“Now I see that what she wants is breastfeeding”

That’s what Lucy says when baby Molly isn’t consoled with the pacifier or by the singing that Lucy increases in volume as the baby’s cries escalate. If I am not quick enough, the noise reaches eardrum-piercing level, and I could not honestly tell you which is worse, Jesus Cleansed the Lepers at full munchkin volume or a frustrated baby scream.

When we brought Molly home, I was lucky that Tom could take a few days off work, and then it was the weekend, and Labor day, and so I got to spend almost the first week of her life with just her, in my room, on my bed. I also spent most of that week mostly naked, with Molly even more naked. Breastfeeding has always been my favorite part of having a baby, but this time I was curious to see how much of a difference total on-demand and skin-to-skin feeding (plus no epidural, which some think interferes with initiation of breastfeeding) would make. It seemed to me that I produced much more colostrum and that my regular milk came in about a day earlier than usual, so closer to day four than day five. This is with feeding that kid every 1-2 hours day and night. (I never once looked at a clock or kept track of these feedings or her diapers, as the hospital lactation consultant suggested, I just fed her whenever she wanted to eat, and counted how many times that was each 24-hour period).

For comparison’s sake, with Avery, I was sent home from the hospital with instructions to continue giving her one bottle of formula a day because her blood sugar had dropped in the hospital and since she was so big (9 lb 3 oz) she “needed” something extra until mine came in. At her two-week check-up she weighed 10 lb 14 oz. At Molly’s two-week she weighed 9 lb 14 oz (gaining almost a pound over her 8 lb 15 oz birth weight). With Avery I had also read and been told that I could/should get her on a feeding schedule of something like every 3-4 hours. I remember several frustrating evening hours when I thought we should wait awhile before the next feeding.

With Molly, I wish I could say everything was perfect because I was doing the breastfeeding “right” this time, but actually, we had a rocky couple of weeks where I worried about reflux and colic because she both threw up a lot and was occasionally unhappy during or after feedings (something I’d never experienced before, but now that I have, I say hats off to moms who persevere with breastfeeding a baby who doesn’t act like mom’s milk is ambrosia of the gods).

Sometime during week two Tom came home from the grocery store with a couple pacifiers (the nice soother kind), and then during that week or the next I bought a manual breast pump and a couple bottles. Then I remembered how pumping is so much less comfortable and rewarding than nursing a live baby, and sometime the next week I drove to the store chanting “I am not a martyr, I am not a martyr” and I bought a can of formula to be used in emergencies (like, you know, when I need an hour or just fifteen minutes TO MYSELF). Tom is very good about helping with the baby, but he panics if he doesn’t have a way to meet all her needs (especially the food need).

Molly is a month old tomorrow, and so far she has drunk two ounces of that formula, which means I got to take a walk with my friend one evening without any kids (usually we both push double strollers and Callie rides her bike alongside).

The funny thing (to me) is that the hardest part of buying that formula (which at two ounces a month is going to go bad before it gets used up, but is still a powerful psychological presence in my cupboard, a presence that frees me, if only theoretically because 99.9% of the time I don’t need that freedom since I both enjoy breastfeeding and don’t mind being tied to the baby as long as Tom can care for the other three kids when he’s home) the funny thing is that I felt furtive and guilty buying it because I knew I’d be supporting these formula companies that are so unethical in their advertising practices both here in the U.S. and especially in third-world countries.

But in the first month of a newborn’s life, the line between feeling like you are going to survive, that there is life on the other side of this sleep deprivation torture and the feeling that life is completely insupportable and that not even sweet nestling baby on your heart is recompense for the wasteland that is your ambition to even get dressed in the morning — that line is so thin that boycotts and high-minded principles be damned. Knowing I have that formula, just in case is worth more than all the blood diamonds in Africa.

Heather shared an interesting post today, which referenced a debate going on about whether the word “intimate” should be used in relation to breastfeeding. I shouldn’t have been, but I was surprised that people were taking exception because “intimate” also often refers to sexual situations. Apparently Facebook is also still antagonizing people by deeming breastfeeding photos “obscene” and then the issue is that if breastfeeding is intimate, why would you want to post pictures of such a thing?

I don’t know. Things like this (the whole debate) and the fact that I thought twice (or seven) times about buying an emergency can of formula because of angry rhetoric I’ve read online (though I agree in principle, usually) makes me rethink what I’m doing online, or in real life, whenever I feel tempted to give an opinion or when I’m trapped listening to someone else’s.

I’m fairly opinionated, and more, I think there’s usually a right and a wrong in most situations, or a good-better-best in most parenting dilemmas. I think breastfeeding is intimate, and only sexual in the sense that I have breasts that produce milk because I am a sexually-mature (and active, obviously, or was 10 months ago, anyway) mammal. I love the intimacy that bonds my baby and me as we sit connected literally and nutritionally. Breastfeeding is less intimate when we do it in public, because usually that means it’s also a noisier, less relaxed, more mechanical get-her-fed type experience, but that also happens sometimes at home, when other family members are clamoring for attention.

Either way, I want to do my part to promote acceptance and encouragement of breastfeeding anytime, anywhere. I also want my emergency can of formula.