Yesterday was Jake’s two-month checkup, and during our visit, the pediatrician casually asked how often I nurse him each day. That one simple question sent my mind into a tailspin. Am I the mom who meticulously schedules Jake’s feedings, or the one who lets him nurse on demand whenever he feels like it?
I can easily rattle off the benefits of both approaches. Scheduled feedings offer:
- More digestive regularity
- Reduced risk of snacking
- Better milk supply management
- Easier scheduling for errands and appointments
On the other hand, feeding on demand means:
- Less crying
- Plenty of milk for my little guy
- A more relaxed lifestyle (since I’m nursing more)
- Lots of bonding time
I wrestled with how to respond to the doctor because I find myself embodying both roles. I’m an ambitious mom who wants her baby to fit into her routine, yet I also yearn for those intimate moments of nursing and holding him close. The question dug deeper into my parenting philosophy—why can’t I be both?
There seems to be no middle ground for those of us who straddle the line. The two sides are often in conflict, as illustrated in a meme I saw on Facebook today. I wish I could convey how conflicted I feel when faced with the extremes of parenting advice.
Take an average Tuesday morning: I’m trying to prepare lunch for my three older kids while Jake cries in his bouncer. I scoop him up, nestle him in the Baby Bjorn against my chest, and carry on with my day. He settles into a happy, contented observation mode and eventually drifts off to sleep.
I feel empowered, like I’m nailing this parenting thing.
But then, 15 minutes later, nature calls—I really need to pee—and my eldest daughter needs help with a project. Suddenly, I feel trapped and start the delicate process of transferring Jake to his crib. Of course, he wakes up ten minutes later, and I’m left with a baby who only napped for 20 minutes.
The next morning, I try a new approach. Remembering yesterday’s chaos, I lay Jake down in his crib for a nap so I can tackle lunch prep. But as soon as he starts crying, my anxiety spikes. I rush in every few minutes to pat his back and replace the pacifier until he finally falls asleep.
I feel empowered again, convinced I’m doing what’s best for him.
But mere minutes later, he’s crying again, this time with a frantic, tired scream. I try my usual soothing techniques, but they fail miserably. I can’t resist any longer and scoop him up, cradling him close while whispering soothing sounds. Every instinct tells me to hold him tight. I grab the Baby Bjorn once more.
About 30 minutes later, I get a call that my prescription is ready for pick-up. Now I have to head to the store, and I wish I’d put him in his car seat instead of the Bjorn. This thing is so limiting! Frustrated, I transfer him to the car seat, and of course, he wakes up.
This back-and-forth is a common theme, even with feeding. Some days, I like knowing the last time he nursed. I can gauge whether his cries are from hunger or fatigue. When he’s on a schedule, I can run errands without stressing about when I need to be back home. It gives me a sense of freedom and reassurance about his growth.
Until I accidentally bump his head on the car seat handle while I’m out. Naturally, the quickest way to calm him is to nurse him. So, I sit in the car and nurse him again, even though I just did it at home. He takes a sip, pops off, and smiles at me. Adorable, right?
After a quick trip, I notice he’s starting to fuss again. Unsure if he had enough milk to last through a nap, I sit down to nurse once more. We cuddle on the couch, bags from our outing still waiting in the trunk, but in that moment, nothing else matters—I feel empowered and like I’m meeting his needs.
But then, during dinner chaos, my partner Alex is holding Jake, who seems insatiably hungry. My hands are coated in chicken juice, and I glance at the clock, wondering if he really needs to eat or if he can wait a bit longer.
Over and over, I feel the pull of both feeding philosophies.
I love feeling his breath on my face at night—until I want to enjoy some adult time with Alex and can’t figure out how to move Jake to his crib. I love knowing he’s cozy in his crib—until I’m up multiple times fixing the pacifier and wishing he could just sleep next to me.
Why can’t we be both? Why can’t we embrace baby-wearing one day and scheduled feeding the next? Can we have the Baby Bjorn and stroller coexist peacefully in our lives? What if we experimented with a bottle of formula now and then, allowing me some much-needed time away?
Looking at the doctor, I hesitated before answering her question about how often Jake nurses. “Sometimes it’s 50 times a day, sometimes it’s the prescribed eight. Sometimes it’s somewhere in between. I’m really not sure,” I replied.
She smiled and said, “That’s perfectly fine. What matters most is you. How are you managing?”
And that’s the crux of it. This parenting war doesn’t do us any favors—it just leaves us feeling defensive and confused. Let’s embrace the idea that we can be both types of moms—those who are savvy enough to make daily choices for their babies, whether it’s on-demand or scheduled.
I’m both, and you know what? I feel empowered. I feel successful. I feel like I’m doing exactly what he needs of me.
If you’re interested in learning more about home insemination and related topics, check out our other blog posts at Home Insemination Kit. For insights on fertility, Make a Mom is a great resource. And if you’re looking for further information on treating infertility, ACOG’s guide is excellent.
In summary, being a parent is about finding balance. We can nurture our babies while also carving out time for ourselves. Let’s stop the unnecessary competition and embrace the fact that we can be both types of moms.