I think the best thing about breastfeeding was the closeness and getting close to a pump…eh.

So, I did breastfeed a little, three or four months, always supplementing with formula, more and more as time went on.  Before and after my baby’s birth, I kept telling the hospital people I intended to supplement and they gave me no support on that front whatsoever—even acting as if what I, a 34 year old grown woman with a master’s degree, had decided for my family was wrong.  So, I felt combative pretty much my entire hospital stay.  I did not ask for any help on anything and even when I worried that maybe I wasn’t holding my baby right or that he was maybe not getting enough milk, I kept quiet.  My one and only goal was to get the heck out of that hospital as soon as possible so I could try supplementing with formula in the privacy and comfort of my own home with no one around to judge me.

Even my child’s pediatrician did not seem to understand anything about supplementing.  When he developed reflux, she was sure I just wasn’t holding him right—because how could breastmilk—liquid gold– possibly upset his stomach.  It must’ve been the formula, she thought, even after I explained that he spit up more when I breastfed him.

There was no special reason for me stopping except I realized that the soothing my baby got from me breastfeeding him could just as easily be gotten from me just holding him.  And there was no special reason why I wasn’t into breastfeeding. A friend had told me that while in the hospital after her baby’s birth a nurse actually grabbed her boob without permission to aid in the breastfeeding process.  This image haunted me—a shocking violation of personal space.  I don’t care if someone just assisted in delivering my baby—no one touched me without permission like that.  I see breastfeeding advocates claim that this reserve I maintain is residue of a culture obsessed with breasts as sexual objects to which I reply: Yep, that’s right.  My breasts are sexy and private and not just anyone can touch them.  I understand that they are also at times for feeding my young but I’d smack your hand if you touched my baby’s food without asking first, so what’s the difference?  I informed the nurses at the hospital that while I agreed to try breastfeeding no one was allowed to just come up and grab my boobs.  I thought maybe I was being a bit overcautious until they actually expressed surprise that I’d be uncomfortable with this and suggested that maybe I have a history of sexual abuse.  I let them think it.  If that was what it was going to take to maintain some personal space, so be it.

Anyway, while I strongly feel like I made the right decisions, I know that next time around, I will be more forceful with doctors and nurses.  While recovering from labor, I will request the nurses give a bottle to the baby so I can rest up for the rough sleepless nights ahead and if that one bottle “ruins our breastfeeding relationship” then that’s fine—not all relationships were meant to be.  What matters to me is not my breastfeeding relationship with my baby but my relationship relationship—that is enough of a struggle on its own with a mother as used to her privacy and independence as I am.  Breastfeeding wasn’t bad but I do know that nights when I stayed up breastfeeding as my husband slept soundly in the other room, a dark resentment crept into my already exhausted, hormonal brain.  Maybe I’m just not, as the now infamous Time magazine cover harangues, “mom enough” for breastfeeding.  But I’m completely fine with that.  It’s not a competition, at least not on my end.  While the super moms fight it out to see who can be best, I’ll be at home, telling my husband to fix the baby a bottle while I take a much-needed nap.


Feel like sharing your story? Email me at formulafeeders@gmail.com. 


FFF Friday: “This isn’t a post about how I tried to breastfeed my children and failed.”

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 feelings, and I hope we can all give them the space to do so. 


I got another one last week. One of those messages. The ones that make me feel like I am totally failing to impart my message correctly; the ones that make me question my own inner bias. The message was from a mom saying she didn’t feel supported on this site because she had chosen formula from the get-go. And as I’ve said many times before, I get that. I seriously do. I can give you every reason in the book for why these FFF Fridays tend towards a certain storyline (the main one being that people who feel 100% confident and happy with a choice to formula feed don’t tend to feel inspired to write cathartic stories about infant feeding struggles), but it’s not going to stop you from feeling unsupported.

I can tell you until my face turns blue that I support those who choose to formula feed from day one just as much as I support those who tried until they fell apart, physically and/or emotionally. But I know that doesn’t always come across on my Facebook page, or in my posts. I think that is partly due to my own experience; I think breastfeeding is one of the coolest things ever. I wish I could have done it. Sometimes I have crazy thoughts about having another baby just so I could try, one last time (don’t worry, Fearless Husband, if you are reading this – I’m not that crazy). When I see some of you who came to me as FFFs now happily nursing second or third children, I feel utter joy for you, but I still feel a faint but unmistakably ugly pang of envy that I didn’t have that experience, that my depression had to be so inexplicably tied to lactating; that my nerves were misfiring in such a way that made breastfeeding about as fun as water boarding. 

