Finding the formula

Molly Whitehead-Jones - 2 Aug 15

I honestly never gave much thought to the whole ‘boob vs. bottle’ debate during my pregnancy. Everything I read and everyone I spoke to seemed to be of the opinion that breastfeeding was the only sensible way to go, so that was what I’d do.

I knew that it wasn’t always an easy choice – that there would likely be latching issues, sore nipples and lots of lost sleep. But I never imagined I’d face the kind of problems I eventually encountered.

Giving birth left my body in a bad way. My 15-hour labour ended in an emergency C-section, where two litres worth of blood caused me to become suddenly and severely anaemic; both my arms were black and blue with needle marks and of course my tummy was really sore too, making it painful to even hold my new baby boy, Elliot.

The fact that practically every element of my birth plan had gone out of the window and that, having never been admitted to hospital before in my life, I had to spend my first few days as a mum in such an alien and sterile environment also took its toll emotionally and psychologically. I had never felt more detached from my own body and less like myself.

Regardless of my flagging health, I carried on with breastfeeding as planned (in fact, at this stage, it never even crossed my mind that I didn’t actually have to). It hurt a little, but otherwise seemed to be going fine; the midwives said Elliot looked to have a good latch, he didn’t cry much and he was sleeping well between feeds.

Five days after he was born, the midwife visited to check Elliot over and told us that he had lost a dangerous 16% of his body weight. Why? Because I wasn’t producing any milk; my body had gone into survival mode and was looking out for itself rather than my newborn child. The reason my baby had been so well behaved was because he didn’t have the energy to act out.

I felt totally bereft, a failure – not only for not noticing how much my baby had shrunk, but for not being able to do what seemed to be the most basic motherly duty of providing him with the nourishment he needed.

In order to avoid hospital admission, the midwife told us that we needed to start feeding him formula right away. She arranged for me to borrow a medical grade breast pump to try and get my milk flowing in the meantime, and advised that I’d need to hook myself up to the machine six to eight times a day for 20 minutes each time until my body started cooperating.

For 24 exhausting hours, I attempted to follow her instructions, prioritising the pumping over everything else, including looking after my baby. Slowly, drops of milk began to emerge. I gathered up the pathetic amount and fed it to Elliot, who duly spent the next six hours having distressing crying fits (probably because he could sense my total desperation and stress at the whole situation).

I began to let myself imagine where this could go if things didn’t improve soon: me miserably pumping away, only to find that Elliot was still going hungry as the milk wasn’t as forthcoming as it should be; the worry of it all effecting my bond with my son; my body giving up entirely in the face of the many strains being placed upon it.
The midwife returned to weigh Elliot three days later; he was back in the safety zone. My baby was thriving on formula – why did I feel so desperate to go back to feeding him in a way that felt so frantically uncertain and entirely tense?

My husband could see that I was unravelling, and encouraged me to think about whether sticking with formula might actually be the best option. I sought solace in Google, and read up on whether the bottle really was as bad as I’d been led to believe. Turned out that ‘breast is best’ doesn’t always apply, especially from an emotional/mental health perspective.

I was torturing myself and compromising my relationship with my baby by insisting on persevering with breastfeeding. So I decided to stop pumping and leave it alone. And the next day was the first time since I gave birth that I was able to partially relax and actually enjoy the fact that I was a mum.

Now, 14 days after the birth, I’m still worried that I made the wrong decision, but am increasingly of the mind that I did in fact do the right thing for both of us. I’ve noticed (TMI alert) that my boobs haven’t been leaking in response to Elliot’s cries, which makes me think that there really was a possibility that my milk was just never going to come in properly. The fact that my husband can also feed the baby is no doubt strengthening their bond, and is also giving me more opportunities to rest and recover from our traumatic birth experience. Most importantly, Elliot is still putting on weight apace, and shows all the signs of being a very healthy and happy baby.

As a formula-feeding mummy in a breastfeeding-obsessed culture, I of course fear judgement from others, and I also fear that I’ll look back years from now and wish I’d “tried harder”. But not as much as I fear jeopardising the wellbeing of my son in order to fulfil expectations.

Elliot and I have found the solution that works for us, and in our case that happens to involve formula. My wish for all other new mums is that they feel free and able to do the same – in this and in every other aspect of motherhood.

Molly Whitehead-Jones

Molly Whitehead-Jones is a first-time mum living in Manchester and founder of Mamas Collective, a mums group that offers meetups, workshops & events for savvy, super-cool mamas who love their kids but won’t let motherhood hold them back.

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