The Least Interesting, Least Controversial Post You’ll Read About That NYT Article

In the 1993 film Groundhog’s Day, a reporter (Bill Murray) gets stuck in an endless time-warping loop, which forces him to repeat the same day over and over again. He’s aware of the constant rewinding, but no one else seems to be; everyone around him repeats the same lines and actions every day, with no knowledge that they did the very same thing the day before.

I’m starting to feel a bit like Bill Murray.

Every year or so, someone (typically a journalist or academic) writes an article for a major news outlet about the breast/bottle issue, and the universe explodes into a toxic cloud of overwrought responses and painfully long comment sections. I’m not casting stones from my glassy little house; I’ve contributed to these explosions many times by posting the catalyst articles on Facebook and Twitter, written my own overwrought responses, and added my unnecessary two cents to comment threads.

But that’s what you do, when you’re caught in a Groundhog’s Day situation. You go through the motions, say what people expect you to say. You play your part.

Here’s what my personal Groundhog’s Day looks like:

An article comes out with a controversial, negative title about breastfeeding, containing one or more of the following points:

 

-Breastfeeding studies are flawed and therefore can’t be trusted.

-The studies proving that breastfeeding isn’t the cat’s meow are somehow exempt from the same criticism, and can be trusted implicitly

-Everyone trying to help women breastfeed is a bully

-The person writing breastfed, but thinks formula feeding is a perfectly viable option and resents the pressure she couldn’t resist; or, she formula fed, and this is a sad, penitent story about her breastfeeding failure and how hard she tried.

Next,  a response piece comes out, making one (or more) of the following arguments:

 

-The author of the original piece isn’t an MD or IBCLC, but rather a political or social scientist, so she’s got no business having an opinion on medical issues. (Let’s ignore that some of the most prominent voices in breastfeeding literature are anthropologists.)

-People who speak out against the pressure to breastfeed are anti-breastfeeding, hate breastfeeding mothers, and must be bitter/anti-feminist/in the pocket of Big Formula/uneducated/uninformed.

-There is no such thing as the Mommy Wars, and moms don’t really feel guilty about not breastfeeding, because our 6-month exclusive breastfeeding rates show that they are in the majority, so why would they ever feel bad?

-Because breastfeeding mothers also have problems, that negates the problems of non-breastfeeding parents.

-All of the research cited in the article means nothing, because (add circular argument here about how the AAP and WHO support breastfeeding, based on the same studies that are being questioned).

 

-Anyone who cares about women and babies should boycott said article and the godforsaken newspaper/website that published it.

 

Then, a follow up to the follow up will be written, reiterating the points of the first article, and we all act as if any part of this tone-deaf conversation is news. And so on, and so forth, until we find ourselves back at the beginning, ready to start the cycle over.

If this were a movie, I’d make a dramatic, heart-stirring speech, grab a stick, and draw a literal and proverbial line in the sand. On one side, I’d invite the the rational, kind people – regardless of their opinions on breastfeeding, or how they fed their own kids. As long as they respected other people’s points of view, and were willing to listen and have a real conversation, they would be welcome.

On the other side, we’d leave the zealots and judgmental jerks. Then something magical would happen, maybe involving a fairy godmother who’d been disguised as a gruff barkeep for the whole movie, watching and waiting for the protagonist to figure out the Big Lesson. Sparks would fly, and those of us on the “nice” side would miraculously wake up 24 hours later and go on with our lives, while the others would be stuck in that same day, having the same tired arguments. (Don’t feel bad for them. They’re happier that way.)

Groundhog-Day-quotes-6

But there isn’t a fairy godmother, or even a barkeep, so I’m stuck reciting my lines. I’m not going to be poetic about it, because I’ve written the same article like 7000 times already and I would only plagiarize myself (is that possible?), so I’m just going to list some bullet points, in no particular order, which detail my response to the all the articles and responses and responses to responses, in no particular order:

– Breastfeeding moms struggle. They deserve help, and resources, and the right to feed their babies anywhere and in any way they see fit.

