Let’s Talk About My Boobs

Hello beautiful people, and today, good day especially to mothers, fathers, parents in particular. In my last post I mentioned there was something about my first week postpartum I was not ready to talk about/share. But due to recent events (in personal and professional life), I have been motivated to write about it, so people know what’s going on.

Yesterday, I tweeted and story-ed (I know, it isn’t a word) a little about my journey with my boobs and my baby (yes, breastfeeding) and I had asked if some of y’all would share the story your journey with me (particularly ones that came with discomfort and trauma). Because a huge handful of you came forward with your stories in my DMs, y’all gave me the strength to share mine. And because I had wished someone in our community/country/culture had spoken about it before (and there wasn’t anybody), I really want this to get out there. Not that I’m trying to be a saviour of some sort—I’m only a First Time Mother—but I really, really do not wish the loneliness I felt upon any new mother/parent. It was excruciating and no new parent (and their baby ESPECIALLY!) deserves to go through that. So this one goes out to all the new/pregnant parents!

It’s going to be a long one, so I hope you have your favourite beverage in hand.

And before I begin, knowing the STIGMA there is in our community about this topic, I am going to write a disclaimer. It is important to me that I set everything on the table in this blogpost but in return, I have to state these things because my anxiety will not be able to handle it if anyone (especially trolls) decide to come for me.

DISCLAIMER

• I am here to talk about my breastfeeding journey and my choices. I will definitely NOT be comparing breastmilk vs formula. There will be nothing of that kind.

• This isn’t a post to sway anyone. It is just a story that I hope some people can connect with now and in the future.

• I will be talking about my boundaries and how many people might have unknowingly crossed it. I know most of the people I spoke to had no bad intentions, but vocabulary during a mother’s vulnerable time is very important. I mean no offence to anyone I’ve already spoken to about this journey.

• There will be strong language. Please forgive me, it was a really trying time.

• Comments of this post will be off due to the fact that people can speak anonymously here. I am not here to share ANY negativity on ANYTHING. If you do want to reach out to me, please feel free to DM me on Twitter/Instagram @monkeydisease. But please do not reach out to tell me what I could have done differently. I am not taking unsolicited advice at this moment.

Alright. Here goes nothing.

It took me this whole saga to realise people in our community start the “new baby” conversation with the topic of breastfeeding. Sure, before I had a baby, it might have seemed like a natural question to ask, and while there are many people who have good intentions behind asking that question, many are geared to judge (trust me, the internet is LITTERED with those few). And after I went through what I went through, I started wondering, why is that the first question people ask? Why are the fluids in my tits the first concern when I have this beautiful, gorgeous, amazing little angel that you can ask, “how is she doing?” instead.

All my life I have grown around milk bottles. I was bottle fed and my two younger brothers too (one was a preemie and the other, well, I’ll let him tell you his story). What was IN the bottle was immediately assumed (by me) to be powdered formula, diluted with warm water. I assumed this because every time I would help my mother prepare milk, it didn’t come from her boob, it came in a tin. I assumed this because I COULD help my mother prepare milk.

I had NO idea that people can pump from the breasts and bottle feed their baby until I got pregnant (May 2021).

I’m saying this because coming from the background I have with babies around me (particularly my younger brothers), I had never, ever had ANY reservations or qualms around formula. In fact, it was an option I considered even BEFORE my sweet Jolieyah was born. It was something I spoke about with Ryan too. The whole topic on WHAT Jolie would be fed wasn’t a thing for the two of us, as long as she was fed.

But come the day I’m in the hospital bed, my body still numb below the waist from the epidural. They had taken my baby away to get her cleaned up. While she was gone, they changed me and put the scrubs on so that the ties were in front instead and it didn’t cross my mind that I’d be trying breastfeeding right then and there (I had just pushed a human out of me—I wasn’t thinking about anything other than holding her).

The nurse brought Jolie back and showed me how to put her on my boob. AND THEN it hit me, of course, we’ve seen this everywhere, in movies, in FRIENDS. I held my girl and she latched nicely.

