After enduring five years of infertility, the day I had been longing for finally arrived: the birth of my twins. I had always envisioned myself breastfeeding, but that dream shifted dramatically when they arrived 10 weeks prematurely.
A couple of friends had cautioned me against starting breastfeeding due to the logistical challenges of traveling back and forth between home and the hospital. They had experienced similar situations with their twins and regretted the attempt, stopping after just a few weeks. Additionally, I underwent a cesarean section, which made recovery even more complex. After considering all these factors, I chose not to pursue breastfeeding. I felt at peace with my decision, and my family stood by me in full support.
Tragically, one of my twins passed away at eight weeks. In the wake of this loss, I found a sense of relief in not having breastfed. I believed that the emotional impact would have been greater if I had developed that intimate bond through breastfeeding.
Fast forward four years, and I welcomed my little girl into the world. This time, I was determined to try breastfeeding. However, it wasn’t until a few hours post-birth that I could attempt it. She latched on, yet as a novice, I was unsure if she was actually feeding. I spent four days in the hospital, feeling optimistic as she would suck, sleep, and then suck again after a few hours; I hoped she was getting enough.
After those four days, I moved to a mother-baby convalescent home—a nurturing environment for new mothers. Unfortunately, this is where my challenges began. My daughter developed slight jaundice, causing her to be excessively sleepy. Every time I tried to breastfeed, she would promptly fall asleep. The nurses suggested I remove her pajamas to wake her, but even that failed, leading to the introduction of the dreaded breast pump.
To me, the breast pump felt like an instrument of torture. My initial experience was nearly more painful than labor itself, and, after pumping, I produced only a minimal amount of milk. Over the next two days, I was instructed to alternate between pumping and breastfeeding every four hours. This cycle was relentless—my daughter remained lethargic, and my milk supply diminished due to her lack of sucking, which is essential for milk production.
By the third day, she became the baby in the nursery who cried incessantly until finally being fed a full bottle of formula. I felt an intense pressure to continue breastfeeding, encouraged by the pro-breastfeeding advocates around me. The facility was staffed with nurses and La Leche League counselors who insisted I persist. However, the very next day, when I attempted to latch her on, she was once again blissfully asleep. I desperately tried to wake her but to no avail. The thought of returning to the breast pump made me want to cry.
Looking at her peaceful face, I felt a mix of frustration and despair. In that moment, I even had a fleeting urge to harm my child, overwhelmed by feelings of inadequacy. Thankfully, my husband walked in just then, and I entrusted our daughter to him until I regained my composure. That was my turning point; I realized it was time to let go of my breastfeeding aspirations. If I felt any inclination to hurt my child, it was clear this path wasn’t right for us. I had made every effort, but the well-being of both myself and my baby had to come first.
In hindsight, my surviving twin was formula-fed and is thriving, rarely falling ill. I firmly believe that mothers should follow their instincts—whether to attempt breastfeeding, to stop if it’s not working, or even to opt out entirely from the start. In my experience, my daughter was not receiving adequate nourishment, and I was overwhelmed. Transitioning to formula was the best choice for us.
If I ever have a third child, I think I will bypass the breast pump entirely and start with bottles, and you know what? I am completely fine with that.
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In summary, every mother’s journey is unique, and it’s essential to prioritize what works best for both you and your child.