It is hard to admit these things, because they are emotions, and emotions don’t always match analytical thoughts, and I’d hate for anyone to misunderstand my intellectual take on these issues. For me, it is not so much about breastfeeding or formula feeding; it is about respecting women’s bodily autonomy, and their lived realities, and also about respecting logic, analysis and the truth of statistics. It’s about respecting YOUR experience. I want to honor every single one of your stories, but in doing so, I can’t always make an editorial choice to change up the narrative so that it ensures a wider audience is served. 

I’m not sure where I’m going with this… I guess it’s one more attempt at an explanation for why so many of these stories start out with “I always wanted to breastfeed…” because it’s the people who are in tears, bleeding through their nursing bras, who seek me out in the wee hours of the night. It’s not typically women like Lynn who submit stories, but I wish I would get more of these (and I’m so glad she sent hers in), because they are just as worthwhile, and just as important. And speaking of analytical thoughts…. I have to say that I am in awe of Lynn’s ability to consider this typically emotional issue so clearly and thoughtfully, with thought being the operative word. I wish I could know this girl in real life because she’d make one hell of a sounding board for big decisions.  

Happy Friday, fearless ones,



Lynn’s Story 

This isn’t a post about how I tried to breastfeed my children and failed. This isn’t a post about how I tried to breastfeed my children and succeeded. This is a post about why I chose to feed my children formula, and why I have no regrets about my choice, regardless of the comments and criticisms I recieve.

A little more then three years ago I found out I was pregnant with my first son. It was an amazing feeling. I loved sharing the news with friends and family and I couldn’t wait to meet the little bean growing inside me. At about 20 weeks I had my first appointment with my OB. They asked me if I planned to breastfeed. I hadn’t really given much thought at this point to how I was going to feed my child and told this to the nurse. She told me she would give me some information and I could let her know what I decided at my next appointment. Sounded good to me. So when we got home I decided to go through the information the nurse had given me and decide what was right for us. (At this time I thought the choice was all mine, you know, since the nurse told me to let her know what I decided… but we’ll get to that) Going through the information I realized that all the pamphets were titled things like ’10 reasons breast is best’ ‘Positions for Breastfeeding’ ‘Breastfeeding and Bonding with your baby’ It was all so onesided. There was no information on formula. At all.

So I asked my mom what she did. She breastfed all but one of her children. The one of my siblings she couldn’t breastfeed was born with a cleft lip and palate and was tube fed. She tried pumping for awhile, but only had a manual pump and couldn’t keep up with a 2 yr old and a newborn at home so she switched to formula. She had no issues, no struggles. Breastfeeding was 100% natural for her.

Then I asked my husbands dad what they did. They formula fed all of their children. All of us (my husband and I and our siblings) are healthy, and looking at all of us, there didn’t seem to be a huge difference either way.

So out came Google. I searched breastfeeding and sids, I searched bonding, I searched a million and one things and was loaded down with information about why breast is best and got next to nothing on formula. So my husband and I sat down and talked. And talked and talked and talked about what was best for us.

When we discussed bonding, we decided that since he was taking parental to be home with me and the baby, he wanted to be able to help with feedings. Formula feeding got the benefit there. I have heard the arguement that dad’s can bond with their babies at other times then feeding, and that pumping was an option that would have allowed me to still breastfeed. And those people are right. But it wasn’t right for us.

Then we needed to take into consideration how the elephant in the room (my anxieties) felt about our choices. The anxious part of me felt that I had enough defiencies in my diet, that how could I possibly know that my baby was getting everything he needed from my milk? The arguement that my body would make sure he was didn’t soothe me. How would it possibly make me feel better that my body would take away from me to make sure the baby was healthy? Then I am going to be unhealthy and then how is that going to affect the baby? Formula won out on that arguement too. When I give the baby the bottle, I know exactly how much he is drinking, and what is in it.

We also took into consideration the cost. We didn’t have a lot of extra money, but we made up a good budget and figured out that we could indeed afford to formula feed, if that was our final choice.

