The Tale of the Bad Bottle-Feeding Mama

~by Emi

(Pre post note, I'm about to pour my heart out. This is difficult for me at the best of times with people I know well. For me to do it for strangers is pretty much unheard of. So be kind. Be gentle. Bear with me. Emi, x)

To celebrate Global Breastfeeding Week, I felt like I should share my somewhat different breastfeeding story...

Here goes...

There was a time, pre having my own children, when I thought I knew how to be a good mother. It was in my bones. I truly felt like my calling in life was Be A Mother. So strong, was this calling, that I actually ended up working as a nanny for a few families before I had my own children.

Up until this point, I had been adamant that I would breast-feed. I mean, it was best for the baby, full of goodness and a special way to bond with your child, right?

I am all for breast-feeding, truly I am. But it is touted to us not only as this natural, beautiful way of nurturing your child (true) but also as this natural, beautiful way of nurturing your child that is easy and you *should* be able to do and if you can't, you're a failure. (False).

Whilst the breastfeeding journey with my daughter Pixie has been fraught with five bouts of mastitis, it is still going strong at 11 months. I am very proud of this fact, and myself, but it's not this journey I want to share with you.

The one I want to share is my journey with my son, Ru.

This is Ru.

He is smart, so smart. He is funny, and joyful, and emotional, and a pain-in-the-ass, and frustrating, and amazing, and sweet, and kind, and I Love Him.

Guess what?

Bottle fed.

I am not about to defend a mother's right to choose to bottle over breast. Yes, you have that right and no one should judge you for it. What I am going to broach is the massive amount of guilt you as a mother feel if, for whatever reason, you can't breastfeed.

I breastfed Ru for nearly three months. It was awful. No one told me that it can take up 6 arduous weeks to establish a breast-feeding routine. No one told me I would be reduced to being a dairy cow. No one told me that I would be feeding 10-12 times in 24 hours. All I was told was 'This is best. You should know how to do it.'

I would spend hours every day, EVERY day, crying, feeling like a failure. Ru would take forever to latch on and then when he did, he would feed for hours at a time, only to cry when he came off, awful cries that hurt my new-Mama heart as I somehow *knew* he was telling me he was hungry. He would be in tears, I would be in tears, Steve would be in tears watching this struggle, feeling useless that he couldn't fix it.

And then, to top it all off... I got mastitis. The Mother of All Mastitis. Having had mastitis a lot with Pixie, I can safely tell you that nothing was as painful as that first time.

I spoke to 2 different health visitors, both of whom were effectively useless, giving pointless nuggets of 'wisdom', 'You'll get it eventually.' and 'Just keep going.'

I began to loathe feeding time. I loved my son undeniably, but I HATED feeding him. I would hear his little 'I'm-getting-kinda-hungry' noises and I would start to get tense, every muscle in my body tight and uncomfortable. I would have a sinking feeling in my stomach, and get awful headaches. And Ru, poor Ru. Children are so receptive to the energies of others. He would be sat in my lap, attempting to feed, unhappy because for whatever reason, I couldn't breastfeed him.

Long story short, I battled for as long as I could, but the mastitis was the beginning of the end. I couldn't share how difficult it was with anyone, after all, breastfeeding was this natural, easy, amazing thing that I as a mother should just be able to Do. I felt like the world's worst mother. I felt resentful that my precious first weeks with my precious first child were being tainted because I couldn't breastfeed.

And then Ru started biting. *sigh*

It got to the point where Ru didn't even really want to be held by me, so great were the waves of unhappiness and resentment seeping out of me.



I was gently told by a doctor, after telling him the whole story, mastitis, cracked, bleeding nipples and all, that there was no shame in bottle-feeding. Maybe, I hear you say, he should have told me about La Leche League, put me in contact with someone who knew what they were doing. Well, maybe.

Or maybe he was gently releasing me from the pressure I had put myself under. Maybe he could see that I didn't want to breastfeed any more, that my heart was no longer in it. I couldn't do it any longer.