And so the thought hit. I will be doing everything I can to breastfeed. The word formula hadn’t even come to mind. I thought, I even borrowed Aunty Sabrena’s breast pump. I will come up with a system that’s ergonomic and efficient for my family. This is gonna be GREAT. I’m on Cloud 9, I’m so happy, my mind is in a good place and I’m amazing at planning so this will be good.

Nurse A (remember this, she will be important later), managed to help Jolie latch successfully. She cooed over Jolie, “Oh pandai dia”/”She’s so smart!”. I felt amazing watching her suckle. My first gift to her, I thought.

Now, I was in a private hospital, so I don’t know if this applies to government hospitals too but every time she came back from the nursery, it was a different nurse showing me how to latch. So total about eight different nurses were showing me how to latch the baby. It was information overload. It was different styles, all the styles. During some “feedings” (I put them in inverted commas because there was no milk yet), I didn’t even need their help.

I had been told throughout my whole pregnancy that breastfeeding will hurt, so when the 6th feeding happened and the pain was bad enough to make me tear up a little, I told myself to suck it up, and that I was told this would happen.

Jolie latched like a champ except for that last feeding in the hospital. She would spit out my nipple and fuss, maybe even let out a little cry. The nurse that had come in to send her then told me do it for 20 minutes AT LEAST. And here I was trying to get her to latch and she’d spit, fuss, cry. It was a gentle cry so I ended up holding her and she was content. Bear in mind newborns are MAD TIRED after birth, so she probably didn’t have the energy to put up a fight with my boob.

But already then I started feeling nervous. We were about to get discharged and my mind wondered what if she doesn’t latch at home? What will I feed her? How do I give her nutrition??? Then I told my anxiety, it’s okay, it’ll probably be better when you get home cos you’ll finally have PRIVACY.

Her paediatrician came in to tell us she’s clear to be discharged. Jaundice count low, she passed motion PLENTY of times, she’s doing great and she can go home. I asked her, “If she’s peeing and pooping, does that mean I already have milk?”

Doctor, “No it doesn’t necessarily mean that. And when you have milk you’ll know.”
Me, “What do I do if she gets hungry? I’m scared she won’t get milk.”
Doctor, “You can always supplement with formula.”
Me, “When do I start supplementing?”
Doctor, “When she’s hungry, you’ll know.” Then my doctor looked at me, maybe I had a look on my face, I don’t know, but I knew I was looking for a more definitive answer, and so she said, “If tomorrow she won’t stop crying, supplement her with formula.” She listed some formula names and said that if Jolie doesn’t have a bad reaction to it, stick with it, don’t simply switch.

And then my doctor paused again, looked gently at me and said, “But of course, breastmilk is best.”

And the first pang of guilt hit me, since I knew mine hadn’t come in yet and I was ALREADY talking formula. Now, remember Nurse A? When my baby latched the first time, she was explaining breastfeeding to me and without any prompt she said, “Okay, over here, it is a rule that we cannot encourage OR discourage formula.”

Now why the hell did she have to say that? I didn’t know but week 2 postpartum, having read up some write ups and stories from mothers abroad, DID YOU KNOW that it is some medical law (mind my words, I’m not sure of the accurate term) in the UK that medical institutions (hospitals in particular) MUST and absolutely MUST ONLY ADVOCATE breastfeeding??? Now having read that, I wonder if Malaysia also has that practice (and I RECKON MALAYSIA DOES and let me tell you why later) I realised that Nurse A was probably laying down her disclaimer, so she doesn’t get into trouble. The doctor—well, that part is about to come.

Back to the story.

I immediately texted my mother, who would be meeting us when we got home, and asked her to pick up a SMALL BOX of formula just in case. I hated the idea of my baby getting hungry so I wanted to be prepared.