Since I was still wavering a little bit in my choice, I decided that I was going to ask a few friends who had babies what they had chosen and why they went that route. Friend 1 told me she chose to breast feed. It  worked out great for her and she breastfed for 3 months until her and her baby’s daddy went their seperate ways then she chose to switch to formula so the baby could have time with his daddy without needing to worry about feedings. I asked her why she chose to breastfeed (not to judge, but just in case there was something I was missing) She gave me 3 reasons. 1- it was cheaper 2- it reduces the risk of sids 3- to help her lose the baby weight faster. Friend 2 told me she had chosen to breastfeed but only breastfed for a couple weeks before she switched to formula because it was really hard on her with a c section and her baby wasn’t gaining any weight. I asked her as well why she chose to breast feed and was told 1- it was cheaper and 2- to help her lose the weight faster.

That gave me 2 more reasons to consider. Reduces the risk of sids…. I looked into that. And found the actual study that proved this. I don’t have it handy, but I do remember that it only reduced the risk by about 0.002% or some similar small number. As for losing the weight faster… to me this seemed like one less reason to breastfeed. When you are breastfeeding you need to get an extra 500 calories, I don’t have an appitite when I am tired and I get sick if I force myself to eat. Having a newborn seems to equate to being tired, and being tired (for me) equals not eating… so what exactly am I feeding my newborn if I choose to breastfeed?

This led me to my choice. Fast forward to my next OB appointment. Again the nurse asks me if I am going to be breastfeeding the baby. This time I confidently reply with ‘No. We have chosen to formula feed’ She didn’t say anything negative about it. She smiled at me and told me she would get me some pamphlets on my way out. I smiled and said Ok. When I got home and went into the envelop she had given me, expecting to find some tips on formula, I found more information on breastfeeding… Being naive, I assumed I must have been given an envelope meant for someone else and let it go. When I went back into the Dr’s office for my next appointment, I mentioned to the nurse that I was given more breastfeeding information and I wondered if I could get any information on formulas. I was told that they didn’t have any information about formula types. All she could tell me was what the hospital used. What a royal pain it was, to get anyone to answer any questions I had about formula.

Eventually I went into labor, and I was very glad that the nurse I had when I had my son was very non judgemental when I told her that I wanted to formula feed. She made sure that I was given formula and took the time to explain to me how much my baby needed to eat, and how often to feed him. She talked to me about feeding on demand, and what signs to watch for for allergies and over feeding.

After leaving the hospital, my son gained weight, grew and at each appointment with our family Dr we were told how great he was growing, and how healthy he was. That made it easy to ignore the people who told us that we were overfeeding him, that formula makes fat babies and how we were poisoning him. When I got pregnant with my second and third children, we automatically went to formula. With each pregnancy people would ask me if I planned to breastfeed my baby, and I replied with a simple no. Of course they always looked shocked and would ask why I wasn’t even trying. Not that it was anyones business, but I had no issue explaining that we formula fed our first and it worked so well for him it just made sense to do the same thing with any additional children, unless it proved not to work. (This extended to all of our parenting choices, not just the feeding issue)

I don’t regret choosing to feed my children formula rather then breastmilk. I don’t feel as though they or I missed out on some cosmic bond that only breastfed babies can have with their moms. I know I did the best thing I could for them and for me.

Today I have 3 healthy children. Alex is 2.5 years old, he is 37 inches tall and weighs 31 pounds. Nick is 16 months old, he is 32 inches tall and weights 26 pounds. Zoey is 2 months old, she is 23 inches tall and weighs 12 pounds. None of my children are obese. None of my children are constantly sick.

It makes me sad that people feel the need to justify their choices. There is no right or wrong when it comes to breastfeeding or formula feeding or doing a combination of both. What is important is that you are listening to your childs needs and meeting them to the best of your ability. As moms we need to support one anothers choices. Formula feeding shouldn’t only be okay for moms who weren’t able to breastfeed. Formula feeding should be okay for all moms. Breastfeeding moms shouldn’t be shamed for feeding their children in public. Formula feeding mom’s shouldn’t be shamed for using something that didn’t come from their breast to feed their child. No one should be judged. No one should be criticized.

I hope that by sharing my story, and my reasons, more moms will feel better about their choices and not feel pressured into feeding their child one way over another just because society says its better. How can formula be perfectly healthy and okay for children when the mom was medically unable to breastfeed, but poison for children when the mom chose not to breastfeed?


Share your story for an upcoming FFF Friday – whatever that story may be. Email it to me at formulafeeders@gmail.com. 

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