When Breastfeeding Doesn’t Go as Planned

I have always had an almost spiritual attachment to the idea of breastfeeding. I remember a very vivid dream I had when I was 16 years old in which I was both pregnant and breastfeeding a baby at the same time. I knew after having that dream that I would be a mom some day.

As I prepared for the birth of my twin sons nearly 17 years after that dream, I regularly purchased nursing shirts, bras, pillows, and other accessories in preparation for all the nursing I’d be doing. I knew that as a mama of twins, I’d be a milk machine so I wanted to be as ready as I could. And I’d quit my job so I figured I’d have plenty of time to make breastfeeding work once the boys arrived. I knew that there would be challenges, but I was ready to face them head-on. I was as committed as committed could be.

During my pregnancy, nearly every dream I had revolved around breastfeeding – both good and bad. I had blissful dreams of my babies at my breasts. And I had several anxiety dreams about breastfeeding – that I’d get the babies home and then realize weeks later that I hadn’t been feeding them. Or I’d try to feed them and nothing would come out. Or in one particularly troubling one, I tried to breastfeed them and blood came pouring out of my breasts, covering both my babies in blood. So clearly subconsciously I had some trepidation.

I’d also considered myself as a lactivist. I had lobbied for and put together a dedicated nursing room at my previous place of employment. And I’ve long had a fascination with breastmilk and the idea of nourishing another life (or in my case, lives) using something my own body makes. Can you imagine? I read somewhere, “All your baby needs is your milk and the warmth of your body to survive his first year.” Something about that seemed so beautiful and so womanly.

I will admit, too, that I had at times been that woman who has silently judged other women for not breastfeeding or for stopping too soon, or other times I’d see someone giving formula to her infant. “I wonder why she’s not breastfeeding! Breast is best!”, I’d think to myself.