FIRST WEEK HOME

After we got home, we were exhausted. But my mind was set on breastfeeding (tetiba—before this I thought I was going to be the kind of mum that practiced “whatever works for baby and me!”) And she latched successfully maybe ONCE, but other times it was this:

She’d latch, fuss, spit out my nipple and scream bloody murder. Try again. Same thing. And my emotions. It felt like I had betrayed her. My heart broke at the knowledge that she wasn’t getting what she wanted, what I felt she needed. Eventually she reached the stage where she was just crying. Crying hard enough to not even want something in her mouth anymore. I felt defeated and this was only a couple of days in. We decided to just supplement with formula and boy, did this girl become content and sleep like an angel. I thought, okay, we do this first while I figure out how to breastfeed and get my milk supply up.

The obsession began. I was YouTubing everything, writing notes, reading forums, looking up Lactation Consultants. I pumped to promote flow whenever I could. I ate all the lactation snacks my friends had gifted me. Around the clock, between feedings, I’d be on my phone. I’d want to put Jolie down so fast so I can read, read, read.

Every time I pumped, nothing, only fog in the bottles. A friend of mine, Shin, taught me how to massage my boobs to hand express. I saw liquid come out, but it did not look like milk. Tried pumping some more. Nothing. I started to feel defeated. If any of y’all know me, do or don’t do, there is no try.

Every time I fed her formula, I felt the Mum Guilt. I even started seeing yellow in her eyes, convinced her jaundice was coming up. Ryan had to tell me “I literally see NO yellow in her eyes,” and I would almost fight him telling him “It’s RIGHT there.”

Google How To Know If Newborn Has Jaundice. Freak out.
Google What Happens To Baby With Jaundice. Freak out.
Google How To Get Rid Of Jaundice. Freak out.

Baby needs to be peeing and pooping. Oh okay, so that means she needs to be fed. I have no milk, so here’s some formula. Oh God, Formula. Oh no, Mum Guilt. But it’s okay, Mummy’s figuring out her boobs, but meanwhile let’s avoid Jaundice. Jaundice, Jaundice, Jaundice.

Baby’s poop colour, oh my God.

Google Newborn Stool Colour.

“This colour no good, but isn’t this the colour of her poop?! RYAN?!”
Ryan, “No, her poop is fine.”

I didn’t trust a digital colour chart, I wanted to see REAL poop. Google Images. Whattoexpect.com. Photos of poop. Screen shot. Takes photo of baby’s diaper.

Me, “Ryan is this the same?! If it is it’s bad!”
Ryan, “Sayang, no it’s okay."
”But I see mucus! That’s mucus right?!”
Ryan, “It’s the same as her last poop, which you said is what we’re looking for.”

I was so anxious. I was actually seeing things. I just wanted everything to be perfect. And for some reason, I thought breastmilk was gonna immediately fix all my problems. I was so distracted with trying to figure out my milk supply that I didn’t realise how much it had taken a toll on my mental health. It had only been a couple of days.

Until one lunch, the day before her paeds check up. Jolie was down for a nap after feeding and Ryan had made this beautiful healthy lunch for me. Chicken, pasta salad and steamed vegetables. He even made the plate look beautiful. Arranged and colours so aesthetically pleasing (he used the multi-coloured spirales for the pasta).

I couldn’t stomach eating, I wanted to get back on my phone. I ate half of everything, pushed my plate away and said, “Okay, I’m done.”

Ryan looked at me, I can’t remember if he had his hand on my arm. But with the gentlest of tones he said, “Sayang, please have another piece of the chicken.”

And that was it. I started crying inconsolably. I could see in his eyes he was watching his wife deteriorate right in front of him. Through the reflection of his eyes (wow, emo lyricist), I could see I wasn’t myself anymore, let alone the mother I thought and dreamt I’d be. I cried and cried and cried. And all throughout this crying I was telling him what I read on the internet, the tiny amount of validation I COULD find on the internet, that I was doing the right thing. That I AM trying.

He held me while I chewed on one more piece of chicken. He knew he could say all the things in the world that should make me feel better but that my anxiety had won this battle. When my anxiety wins, NO WORDS can help me. Only actions could. And the action was making milk.

