After Anabelle

When my milk came in 3 days after Anabelle was born I was distraught. I knew it was going to come but when it arrived; and milk flooded my chest and soaked through my clothes, I was inconsolable. My body, nature had let my daughter die, but blimey it could still provide the food even though she was dead  Nature was cruel. 

I had planned to give breastfeeding a go. I wasn't particularly passionate about it (I'm still not), I knew it would likely take perseverance, but my general attitude was that of 'if it works, it works, if it doesn't, it doesn't'. Whilst expecting Alexander my attitude remained pretty much the same; I wanted to give it ago, maybe more so than I had with Anabelle because I didn't want to be in the situation again where I had milk and no feeding. But I still wasn't passionate about it. 

In my heart of hearts I believe there are FAR more important things than how a baby is fed; like it being alive in the first place for example. So why since having Alexander have I let this feeding malarky bother me so much?

I care very little for breast milk vs. formula debates. I hate the 'Breast is Best' campaign. Yes we all know it is true, and in an ideal world we would all breast feed our babies but you know what; formula isn't poison. So why has this campaign been allowed spring up groups of people who preach to the point of formula being abuse? And as far as I can see all the campaign has served to achieve among the formula feeding community is guilt. Guilt that they have somehow damaged their babies; sentenced them to poor health, poor IQ, just sub-standard members of the community. How exactly is that helpful to new mother's? 

How many new Mums have gone on to persevere with breast-feeding to the detriment of their happiness? Wasting the precious newborn days being miserable? 

And for the record I was formula-fed; I have managed just fine, I have a degree, a  career and not lacking IQ, my health is on the whole good. I'm not obese, I don't have allergies or reaccuring infections... As far as I can tell no one cares how I was fed as a baby, because it makes NO difference whatsoever.  Surprise surprise; I'm well adjusted despite the formula, and it is not, for example, a job application question I've ever been asked...  So I ask, what is the big deal about this today? Is anyone going to care when our children are our age? 

Anyway  excuse my ranty tangent. 

But with all that behind us, I was truly amazed by my emotional reaction when I thought we were not going to be able to breast-feed.  I was so determined I was going to enjoy Alexander's newborn days, I was going to try but I was not going to let breast-feeding become the be-all-and-end-all. A happy family was more important. 

So when we struggled in the beginning, you would've expected me to go onto formula and that be that. But no, I reacted in a way unbeknown to myself and cried about it the night we came home. After an hour of trying to get Xander to latch on, him screaming, me weeping; Jon insisted this was no good for any of us and gave him a bottle of formula. Of course Jon was right. 

But I felt like I'd failed my baby. 

How dare society have ingrained in me that formula = failure. How very dare they. I'm furious that in my hormonal new mother state I've been sucked in to this ridiculous guilt. And it is ridiculous, but its there all the same. And that is why I hate the 'Breast is Best' campaign, however well intentioned the original idea was; the implication from them is I had fed my child second rate crap. 

Urgh. So I cried. 

Then in the morning I tried again.  This time I tried with shields. My sons suckle was under-developed, he was struggling, I was struggling.  But the shields were like a miracle, there was no fuss, no tears. One happy feed under our belt.   We turned a corner, my confidence grew a little bit. 

But no, the health professionals were not happy with my decision to introduce shields. 5 days post-emergency-c-section, exhausted, trying my best and in a lot of pain, I was told the shields were detrimental to his well-being and would hamper his development and growth. Cue confidence shattered. I was referred urgently to the breast-feeding specialist.  Sheilds, apparently cause slow growth, 25% less milk etc etc.

Great. So as well as being ingrained that formula is poison and trying my very best to keep going with the breast, now my efforts to keep going were also wrong.  I felt guilty, again. 

After two visits to the specialist I decided not to go again. Trying to take Alexander off the shields was for many attempts stressful. A good attempt would be followed by a disastrous attempt. He would get upset, I would get upset. Why was I allowing meal-times to become so traumatic and have me dread them on the say so of someone else?  I didn't want to dread feeding my baby.

I didn't have the energy or confidence to remove them after the awful first week without them. I still don't. We have stuck with the shields, because that is what is working for us and up until now his weight gain has been just fine. 

Monday he had dropped below a percentile line; middle 50th to middle 25th. Cue me feeling the guilt again.

Although may I also add the last ten days my normally content baby has generally not been himself, crying and has been sick a lot. I went to the health visitor with my concerns first but wish I hadn't. The GP on the other hand listened, has diagnosed reflux and now we've introduced gaviscon.

The slow weight gain may not be anything to do with the shields just yet, and more to do with my poor boys reflux. But you can imagine where my mind went, especially when the entirely unhelpful blunt health visitor tells me he is either not getting enough milk or not keeping enough down.   

Is make the mother feel like crap part of their training?  Thank goodness for our lovely realistic GP seeing the bigger picture. 

We'll see how he goes a little while longer yet, I'll be listening to the GP before the health visitor from now on. But please tell me; when did a pound weight gain in a month become an issue? He is a lovely size for his age. You would have thought he lost weight, not gained with her tone. 

Our breast-feeding journey so far has at times been rocky. But I have stuck with it when I would never have expected myself too, which goes to show the influence of these campaigns, and the unnecessary but very real guilt inflicted on new Mother's.

I'll even admit I've stuck with it at times when a bit of me hasn't wanted too; on a bad day I feel a bit smothered and claustrophobic and glad when a feed ends. I could hold him all day and not feel like this, but there is something about him being attached that sometimes creates the other feelings, especially when some feeds take an hour or more. 

I don't enjoy breast-feeding like I thought I might (or should?). I like it a lot of the time, just me and my boy, but other times I really don't. I don't like the number of meals I eat cold or on my own because he happens to want feeding while everyone else is sat at the table. I don't like feeding in public; I do it, but I feel uncomfortable. No-one has made me feel that way, I just can't get used to it, I'd rather take a bottle of expressed with me. I find expressing a real chore; but when he was 3 weeks old, when I almost lost the plot I had to introduce one expressed bottle a day for my own sanity and space. 

Last year, in my effort to cancel Christmas as much as I possibly could, cards were off the menu. I had no goodwill to wish others a Happy Christmas and no energy to torture myself writing 100+ cards from just myself and Jon when our daughters name was so glaringly absent. It didn't feel right, the greeting from our family wasn't complete. It didn't feel right receiving them either; so instead of reaching the mantel, the cards heaped in a pile on the side, and swiftly to the recycle bin on Boxing day. 

Cards of all description is something we've struggled with. I know it is not socially acceptable to write dead people's names in cards, and so until now I haven't included Anabelle's name (apart from in some very close family cards).  But each birthday card written has briefly pained me and with the whole Christmas expectations looming again so has the absolute dread of sitting there writing card after card after card highlighting the incompleteness of my family. 

So something had to change, I simply can't go around in these circles year after year. Writing her name on doesn't feel quite comfortable to us, but neither does not writing her name on and so this year we've found our solution. 

Anabelle's angel; the one engraved on her headstone, and the one her Daddy wears above his heart, has been turned into a stamp. Anabelle is going to have her place in our family greeting, not just for Christmas cards but all cards. Finally after almost 18 months I'm finding my peace with card writing and sending again, because I've found the way that feels right to me to include my baby. 

So if you are due to receive a card from us any time soon, from now on they will be signed like this; from all of us, as a family.