Let's just put that into perspective, shall we?

Things have gotten really rough with breastfeeding.  Gotten? oh, yeah it was horrible from the start.  But it was working, in that my baby was gaining weight.  Three weeks ago I returned to work and so Grandma started feeding Fred frozen Mom milk from a bottle.  He was happy as a clam about the bottle (phew!) but it turned out that the amount my bod pumps and the amount Fred wants are not one and the same.  So we were blowing through my stash really fast and the thought of pumping and pumping to feed the lil glutton was disheartening.  I talked to the lactation consultant and she said that, all things considered, it was just fine if I chose to supplement with formula.  What a huge relief!

Then, tonight, Fred went on strike.  He absolutely refused to nurse and screamed and screamed and screamed.  I get it, nursing takes effort, a bottle much less so (for him anyway).  I was in tears as I warmed him expressed milk and fed it in a bottle.  I'm such a failure! I can't even feed my baby! Do I just go to a bottle now, long before the six month mark the World Health Organization has recommended for our guilt?  Another magical evening spent feeding and crying.

I decided to google "am I a terrible mother for switching to formula,"  a search that has doubtless been run millions of times.  I opened my browser and you know what I saw?  Stories about Donald Trump and Harvey Weinstein.  Oh.  So let's just think about the "am I terrible" question.  I am considering changing from one healthy way of nourishing my child to a different one because our needs as a family have changed.  Both means of feeding a baby are equally likely to produce a happy, healthy, wonderful human being.  Theoretically breast is best.  But it stops being best if I contemplate suicide and cry through feeds and my baby starts screaming and refusing to do it.  What exactly are we accomplishing here?  So yeah.  I'm not a terrible person.  Terrible people are rapists and creeps.  Terrible people threaten war for no reason and deny health care and withhold life saving help out of spite.

I talked to my lactation consultant on the phone, an angel of a human being if ever there was one.  When I asked how I was hurting my baby if I stopped breast feeding she said "let's reframe that.  Let's celebrate that you were able to give your baby ninety days of breast milk, overcoming some really big obstacles."  Yes.  Let's celebrate that!

Fred is three months old.  That means I have now put in a full year of my life of making horrible physical sacrifices so he can be healthy and exist.  I was willing to keep doing this until next July.  But I don't have to, and every minute that passes is making that sound better and better and better.  I am planning to pump/nurse a few times a day still but not fight Captain Shrieky.  Maybe now I can feel more like a person -- go to a movie! Out to dinner! Take a freaking break!  It sounds pretty nice.

Side note to the soon to be born baby who has been promised a backup stash of Palmkey's Best: Count on it still.  It's in the freezer just waiting for you.  Fred won't miss it and you're not to feel fretted about it.