Fast forward to Dinner, same day. Jolieyah is with us at the dinner table. Ryan had prepped even more beautiful food. I’m trying to eat. But my phone is in my hand again. Googling breastmilk, breastfeeding, breast, breast, breast. All I saw was “Breast milk IS best.” “Breast is best.” “Of course you should keep trying, your baby needs breastmilk.” “You need to eat to get supply up.” And here I was, no appetite.

I turned to look at my daughter sitting in her bouncer. I started crying again, heaving. The guilt was unbearable. I started sobbing, trying to get words out between sobs. Beating myself up, telling Ryan, “We should have stayed at the hospital for one more day. Then I could’ve asked for help with this.” Ryan held me again. I’m crying and I feel my eyes swell up.

He cleans up dinner and we all go to bed, I lay her in her cot, rolled on to my back and started sobbing again. My nose was blocked but I wanted to sniff quietly so that I wouldn’t wake her. I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t know whether it was my stuffed nose or my anxiety taking a toll on my physical being.

I still woke up for every formula feeding. It was the least (but now I know it’s not the least) I could do for my baby. When Ryan would go to the kitchen to prep the milk, I would try to put her on my boob again. The same thing. Spit, fuss, cry. The moment he came back, I’d give her her bottle, set her down, and Ryan would hold me.

I told him what if her doctor is disappointed in me? What if her doctor judges us for feeding her formula this whole time?

He simply put it, “We’ll change doctor.”

After her last feeding before her doctors appointment, I sat at the pump again. And to my surprise, colostrum came out! I got a little under half an Oz. I googled how to mix it into her formula and gleefully returned to Ryan saying, “Her next feed is going to be GREAT!” I even took a photo of it to show her doctor.

Come the time to go back to the hospital.

Okay, side thing that put more anxiety in me. She wasn’t startling to sounds. I was nervous about her hearing test (first thing to do at the hospital). We didn’t get it done while we were there for birthing because it was a Sunday the day we got discharged and the clinic was closed. Amidst the breastfeeding anxiety, I had spent SO MUCH TIME googling “deaf babies” “how to know…” “baby sign language”. I just wanted to be ready.

So okay, we’re at the hospital, I’m in a Pierce The Veil T-Shirt and my maternity shorts, my hair is all over the place and I wore my glasses cos my eyes were swollen.

AT THE HEARING TEST

The hearing doctor, as she set up the room for me, Jolieyah started fussing. She said, “Do you want to breastfeed? It will help her keep still.”
I froze. I looked at her for a good couple of seconds before I got the courage to say, “Oh, she’s not taking my boob. But we packed her formula.”
“Ah yes! That’ll work too!” she said, without a hint of irony nor a hint of judgement. I called for Ryan to prep her bottle and we did the test. As she was doing it, I started venting.
“Breastfeeding is hard. And the internet is not helping. Ramai orang cakap kena jugak breastfeed kalau tak baby tak sihat.”
She looked at me, not with sympathy but with empathy. “Saya pun dulu susah. Tapi janji baby dapat minum susu, tak kisah la formula ke apa, okay je.”
I welled up. “But people are so rude and ruthless.”
She took the hearing test probe out of Jolieyah’s ear and said, “Ah cakap je kat dia orang WHAT THE HELL LAH!” and I smiled for the first time in days.
My heart was beating in my ears as I watched her write information down to pass to Dr. Paeds. With a shaky voice, I asked, “Semua okay ke?”
“Yes, yes!” she said with a nurturing tone. “Semua okay! Pass!”
Then I said, “Tapi hari tu kan, my phone terjatuh, kuat jugak the sound, tapi dia tidur je.”
She said, “Tak pe, if at 6 months she’s not babbling, bring her back. By 1 year, plus minus, you should get your first word.” And with a smile she sent us off to Dr. Paeds. I felt myself gain confidence again.

AT DR. PAEDS’ CLINIC

Nerves came back again. I was so anxious, I felt light headed. Baby weighed, changed, and we had a short intro to babies session with one of the staff in the clinic. Nice lady. Went through all the the things we needed to know about Jolie’s vaccinations to come.

