I was a research-obsessed expectant mother. I dove into every book, binge-watched countless documentaries, and attempted to prepare for the wild adventure ahead in every possible way. I made lists, attended classes, and planned for a natural birth followed by endless skin-to-skin snuggles and breastfeeding. What I didn’t factor in was the possibility of breastfeeding not going as planned.
My mom had breezed through three natural births and 11 years of stress-free nursing. No bumps in the road, no electric pumps—just happy, chubby babies and beautiful bonding moments. So, you can imagine my shock when my son outright refused to latch for nearly four hours after he was born. My midwife was unfazed; he had some meconium suctioned right after delivery, and they reassured me that his throat was just a bit irritated and he’d be nursing soon.
Spoiler alert: he didn’t.
He would latch half-heartedly every few hours but would quickly pull back and wail in frustration. I was exhausted, scared, and utterly clueless about what to do. Miraculously, his blood sugar levels remained stable, and he didn’t lose too much weight (the kid was over 10 pounds at birth), so we were sent home with minimal support. Thus began two weeks filled with sleepless nights, frustration, and worry.
Before long, my chunky baby had shed nearly two pounds, despite nursing around the clock. My husband and I were at our wits’ end. After consulting with three lactation experts, we discovered that while my little guy was trying his best, he simply couldn’t transfer milk. There weren’t any ties to fix; his mouth and tongue were just poorly structured for breastfeeding. I was crushed and utterly drained.
In an effort to avoid nipple confusion, we embarked on an absolutely bonkers journey of pumping, feeding him through a tube next to my nipple (which required at least four arms and 30 minutes), supplementing with formula, and repeating this circus every two hours—around the clock. Breastfeeding was the hill I was willing to die on, and I almost did.
In a moment of sheer desperation, I popped a bottle of freshly pumped milk into his mouth. To my astonishment, he was thrilled. He guzzled it down and drifted off to sleep, contented. He started gaining weight again, and I realized I had an alternative option: exclusively pumping. Surprisingly, this new routine was significantly less chaotic than our previous schedule.
I pumped six times a day, including a session in the wee hours (when I could finally catch up on my reading). I mastered the art of sanitizing bottles in two minutes flat at 4 a.m. I discovered the wonders of a hands-free pumping bra, managing to pump while driving, and indulging in lactation cookies. My husband even took over night feedings, giving me precious sleep. Soon, I could pump, feed my baby, eat breakfast, and sip my coffee simultaneously. It was some of the most challenging work I’ve ever undertaken, but also incredibly rewarding.
It took a while to build up my milk supply, but soon I was pumping 45 ounces a day. My son quickly climbed to the 99th percentile for height and weight. By 12 weeks postpartum, I was able to cut out the midnight pumping session and finally enjoy several hours of uninterrupted sleep. Date nights became a reality, and my husband graciously gave me every weekend “off” by handling night duties, letting me sleep in on mornings. It was remarkable how something that initially felt impossible became manageable.
I set mini goals for myself: three months, then six, then nine, then a year. Now, I’m nearing 16 months of pumping. As I begin the weaning process, I can hardly believe I made it this far. My son is happy and healthy (only one brief fever in his life so far), and as chubby as ever. Plus, my husband has enjoyed the incredible experience of bonding with our child just as much as I have through feeding. They have their bedtime routine together five nights a week, and they still share special weekend mornings.
These 16 months have been a wild ride, but they’ve also been some of our happiest moments. I’ve come to understand that breastfeeding isn’t an all-or-nothing endeavor. Every drop of milk was a gift to my child, and those drops would still be precious whether we nursed for five days or 25 months. I’ve learned that pumping is just another form of breastfeeding, and moms who exclusively pump are some of the toughest warriors I’ve ever met.
To all the pumping mothers out there: I see you. I see you fumbling with your pump parts, bleary-eyed in the middle of the night. I see you washing the 10,000th load of bottles. I see you soothing your sore, cracked nipples with coconut oil for the umpteenth time today. I see you giving your pump the side-eye, secretly plotting to smash it with a hammer, only to sigh and hook up for yet another session.
Take it one day at a time. You’ve got this. Whether you pump for a week or two years, you’ve poured your heart and soul into giving your baby the best, and you’re doing an amazing job. I see that too.
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Summary
Emily Carter shares her journey of exclusively pumping for 16 months after facing unexpected challenges with breastfeeding. Despite initial struggles, she found a routine that worked for her and her family, highlighting the importance of every drop of milk and the resilience of pumping mothers.