– Formula feeding parents struggle. They deserve help, and resources, and the right to feed their babies in whatever way they see fit.

– Infant feeding studies are inherently flawed. All of them. The ones that say what you want them to say, and the ones that say what you don’t. The best we have are sibling studies, of which there are approximately three. Those three do show very negligible benefits of breastfeeding. However, just because research can’t prove that breastfeeding guarantees a healthier, smarter child, does not mean it’s not worth supporting. It is still the biological norm, and there are many reasons it is worthwhile and wonderful that have nothing to do with science. (Incidentally, I find it ironic that SCIENCE is what we use to promote breastmilk, while at the same time being seriously pissed off at SCIENCE for making a damn good substitute for it. Those science-y bastards!)

– We do NOT have solid evidence that breastfeeding is the panacea (at least in western society) that organizations like WHO and UNICEF make it out to be. But remember that WHO and UNICEF are worldwide organizations, and in many parts of the world, not breastfeeding really can be a death sentence. So that might cause a bit of understandable zealotry on the subject.

– It is unfortunate that the only people speaking up about these issues are political scientists and bloggers (one exception: Dr. Amy Tuteur, who has a book coming out very soon which tackles this topic). Consider, though, that it’s basically career suicide for anyone in the medical profession to speak out against breastfeeding pressure.  Until we can have more balanced discussions that don’t result in knee-jerk responses and accusations, I don’t see many practicing MDs volunteering to lead the charge. (There’s a really long discussion on this form of innate censorship in my book, not that anyone has read the damn thing. Because, you know, it’s Groundhog’s Day, and it doesn’t exist in this alternate reality. Or any reality, really, looking at my book sales. Sigh.)

– Infant feeding politics are greatly affected by region, race, class, and social group. What happens to one patient in one hospital doesn’t have much bearing on another patient in another hospital, even one down the street, let alone in a different part of the country. Some people live in breastfeeding-friendly communities where they really are the only person reaching for a bottle. The fact that their statewide statistics show that 50% of the people in their state are also reaching for bottles means nothing, unless those 50% hang out in their neighborhood, with their social circle.

– What happens in Baby Friendly Hospitals is not uniform. What Baby Friendly says in its literature can easily get lost in translation. Many, many parents report feeling bullied and pressured, and left without any resources or support once they chose to formula feed. Telling them that this isn’t happening just because it isn’t happening at the hospital YOU work at, is gaslighting, pure and simple.

– Likewise, just because you were treated like a criminal for asking to supplement, doesn’t mean someone else is lying when they say their child was given formula without reason or consent. Some hospitals are very breastfeeding unfriendly.

– Speaking of which, the whole reason for the huge push with breastfeeding is that for a long time, formula was the norm, and breastfeeding was discouraged. That said…I actually think a case could be made that the truly anti-breastfeeding period was about 2 decades, or about 25 years (50s-mid 70’s). Formula feeding became the norm in the 50’s, and that’s when pediatricians started telling women it was “better” to use commercial formula than their own milk. The pendulum swung the other direction in the mid-70’s (post Nestle disaster) and breastfeeding has been the “right” choice ever since. As it is currently 2015, and the pendulum has been way over on the breastfeeding side from around the early 90s, that means we’ve been pro-breast longer than we were anti-breast. This might be the reason for all the recent backlash – it’s time for another pendulum swing, this time (hopefully) towards the middle.

– Instead of questioning the quality of the breastfeeding research, why aren’t we questioning why we’re still doing meaningless observational studies which do nothing but frame infant feeding (and therefore, necessarily, women’s bodies) as the only element in childhood health and development? Instead, we could be using the money, time and energy finding better alternatives for those who can’t make breastfeeding work, or finding ways to support breastfeeding without harming the psyches of new mothers or marginalizing new dads or adoptive parents. Even studies which look at the chemical composition of breastmilk would be helpful and interesting. But we know that observational studies on the long-term effects of breastfeeding are bullshit, so why do we keep doing them? Seems like an exercise in frustration, to me.