“Jolieyah Aari!” we were summoned into Dr. Paed’s room. I was dreading it. Oh my god the DREAD to have to tell her we’ve been only able to formula feed.

She greeted us with a smile and a melodic voice, “Ah! How are you? Baby’s weight is good, she’s gained back her birth weight and more! How’s mummy?”
And then my heart got stuck in my throat. “It’s been tough breastfeeding.” Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, “But I’m trying, I really am. Can I show you photos of her poop?” Deflect, nice.
She said sure.
”Is this okay?”
”Ya, ya, normal, normal,” she typed something into her computer and turned the screen to me. “This is the colour range you want to be in. This one, call me.”
I heaved a sigh. Doctor took her to the bed to inspect her.
”Her jaundice very low now. At this point don’t have to worry already. Just keep doing what you’re doing.” She passed baby back to Ryan and sat back down.
Another sigh from me.
”What formula are you using?” she asked.
”Enfalac A+. It’s the one my mother got for us.”
”Ah good, good. And baby okay?”
”Farting a lot.”
”Better in than out!” She laughed. “Keep on using that one lah. It seems to be doing good for her.”
I asked her, “Will she breastfeed though? Now she’s on the bottle.”
She tilted her head, like she was studying me. Reading to see what I felt. Then she asked, “Are you determined to breastfeed or are you okay with formula?” She was asking to see where I was at. Her tone had COMPLETELY changed from the way she said breastmilk is best in the ward room before we were discharged.
”I’m actually okay with formula, but I want to keep trying.”
”Okay, don’t stress. It won’t help with supply. Just keep doing whatever works.”

Another sigh of relief. She was on TEAM JOLIE AND MUMMY. I even showed her the colostrum I pumped. Jolie had some tests done and we were off to our last stop.

DR. OBGYN’S CLINIC

The staff cooed at Jolie, alongside telling me how I looked well and was walking like I didn’t just give birth. Dr. OBGYN called us in, we didn’t even sit down. She peeked at Jolie and asked me how it was going. I started my story once more.

“Well, it’s okay, fed is best,” is the FIRST thing she said to me.
I told her how mean people are on the internet.
”Really meh?” she frowned. “Why?”
”There’s a breast-is-best movement.”
”Ish, no lah. If baby is healthy and happy, that is best.”
My eyes were wet.
”If it’s not for you, it’s not. No point stressing over it when in 2 months, you still have to put her on a bottle to go back to work.” It was the most nurturing I’ve seen her. “You look well. Champion lah you.”

We left and I was in way better spirits. My anxiety cleared enough that I actually felt motivated to pump. At this point I knew if I couldn’t latch her, I should at least try to get her my breast milk. We put her down for the afternoon and I went straight into her nursery to pump.

To my surprise, I managed to pump 1 Full Oz! I ran to Ryan in the kitchen and gleefully showed him the bottle. He is my biggest cheerleader. He yelped “woo!!!” and I felt like I was doing good by my entire family.

That evening I pumped again, but this time, to my horror, due to my cracked nipple from all those attempts trying to latch, the left bottle was FULL of blood and the right had nothing. My mood dipped so hard I was about to cry. Hearing the sound of the pump was making me hyperventilate and I felt light headed. Looking at the tubes (and y’all know from my birthing post how I hate being hooked up to stuff), I felt so vulnerable, like only merely a milk machine. Even like a cow just being kept in bay for milk supply.

I brought it out to Ryan, looking defeated. He told me it’s okay. But my mood had dipped so hard I was miserable. I went immediately back on my phone and blurred out the outside world. Determined to do my “research”.

My thought process was that I hated all these ups and downs. The sudden high when I could provide and the free fall to a pit of anxiety when I couldn’t. And how long would it be like this?

