Updated: June 30, 2021
Originally Published: Aug. 17, 2018
It was a Sunday night at 9 p.m., and my favorite show, Game of Thrones, was just about to start. Snuggled up on the couch, I had the baby monitor in hand while glancing at my little one, Ava, peacefully asleep. The weekend had been hectic, and the impending Monday felt like a dark cloud looming overhead. The last thing I wanted to do was wrestle with my breast pump—an appliance I had grown to despise.
After a month back at work, pumping had become a heavy burden. I found myself plugging in the pump during my commute and on lunch breaks, often missing important meetings or rushing home just in time for my baby’s feeding. What should have been a joyful experience quickly turned into a cumbersome task.
As the show’s theme music played, I looked over at my husband, who was cracking open a beer and settling in for the episode. He had always been my biggest supporter, but he didn’t have to deal with the hassle of assembling multiple parts and attaching myself to a machine for half an hour. In my mind, I could hear my mom, who graciously watched Ava while I worked, mentioning how she had ordered formula “just in case.” Anger bubbled within me—my baby wouldn’t be getting that stuff. I had to make pumping work. Why couldn’t she just be supportive?
The first couple of weeks were the toughest. Accepting that pumping was now a routine part of my life was a challenge. But once I committed to it, it became second nature. I even managed to freeze about 30 ounces during my maternity leave, creating a cushion for days when I didn’t pump enough.
Feeling more optimistic, I set a goal to continue pumping until school let out for the summer. Just three months to go. I was proud to say I achieved my target, but at what expense?
Pumping became more than just a minor inconvenience. My social life dwindled since I didn’t have enough milk to be away from Ava for more than a workday. Despite trying different flange sizes and eventually purchasing a new pump, I still experienced discomfort. Stress consumed me, and I became fixated on pumping. Even innocent comments from friends and family about it felt like jabs. I snapped at my husband and felt irritable when coworkers joked about it. A knock on the door during pumping sessions made my blood boil—those precious moments were vital, and I couldn’t afford to lose even a half-ounce.
Yet, there were fleeting moments of triumph. Those mornings when I produced more than expected made me feel invincible. I took comfort in knowing my daughter was still receiving the benefits of breastfeeding, even if I had to return to work. It felt like a part of me was still with her—nourishing her physically and emotionally.
About a month into this grinding routine, my milk supply began to dwindle. I reached out to a moms group on Facebook and joined several breastfeeding forums. I explored supply boosters, drank mother’s milk tea, and even tried fenugreek, which only caused my baby to have diarrhea and left me smelling like maple syrup. Scrolling through photos of other moms’ impressive freezer stashes made me feel inadequate.
Could these women really wake up in the middle of the night to pump? Even when their babies were sleeping through? I couldn’t fathom it. I felt like a terrible mother for not wanting to rise at 4 a.m. In truth, I didn’t even want to interrupt my beloved Game of Thrones to pump. But my lack of supply meant I had to—right?
I eventually reached my breaking point. I was committed to breastfeeding and desperately wanted it to work, but I realized I couldn’t sacrifice my sanity. It was time to make a change. I decided to supplement. I would continue pumping at work, but I drew a clear line: no more waking up to pump, and no more interrupting my cherished episodes. If Ava needed two ounces of formula along with the twelve ounces of breast milk I managed to extract during the day, so be it.
The next day, Ava was perfectly fine. The world kept spinning, and I was able to enjoy a regular life for those precious 54 minutes.
To the moms who juggle work and breastfeeding, I admire you. To those who tried their hardest but couldn’t make it work, I understand the difficulty in your decision. And to the moms who wake up at the crack of dawn to pump an extra few ounces—your dedication is inspiring. If breastfeeding were a sport, you’d definitely win a gold medal.
For those struggling to make it work, remember that pumping doesn’t have to be an all-or-nothing endeavor. Setting boundaries for myself provided immense relief and helped me maintain balance. I was less stressed and more present when I prioritized my own well-being.
Supplementing not only saved my breastfeeding relationship but also enhanced my enjoyment of motherhood. It ensured Ava stayed nourished and allowed my mom, her caregiver, to feed her without anxiety. In this precious time of our lives, quality of life matters.
Let’s remember to include our mental health in the long list of responsibilities we juggle daily. Our babies and everyone around us will benefit.
Summary
This article discusses the author’s journey of transitioning from exclusive pumping to supplementing formula while navigating the challenges of working motherhood. It emphasizes the importance of mental health and setting boundaries for a balanced, enjoyable parenting experience.