– Breastfeeding supporters (IBCLCs. CLCs, nurses) are not the enemy. I think there are fundamental flaws in the training programs and governing boards that oversee these credentials, things that make it difficult for care providers to do their jobs with empathy and sensitivity. For example, the way IBCLCs are restricted by their code of conduct makes it hard to truly support formula feeding parents, in my opinion. But for those who want to breastfeed, these professionals are a GODSEND. And many do stray from the party line and help parents feed their babies, however that may happen, end of story. Stereotyping is stereotyping, no matter which way you cut it.

– The previous point does not negate the fact that many women have been mistreated and hurt in the name of breastfeeding. The individuals and organizations that perpetuate this behavior must be held accountable, just as much as the formula companies need to be held accountable for their marketing tactics, past and present.

– Speaking of marketing, formula companies have done some god-awful things. But we must be careful not to confuse their modern, generic capitalist behavior with the sins of the past. Sending a formula sample (which can be donated to a food bank or burned at the stake, you choose) is not quite the same thing as sending fake nurses into a resource-poor nation and creating conditions that killed hundred of babies.

– The experiences of formula feeding parents are just as real, valid, and important as the experiences of breastfeeding mothers, and vice versa.

– Listen to those experiences: breastfeeding mothers talk about shame around feeding in public, attitudes towards extended breastfeeding, and a lack of practical support at the hospital. Formula feeding parents talk about shame around the entire first year of feeding, being made to feel like they are harming their children, being chastised by care providers, and having a lack of practical support at the hospital. There are problems and gaps and room for improvement on both sides. It’s not a pissing contest.

– When a new voice arises on the infant feeding debate scene, don’t immediately dismiss it. Maybe there’s a reason for all these articles – maybe there are some real issues going on here, and if we solved them, the articles would stop.

 

I could say more, but I’m boring myself. I hope you’re bored, too; bored of the constant back and forth, bored of defending yourself and your point of view; bored of fighting. It won’t change until the people in real positions of power – physicians, members of the AAP and WHO and numerous other medical organizations, government officials, parenting “experts” – decide to take a long, hard look at what this “debate” is doing to parents and babies, and realize that if the end goal is a happier, healthier generation, they are failing miserably.

All we can do in the meantime is take care of ourselves and those around us; to tell our stories and talk to those who are willing to listen, and explain why breastfeeding is not, and never will be, the same sort of public health issue as obesity or smoking. Some will put their hands over their ears and refuse to listen, but that’s okay. Keep talking. Force it to be a dialog instead of a lecture. Read the articles you agree with, and the ones you don’t agree with. Find people who support you, and pay it forward by supporting others.

And one day, if we’re lucky, we will all wake up in our beds and find that it’s February 3rd.

 

 

 

 

The Sorority

You honestly thought you were past it.

It’s been four years since you’ve had a newborn. Four years since you had to answer the inevitable are you nursing? questions, or had to buy a can of expensive hypoallergenic formula, or stare in envy at how easy it was for your friends to feed their babies. You’d sit there covered in renegade powder and splashed water, smelling like rotten potatoes; they’d push aside a designer nursing top and feed with ease. But you got through that hard first year. It was done. It was over.

But then, friends starting having more babies. Some were first timers, some were on number three. And though they may have struggled, all went on to join the sorority. You know the one: Alpha Lacta Nu. 7110705855_5443084995_mIt’s a pretty easy sorority to join; the hazing involves some cracked nipples, a few hundred dollars in lactation consultant fees (at least pre-influx of Baby Friendly initiatives and ObamaCare), and a successful completion of Lactogenesis II. But for those who don’t pass the lactation equivalent of pledge week, it can feel like the most exclusive club in town. (Exclusive. Huh. Why does that ring a bell…?)

Beyond the politics of infant feeding, beyond guilt, beyond misleading articles, beyond the pressure to meet public health recommendations, lies something far simpler and emotionally loaded: it’s the feeling of being left out. Of not being allowed into the sisterhood. Of not being part of the real Club Motherhood, the one that shares inside jokes about drinking while nursing or recipes for lactation cookies.