COMING TO THE DECISION TO STOP TRYING

Ryan and Jolie were excellent together. The way he looked at her and played with her, I wanted that. When I’d hold her and see her beautiful eyes look up at me (or what I thought she was doing), I would smile this forced smile and I could feel it in my nervous system that I was faking it. I looked at her and all I could think about was that I wasn’t giving her the best milk. At this point I really didn’t care if she wouldn’t take my boob—I was sure I’d have to go back to work soon anyways—but I was gutted that even the milk I couldn’t give to her.

I wasn’t worried about the bonding everyone talks about while breastfeeding. I was just worried about her not getting her nutrition. The one everyone told me that the angel of my life deserved. Every time I held her, I would feel disconnected, the spark of light I expected to be inside me just wasn’t there.

I have wanted to be a mother for as long as I can remember. I had dreamt of this moment for so long. Whenever I used to, however, daydream about this time, it wasn’t breastfeeding or pumping that came to mind. It was me, happy as can be, on top of the world, holding my child and very much so giving all of me to her and nobody else. I hadn’t even pictured a partner. Just me and a child. I’d picture us cuddling, us playing, exploring the world. Me teaching her how to talk, how to walk. How I’d discipline her if she’s being a little brat. All the stuff I dreamt about never included nutrition or what she ate. I just dreamt that she’d be a happy child and in return I’d be the happiest person.

My dream of becoming a mother came true the moment she was in my arms. And to think our first week together was absolutely NOTHING like the movies, and especially NOTHING like what I had imagined, it ruined me. It ruined me even further that I was so obsessed with breast MILK that it caused a disconnect in my heart and mind with my daughter.

Eventually the time came around when I spoke to Ryan, cos I truly felt my wellbeing deteriorating more than it’s ever before (even more than with a toxic relationship, a broken heart, bad bad family situations). I had never felt so useless and so anxious in my life. We stood at the kitchen sink when I shakily asked him if it were okay that we switched to formula. Because with all the generational trauma my lineage has gone through, the thing that made me an anxious person, I didn’t want any of this to trickle down to Jolieyah.

I was nervous for sure. Because my anxiety kept on telling me that if I couldn’t provide Jolie with the milk, Ryan would be disappointed and ultimately, leave me. Now I know he would never, but anxiety is a powerful thing.

He held me and he told me that as long as she’s fed and happy, that’s all that matters, no matter what we feed her. He told me that he doesn’t want me to be this way either, and yes, switching would make everything better, especially for my mental health. I accented the fact that I just want to be present. Ryan gave me all his support, and in this decision, his support was all that mattered.

Still on my phone.

Of course, the anxiety didn’t disappear immediately. I was still. On. My. Phone. I was reading all the subreddits I could find for virtual support and validation. This was when I consciously decided to start therapy. I booked a session with a recommended doctor. I knew I wouldn’t talk about my motherhood journey so far, but rather all the other stuff I was ready to talk about—such as generational trauma—so that I can unload some anxiety to make room for this one. After my first session, I felt better, but my anxiety was still there.

In fact my anxiety was still very much in play, my Blood Pressure spiked to a very dangerous high (148/98) on my birthday that I had 12 hour long headaches. I could still feed my girl but I was in pain the whole time. I went to my GP on my birthday and he was so worried about me, I could tell even behind his face mask. I was anxious it could be Postpartum Pre-eclampsia. Not only was my BP high, my heart rate was too. It was 96 while sitting down in his clinic’s chair (with the BP machine at home even it was always above 90). I told him I have been anxious (he knows my history of GAD). He suddenly lowered his voice and gently asked if I’ve been going through depression (I’m sure he was worried that I might be suffering Postpartum Depression or Postpartum Anxiety—which I was too, and I hear it’s way harder to get out of it once you fall into it, and yikes on top of my generational trauma? I don’t think I would have been able to handle it). I honestly told him I don’t think it’s depression but I have sought therapy. His eyes still filled with worry, he said he didn’t want me to start on BP medication just yet—as that could turn into a lifelong commitment—and said he’ll try to give me something to get my heart rate stabilised and everything else would hopefully follow. Then I said it’s because of the breastfeeding/milk situation and that we’ve decided to stop to help ME get better. He then changed my prescription to the one I always used to take from before I was pregnant.

