Trying to Breastfeed Cost Me Real Money

And I ultimately failed at it.

$250+ for a breast pump… probably the wrong kind

$50 for a manual pump

$30 for those hakaa items

$10 I think for gel nipple pads

However much it was for nipple gel

Hours of lost time sitting down trying to get even just under an ounce out…

And the realization that had I used a breast pump that fit in my bra, I likely could have gotten more out

But maybe not- who freaking knows!!

I’m not new to parenting, but I would say this was my first real “go” at breastfeeding. When my first baby was born, I was put to sleep after the emergency c-section. I didn’t get to try and breast feed until later, and when the lactation nurse came into my room in the middle of the night my then partner was sleeping and I was terrified of waking him. Had the nurse not been so busy being bothered by my reaction- irritatingly telling me if I didn’t attempt to feed right then that it would lessen my chances of being able to breast feed- she might have noticed I had a genuine reason for being afraid to waken my partner. I ended up having a difficult time getting him to latch, and went to a pump instead but even then had to mix it with formula. That first season of being a mom was met with severe depression- including my partner telling me I should just die.

With the second child, I just assumed breast feeding wouldn’t work and went straight to attempt to pump once I was home… but with a one year old getting jealous and pulling at the pump I only made it five minutes before ditching that plan.

With this one, I asked to stay awake during and after the c-section. I had a partner who held my hand close and stroked it through my fears. My baby was placed on my breast as soon as I got to recovery and he immediately latched on- the lactation nurse congratulated me, and I was proud, thinking I could finally get this one part right. My mother had offered to help me stock up on formula, we had heard small rumblings of a formula issue, but I told her there was no need since we didn’t know what kind he would take.

Not even a whole day after he was born, I had issues. He constantly wanted to feed on me, and somehow- perhaps I was holding him wrong?- I ended up with cracked breasts. Me, being proud for thinking ahead, got the nipple shields out of my diaper bag. On the next feed, a huge clot of blood still ended up in the nipple shield. I can’t describe the pain I was in… and I had already asked to come off of the most serious of my medications- I think the epidural- because I was starving and had orders to only eat liquid food throughout the night. I simply couldn’t do that and was determined to eat and get around as best as I could. My nipples were in so much pain that I had to lay with my breasts exposed, and frustrated that I still couldn’t seem to satisfy my child… and I elected to supplement with formula. I asked for a syringe, and I would ease it into his mouth drop by drop by placing him on my nipple and nudging the syringe through to his mouth next to my nipple.

At this point, it was the next day and I was alone… my partner having to go to work, because that’s how it goes when one is self employed: there is no leave from work. Even for me, I would only have two weeks paid off… and another two weeks working from home. My child would go to work with me at one month of age.

I tried to pump once home- the pain of trying to breast feed him was still in my mind, and I would try to put him on me but after a while it just simply didn’t work and I could not measure how much he actually got from me. Then add in a whole two days of mastitis where my breasts were hard as rocks and feverish.. so much pain. Two weeks in my breast milk would come in, a painful one ounce at a time would be pumped out… and with two teenagers and moving into a new home and trying to stay on top of working from home, the laundry, the meals… I never was able to truly sit down and devote the time I needed to in order to make breastfeeding work. I carry guilt from that. But I also know there’s so much that was working against me. The antidepressants I took throughout my pregnancy, which allowed me the energy to even get out of bed. The exhaustion from a c-section, even though I was driving the very next day I was home and even carrying baskets of laundry up three flights of stairs. The emotions that come from navigating a new baby’s schedule and balancing it with that of the others in the home.

Breastfeeding is not free. Even when it does work, even when you have no supply issues, there is time that is needed to sit down and do it. There are supplies needed to store the milk. The nursing bras that aren’t cheap ($80 each for mine- and damn it, I’m still going to wear them). The pads to put in the bras to keep them good. The heating pads and ice packs to relive the pain.

I’m not angry that we have a formula shortage. It’s frustrating, but I’m not angry about that. I’m angry that people think breastfeeding is simply free and natural for everyone. I’m angry that we don’t provide better help for mothers and fathers and families adjusting to it all. I’m angry that there’s no standardized paid leave for having a baby. I’m angry that those in power are so focused on what a woman can and can’t do with their bodies but don’t give a damn about the babies and families once they come from them. I’m angry that this is a political issue, and that funds that go to wasteful government projects can’t help out the rest of us. That people who can’t read past a headline don’t realize the monthly checks we used to get were a TAX CREDIT that were essentially forwarded to us in advance rather than getting them in May… or whenever refunds will actually happen. Because I feel like I could have been successful at breast feeding if I lived elsewhere. Because the fact that I failed at this feels so damn personal, and all I can do is pray the store has what I need and end up guarding my grocery cart once I do grab what I can… because another mother will watch my cart to see if I leave it unattended for even a moment, because she is also trying to feed her own sweet baby.

I believe in the sanctity of life. I believe every child is made for a purpose. I believe that God formed us all before we were even in the womb, and that He/She/They knows what we are all intended to be. I just wish that same sanctity was advocated for throughout the life of a human, and not in the most convenient of moments.