Years go by, and the club opens up – now, your entry is based on toddler tantrums, preschool admissions, moving to neighborhoods “for the schools”. You find common ground. You start feeling like maybe motherhood is more than this, more than milk, more than nutrition, more mind than body.

But it’s always there – that little fizzle of ugly jealousy in your gut – and it will remind you of its presence when you see one of your own – one of the “uninitiated” – gain entry into the sorority with a second or third child. Suddenly, you’re left out again. One of your uncool friends just got invited to the cool kid’s table. She looks up, over her tuna fish sandwich, and shoots you an I’m-sorry-I’m-still-me-I-still-love-you-but-this-is-way-more-fun kind of half-smile. And the leggy blonde next to her, the one with the perfect teeth and 4.0 GPA, tosses her hair and you know, in that moment, that your friend is no longer like you. How can she be? She’s in.

And while you know – you know – that your lack of breastfeeding did nothing to your child’s health, or intelligence, or beauty; and you know – you know – that you are no less of a mother because of how you fed – that doesn’t stop the hurt. Because that’s not what it’s about. It’s not about guilt, or regret, or even jealousy of the nursing itself. You know you made the right choice for your and your family. It’s not about what people think it’s about.

It’s about wanting to be part of the club. Just for once. To not have to be the one people feel sorry for (oh, she couldn’t nurse, poor thing) or talk about (I bet she didn’t have enough support) or judge (I heard she could have if she’d just tried) or try and reassure (it’s okay! My aunt/sister/friend’s baby was formula fed and she’s just fine!) as they politely close the door to the sorority house in your face.

It’s about feeling happy and sad at the same time, when you see one of your own finally gain entry. You want her to be happy, to succeed at something that caused her pain and sadness the last time. But it’s also the loneliest feeling in the world to lose one of the only people who know what you know, and feel what you feel. You’re thrilled for her. And you also hate her, in the ugliest, tiniest, most disgusting part of your soul.

It’s about wishing for the day that motherhood won’t be measured in ounces produced, or tears shed, or bottles filled, but knowing that day probably won’t come, because it’s human nature, and we’re human.

It’s about reaching out, and wanting to start your own sorority – one that accepts you for who you are, and knows that your journey isn’t exactly like hers, and that’s okay – and finding more drama, more disagreement, and more ugliness.

It’s about realizing – finally, really realizing – that you’re not alone. That there’s community out there. That one day, this too really shall pass; that the majority of your close friends will leave the childbearing jungle years, and this sorority will cease to matter.

Someday, we will all graduate. I promise. And when that day comes, I’ll be the one waving my cap in the air, shouting hallelujah to the bigger, broader, world that’s waiting for us all.

 

Common Bonds: The challenge of nurturing friendships in the early days of motherhood

When I was first trying to get pregnant, I suffered a few early miscarriages. Going through that particular kind of hell actually had a silver lining: it led me to join an online “support” message board on a popular baby site, something I probably never would’ve done otherwise. But I didn’t have any close friends who’d gone through pregnancy loss, and there was something intensely comforting about turning on the computer at any time of day and finding at least one virtual “friend” at the ready, available to commiserate and connect.

This group of ours became inseparable, and over the course of a year, we bonded through fertility treatments, pregnancy scares, and subsequent, unfair, heartbreaking multiple losses.

And then, we started having babies.

And this group, which had been so strong despite our geographical, religious, political, ethnic and socioeconomic differences, did begin to splinter, but just a tiny bit. Comments tinged in tentative judgment about birthing choices, small digs about things someone would “never” do or questions met with not-so-hidden sanctimony. Things were changing, and it was hard to watch, but  overall, we were still miles above the typical mommy-chatroom behavior norm.

When I started having trouble breastfeeding, I immediately turned to this crew for help. I expected some judgment, especially as I’d started seeing so much friction in the group. But oddly, magically, there was NONE. There was only support. These friends of mine – women whose voices I’d never even heard, or whose eyes I’d only seen in photographs – reassured me, counseled me, implored me to do what was best not only for my child, but also for myself.