I remember him telling me the one most important thing though.

'You tried your best'

And I did.

And with that realisation, we bought formula and Ru became a bottle-fed baby.

He transformed from that very first feed. He became an easy-going, relaxed, happy baby, the one he was supposed to be.

I battled and tried and struggled for as long as I could. But I had to stop when my failure began affecting, tainting, my relationship with my child.

I felt guilty though. I NEVER got over it. It was there in the back of my mind that I had failed. I was a terrible mother. I was a failure as a woman.

I was judged by other mothers in public, how could I bottle feed when I KNEW breastfeeding was better for my baby?! How could I possibly BOND with him when using a bottle?! I would silently seethe 'How DARE you judge me?! You don't know me and you certainly have NO idea what I've been through!'I hated that part.

I felt like I was being judged. Ellie Lee got it right when writing an opinion piece for the BBC, "Information about breastfeeding is replete with truly beautiful imagery of mothers and their babies, indicating love and communication. But that about bottle-feeding only shows technicalities; it is all images about hygiene, showing bottles, bleach and bottle brushes, but no mothers feeding their babies with love in their eyes."

Why should I be judged as loving less because his milk came from a bottle and not breast?

But Ru and I, we bonded. I would spend HOURS reading to him, cuddled him endlessly, as well as making feeding times something special, and finally, feeding time was something Steve could be a part of too.

Months passed and Pixie arrived. Arrived with a joyful smile and blessedly easy breastfeeding. Whilst I was so happy about this, I couldn't help but feel guilty that Ru hadn't had this experience.

I later discovered, after being lent a breastfeeding textbook from a friend doing her bf-ing peer supporter training, that Ru had had an undiagnosed tongue-tie.

It was a lightbulb moment for me. A little over 2 years of gut-wrenching guilt just vanished. I hadn't been a crappy mother. There had been A Reason. A tongue-tie. Something so little had meant that he couldn't latch on properly, couldn't feed effectively, starting the downward spiral we had been on.

I was most emphatically NOT a Crappy Mother.

There is a strong case here for midwives and health visitors to be better trained in supporting breastfeeding in the early weeks, and recognising tongue-ties, and for them to share support networks like La Leche League and our local support group, Treasure Chest. But that is for a different post.

So what do I want you to take away from this?

1. Breastfeeding is hard.

2. Failing at breastfeeding is even harder.


If, for whatever reason, you can't breastfeed, I hate to say it, but you ARE going to feel guilty. I can't stop that. It's as inevitable as the tide coming in. What I *can* do, is offer you a cup of tea and a cookie whilst my BOTTLE-FED son, my intelligent, creative, bright, shining light of a child plays in front of you... maybe reassuring you that actually, you can have both a 'normal' child, and a strong relationship with that child if you have to bottle-feed.

I would encourage all new mothers to try every means at their disposal to establish a successful breastfeeding relationship. But sometimes, sometimes, it doesn't happen and bottles are the only way.

There is a horrible pressure on women to breastfeed, a horrible pressure that pushes that breast is best, and that it is easy, and you are a shitty mother if you can't, and that you are less of a woman.

But that's ok. I take your hand and tell you, It Is Ok. You Are Not A Failure. You Are Not Less Of A Woman, Nor A Crappy Mother.

Ru doesn't resent me or make me feel guilty that I didn't have a successful breastfeeding journey with him.

Your child won't do it to you.

I am pro-breastfeeding. I am not anti or pro-bottle-feeding. I am, however, VERY pro-Mamas-not-being-judged-for-their-feeding-choices.

You *CAN* have a close, strong bond with your child if you end up being unable to breastfeed.

My son is proof of that.

Emi, x

"You don't raise heroes, you raise sons.
And if you treat them like sons, they'll turn out to be heroes,
even if it's just in your own eyes."

~Walter M. Schirra, Sr.