I was a little gutted, I had been clean of medication for 10 whole months since trying to get pregnant. In fact, I’d only take medication when I had an anxiety attack I couldn’t physically handle. But here he was putting me back on it for as long as it takes to stabilise.

It took 9 days, and simultaneously with therapy, I found myself not needing the medication, and my heart rate AND BP were normal. Headaches were gone and I felt so well, I started exercising again. Within those 9 days even, I saw myself NOT look at Reddit much. I found myself singing to my baby and dancing with her in the mornings, laughing whenever she’d fart. I actually looked forward to feedings because that meant she’ll be up and I can cuddle her and kiss her. I didn’t dread feedings anymore. When she cried, I would happily try to calm her down, as opposed to getting stressed that I was the problem (while we know I never was because babies just cry).

Since day 1, Jolie has been an absolute angel. She doesn’t cry unless she’s hungry. If her diapers are full, she’ll do this kick kick thing but she could literally sit in her shit for an hour before getting cranky. She can stay up (way longer than she should, tsk tsk) in the day and the moment she’s tired and I put her on my chest, she drifts IMMEDIATELY into sleep. When she feeds, she looks us right in the eye. Sometimes her little fingers will grab ours or our shirts (and I know its reflex but still) and now it’ll make me feel like she’s comforted by me, and not trying to ask more of me as though I was not giving her enough. She’s started smiling recently, reflex or not, it makes me giggle WHOLE HEARTEDLY (not fake this time) EVERY time.

MY TAKEAWAY

Breastfeeding is hard. It’s so fucking hard. And I have respect for ALL mothers, those who couldn’t do it, those who chose not to, those who pushed through the insanely shitty moments when it comes to breast milk and also those who do it with NO PROBLEMS whatsoever.

I don’t envy anyone who can do it, in fact, I admire those who can. I also admire those who don’t. Mama’s, we have literally dedicated our LIVES to a human, and I believe that I can’t give my girl my all if I don’t even have myself.

Now that I’m out of the thick of it, I can see that if I had persevered a little longer, I could have probably become a fire hydrant of milk. Or maybe I wouldn’t have.

If I did, I could be happy, or miserable on the pump.
And if didn’t, I could start the whole anxious cycle all over again.

So I’m choosing not to think about it, cos I’ve made my decision and it’s in the past. Because while I feel now “what if” “could’ve” “should’ve”, I wasn’t about to risk my mental health to find out.

Here on the other side of the bridge, I’ve realised I have pet peeves with relative strangers and the way they talk to new mothers about motherhood. I even got a Congratulatory wish that ended with “Happy Breastfeeding!” and yes, while I was trying at the time, why is it okay for people to talk about the breasts of a new mother as though it’s not a choice for them to use their breasts or not?

The other thing that really ticked me off was when I would tell people, “I’ve let go of breastfeeding”, AFTER I made the decision not to, their first response was “Awwwww” or even worse, advice or a link to a lactation consultant. I’ve MADE my decision, what is done is done, and I wished people would stop talking like they feel sorry for me and pity me/my child. It made me fell as though you think I’m weak or didn’t try hard enough. Advice like “Have you tried this?” or “Maybe you’re not trying hard enough” or “You’re doing it wrong kot” or “You’re stressed, JUST RELAX”. Like for fucks sake, lady (or man), I’m here being vulnerable with you, I did NOT ask for your advice, and I already said the decision was made. It’s not that fucking easy for me at least. Sometimes they go even as far to BLAME THE BABY (wah that one I’m ready to cut a bitch). I personally feel like it’s disrespectful. While many I spoke to only had their best intentions, many just didn’t read the room. The ones with the good intentions, I know they had em because I was still deciding and probably was very vague about what I was getting at. The ones who can’t read the room say these things even after I have blatantly said “I’m not breastfeeding nor pumping.”