Meanwhile, I couldn’t find the same degree of support in real life. Wasn’t it supposed to be the other way around? Wasn’t the World Wild Web supposed to be the cesspool, teeming with anonymous, heartless trolls, whereas the “IRL” people were grounded in the humanity forced on us by feeling someone’s breath on our skin, having their eyes meet ours?

I’ve thought a lot about this over the years… why our group was immune to the usual mommy war bullshit. I don’t think it was because we were better or kinder or more highly evolved – I’ve seen the same group disintegrate over political arguments and anti-vaccination threads on Facebook, 6 years after our merry band of miscarrying misfits had formed. No, I think our immunity had more to do with us starting out so different from one another. Unlike most friendships, we didn’t have a lot of common ground. For the most part, we only had one thing in common: grief. The rest of it never mattered. We had perspective.

Perspective, in my opinion, is what destroys friendships. Or rather, the lack of perspective is what destroys friendships. Especially when your friendship faces the hurdle of parenthood. As new mothers, we are all floundering, trying to find our way through thickets of thorny branches. Go to far to the right, you get pricked. Lean too far to the left, you get pricked. Either way, you’re going to bleed. Our friends should be there, but often they aren’t in the woods with us at all, and from their vantage point, the forest looks picturesque and cheery. If there’s someone by your side, swaying in the same direction into the same thorns, you can hold each other steady. But someone who leans in a different direction might pull you too far, topple you over. It’s easier to let go of her hand and find your way through the woods alone.

When I was struggling with breastfeeding, my friends who didn’t have kids yet couldn’t understand why I was so obsessed with what did (or didn’t) go into my baby’s mouth. Others, child-free friends who thought they “knew” how important breastfeeding was, understood why I was thinking about these things, but acted confused when I grew sensitive at their intellectual discussions about human milk. (For them, it wasn’t visceral, it wasn’t personal, it was just what they’d read in Time magazine. For me, it was my nipples, my body, my baby.) My breastfeeding friends couldn’t understand what I was going through, assuming my struggles paralleled theirs, and if they could push through, why couldn’t I?

They couldn’t understand.

But here’s the secret: they didn’t have to.

Friendship isn’t about commiseration. It’s about empathy. You don’t have to have walked through the same thorny thicket, you just have to show up with band-aids and beer.

There are many friendship theories about how like-attracts-like, and I worry that this is never more true than during the mothering period of a woman’s life. Not only do we find it hard to connect with friends who don’t have kids, but we find it hard to connect with women who have kids but parent them differently. That’s normal, I suppose; there’s a human tendency to want to validate ourselves through other people’s choices, and an innate desire to see ourselves reflected in our friends’ eyes. When we seek out new mom-friends, of course we will gravitate towards women who can relate to our everyday experience, and whose discipline, feeding, and parenting styles are close to our own.

It’s so easy to forget, in those poop-stained, exhausting, dizzy days of baby and toddlerhood, that we are more than mothers. We are sisters, aunts, daughters, employees, poets, musicians, writers, readers, dancers, athletes. We are multifaceted. Yet the part of ourselves that takes utmost priority when it comes to nurturing and developing friendships is the part that gave birth. Why can’t we connect with a woman who feeds and diapers her child differently, when three years ago we would’ve bonded quickly and powerfully over a mutual love of Ani DiFranco? Maybe it’s hard to feel close with a former friend who is formula feeding, when you’re struggling so hard to breastfeed because you feel it’s the most important thing you can do for your child – but why can’t you step back and celebrate what you do have in common?

This potent mix of hormones, hopes, fear and ambivalence – this thing we call motherhood – can create amazing friendships. It can also destroy amazing friendships.

I’m pondering all of this, because I am honored to have an essay in a new collection of stories about female friendships, which is available for purchase now. It’s called “My Other Ex: Women’s True Stories of Loving and Losing Friends”, and it’s part of the phenomenal HerStories Project, spearheaded by Jessica Smock and Stephanie Sprenger. Not all the stories in it are about motherhood, but many are, and nearly all focus on times of transition. Each and every story is heartbreaking in its own way, but for me, the ones about motherhood provoked a powerful sense of frustration and sadness. Because it doesn’t have to be this way. These things that divide us don’t need to do so, but they do. They almost always do. Fear, judgment, resentment, pain – emotions that should be mitigated by friendship, but are instead exacerbated by it.

 

My-Other-Ex-final-3-266x400

So tell me, FFFs – did you lose friends during your transition to motherhood? Did you patch them up later? Do you have “another ex”?

 

Breastfeeding might not protect kids from obesity. So what?

The past few days have produced a flurry of articles on how breastfeeding may not protect against obesity. You’d think I’d be shouting an obnoxiously loud DUH or TOLD YOU SO. Instead, I want to poke my eyes out and claw at my ears until they bleed. That’s maybe slightly dramatic, but seriously – I’m at my wit’s end, here.

The truth is, there have been quite a few studies and reviews that showed negligible or conflicting results regarding the effect of infant feeding practice on later obesity (ie, this one, this one, or this one). That hasn’t stopped numerous government or health organization from urging us to support breastfeeding because it will solve the obesity epidemic, opting to focus on this convoluted claim rather than the myriad of health benefits that have been repeated consistently over metastudies and reviews (i.e., lower risk of gastrointestinal infection, lower risk of ear infections, hell, even the IQ thing is more soundly supported by the research).

I get why there’s more attention being paid to this finding – it comes from the PROBIT study, which is the closest thing we have to a randomized, controlled experiment in the infant feeding world (other than sibling studies, of which there have been exactly two- at least that I’ve been able to unearth). For those who don’t spend their free time reading the canon of breastfeeding research, let me give you the Cliff’s Notes: PROBIT was a study undertaken in Belarus, which had low breastfeeding rates at the time. They took a cohort of pregnant moms and gave one randomized group more intensive prenatal breastfeeding education and baby-friendly hospital etiquette when they delivered; the other group got the status quo by way of breastfeeding support. The thought was, the group that got better education and support would breastfeed more exclusively and for longer; the other group probably wouldn’t.

Are you confused? You should be. The thing that puzzles me (and hopefully you as well) is that while this plan might have convinced more women to initiate breastfeeding, the same pitfalls that plague all breastfeeding research still remain. Some of the women in the “breastfeeding friendly” group still – presumably – could not breastfeed for physical reasons, others may have chosen not to. All this study can really show us, after all the necessary confounders are accounted for, is whether this type of breastfeeding promotion and support can increase breastfeeding rates. Otherwise, it’s basically more of the same. There are still fundamental differences in the women who were able to breastfeed and those that couldn’t/didn’t.

But, for whatever reason (desperation?) the medical and advocacy communities have grasped onto PROBIT as the Holy Grail of irrefutable breastfeeding science. So, if PROBIT shows that breastfeeding confers no protective effect against obesity, that means something. (Incidentally, as the babies involved in PROBIT get older, I’m sure we will see a lot of headlines on the long-term effects of breastfeeding… so if you’re interested in this stuff, try and familiarize yourself with it now. Here’s some good literature on it, to get you started.)

While I believe, based on my reading of additional research into the obesity link (more on this in Bottled Up, not that I’m plugging my book or anything. I mean why would I have to, book sales being as horrible great as they are?), that there truly is little to no advantage to breastfeeding in regards to later obesity, there’s no excuse for bad science or bad reporting. And this, my friends, is a both. We are taking ONE finding from ONE study – a well-designed one, to be sure, but far from perfect or immune from the problems plaguing most infant feeding research- and proclaiming its results as absolute truth. The sad thing is, some of the biggest breastfeeding advocates are just as guilty of this as the knee-jerking media: Dr. Ruth Lawrence, one of the founders of the Academy of Breastfeeding Medicine, even admitted that she was “disappointed” about the result (although as someone so wisely pointed out on our FFF Facebook page, how freaking ridiculous is it that she is “disappointed” to find out that the vast majority of Western babies – being that they are nearly all at least partially bottle fed – are not doomed to a life of morbid obesity just because their mothers were “suboptimal” breastfeeders?? And what does this suggest about the inherent bias of breastfeeding researchers?).