On top of that, like I said, about that medical law (?) promoting “breast is best”; have any of you mums noticed that the formula boxes state “SUSU IBU ADALAH SUSU TERBAIK”? It’s as though they have to put that disclaimer like they do “smoking kills” on cigarette boxes. It’s wild, huh?

From this experience, one that I never knew would happen, I have vowed to never be a person (though I never was, cos I didn’t know it was a thing) to start a conversation with a new mother with, “How’s breastfeeding going?” but instead something less personal such as, “How are you and baby doing?”

It’s all in the vocabulary for me. The use of words sometimes sets off my anxiety and yes, I know many don’t mean to, but it’d be nice if people were more conscious about how the topic of a new mother’s boobs and it’s milk is really not a thing to bring up unless the mother wants to talk about it. It’s almost like discussing salary with a stranger (not colleague ya, I’m all about discussing equal pay in the same office) upon first meeting them. “How much do you make?” is not something you ask. If they wanted to tell you, they will (and I know many people who have voluntarily offered this information lol).

And to those mothers who are struggling with breastfeeding/milk, you’re so strong and you ARE giving your baby everything you can. You SHOULD give your baby everything YOU can and not everything the next mother can. Some of you might persevere and push through, ending up with amazing latches and an abundance of milk supply. Some might have the supply and not the latch. Some of you might decide to throw in the towel, just like me.

And while I still have mild subconscious anxiety about it, just know I mean it with all of me, you are the best there is for your own child. You know your child best. You are what your child needs, YOU, the person YOU are and the mother you are and will grow to be.

Seriously, fuck bullies on the internet, fuck relatives who bully you, fuck friends who can’t read the room. Fuck people who “pity” you because breastfeeding didn’t come as easy for you (or at all) like it did for them or others they know. People who can’t respect OUR BOUNDARIES do NOT deserve OUR time and most definitely do NOT deserve to meet our baby they felt so sorry for.

Thank you to all of those who came forward in my DMs to share their story with me. You mamas really gave the strength to put this out there. And as much as I hope this post is something that can help mamas get through a rough time and know they’re not alone, this post has truly, TRULY been my closure to this episode. It is doing SO MUCH FOR ME. I didn’t know I needed this. To just tell my truth and not try to hide it like it’s something I’m ashamed of.

I also have to add, I am grateful to have the means to afford formula. (Thanks to all the friends who have provided clothes to last her forever haha. Baby stuff is expensiveee).

For soon to be mamas and mamas who need some support, the Sub-Reddits that helped me were:
r/beyondthebump (this one the best, most supportive parents so far)
r/newparents
r/newborns
r/formulafeeders (this one the best for if or when you switch. BF mums are also here to read up on making the switch when they have to go back to work or want to give up pumping)

(Fave photos from this week)

If you’re still reading this and have made it this far with me. Thank YOU. Thank you for listening to me and thank you for letting me tell you my story. My DMs are open to mamas who want to rant or vent about their sagas, milk related or not. I understand how important it is to get support, and while I got lucky with my husband and my mother and my mother-in-law, I know some people might not be as fortunate. So please, let’s talk. I don’t wish that anxiety on anyone.

Thank you to a handful of my friends who have supported me through this journey. ALL the mamas who I messaged looking for validation who gave it to me. I realised, breastfed or formula fed or not, EVERY MOTHER SEEMS TO GET SHIT FROM AT LEAST SOMEONE. Not only about what is fed but how we mothers take care of a baby in general (when/how to bathe, where/how we want them to sleep, clothes we want them to wear/not wear, holding them too much/too little, puting or no puting—always something tak kena, amirite?)

From this day on, I now feel I can openly share photos of Jolie with a bottle (I used to crop them out). A weight has been lifted off my shoulders, I can openly enjoy my girl now without worrying about what anyone will say, as honestly, if they’re not words of honest support, they have no home in my mind.

Thank you again. I am forever grateful for everything I’ve experienced so far.

This Formula Feeding mummy, signing off.

❤︎
Annatasha