The near-hysteria surrounding this finding is just further evidence of how warped our thinking is around infant feeding. Why is it such a big deal that breastfeeding doesn’t solve the obesity epidemic? Because we’ve made it a big deal. We’ve built a house of cards on top of this one health claim: it’s the basis of the First Lady’s push to support breastfeeding; Mike Bloomberg has used it to justify locking up formula in NYC hospitals; pretty much every article about breastfeeding in the past year has suggested that formula fed babies better start saving up for Lap Band surgery. The grotesque amount of fat-hating aside (because if you think formula feeders have it bad, you should see how awfully we treat overweight people in our public health discourse), it’s ridiculous that we’ve focused so much attention on this supposed benefit of breastfeeding when common sense says that our nation’s growing waistlines are due to a multitude of factors – genetics, cultural differences, lack of clean air/safe streets/room to move in our cities, processed food, sedentary lifestyles, the time we waste on the (ahem) internet….

My hope is that breastfeeding advocates and health officials might learn from this; that they might take a step back and reassess the way they are promoting something that should be a basic human right as a medical necessity. But at the very least, I hope this will be a cautionary tale for those of us who strive for critical thinking to remain skeptical of absolutism, in both science and in life.

 

So funny, I could cry

I’ve said it many times before, but SO much of the breast/bottle debate comes down to perspective. If you’re a breastfeeding mom in many (and I mean MANY) parts of the world, you most likely feel like an outsider. Sure, most educated folks know by now that “breast is best”, but a lot of them get squeamish when they realize what that actually means. (“What? You mean these ladies have to actually feed their babies from their…um…eww. That’s gross and I – Oh look! My new Victoria’s Secret catalogue arrived! Would ya look at that.. now that’s what boobs are for!”)

But Mommy World is not the real world. It’s an insular, secret club; one that’s hazing process often involves failed birth plans, brutal pregnancy complications, and postpartum adjustment difficulties. Most new moms desperately need to gain entry to the club, though, because the alternative is to go through all of this crap alone, with only a meddling mother-in-law or a Victoria’s Secret catalogue-obsessed husband to talk to.

Mommy World exists in post-natal support groups, LLL meetings, and online forums. It doesn’t really matter if the club chapter you belong to is virtual or corporeal; in either case, you desperately cling to what you hope will be your tribe, and pray that you fit in, even if you were formerly a successful, ball-busting professional who scoffed at the concept of college sororities. Because you need this. You need validation that you are doing the parenting thing right. You need help getting through the foreign terrain of empty, sleep-deprived days, where all you do is pump/feed/cry/pump/feed/repeat. You need friends.

The mommy world can be a beautiful place, full of true support and sisterhood, where struggle turns into empathy. It can also be a cold, cruel world, where struggle morphs into bitterness and sanctimony, and the need to validate our choices becomes an excuse for smug intolerance.

This is why I shake my head at comments about how formula feeding moms have no reason to feel ostracized, considering our bottle-friendly society. The majority of Americans are obese, and yet most of us understand why an anorexic teen would feel undue pressure to stay thin based on societal ideals. When you add in the complexity of postpartum hormones and our innate, Mister-Rogers’s-generation need to feel special and “best” – well, I think it makes perfect sense that we’d feel a bit funky about bottle feeding.

I’m rehashing these thoughts because FFF Naima sent me this pitch-perfect clip from a recent Simpsons episode. I love it so much that I wish I could marry it (Fearless Husband just saw it and wants to marry it too, so we’re cool).

To Marge, and the rest of you hiding bottles under nursing covers – you’re not crazy. You’re just a citizen of Mommy World at the moment, and until you can beam yourself back into a normal dimension, know this: you are definitely not alone.

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...