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Let’s be open, boobs. 

Hey girls, it’s me. I am writing this with tears in my eyes while giving my baby his first bottle of formula. Earlier today I had yet another weight check for the baby and an appointment with a lactation consultant surrounded by “Breast Is Best” posters and fliers letting my know the ingredients in breast milk vs. formula.

I barely glanced over the list of ways to increase my milk supply the consultant gave me, knowing I had given each item on the list a solid try. Each time she talked about how implementing these tips herself has worked fantastic for her 6 month old, I sunk deeper into my chair as she weighed him.

If you have ever been in the position of having to do weight checks for your baby, you know the silent prayers that go through your head that they won’t have any poopy diapers the morning of, or hope they don’t pee out half of their weight right before putting them on the scale.

During these times, mere ounces can make a difference- so watching the scale bounce around for 30 seconds trying to do the math in your head for the conversion is brutal. And when you find it is only a few ounces more than before, your heart sinks.

Before the doctor opened his mouth, I already knew what he was going to say.

Want me to be open, boobs?

I have tried my hardest to give my baby what is best: you, breast, right? Then why have you been the biggest pain in the ass?

If this is supposed to be so “natural” and “convenient,” why have I wasted gallons of tears, hundreds of dollars in supplements and teas, hundreds of hours between pumping you dry and nursing vacations, and have had countless thoughts going through my head that I am a complete failure as a mother, all for a few ounces of liquid gold? 

When the lactation consultant and pediatrician told me they wanted me to give him eight to ten 4oz bottles of formula a day, I burst into tears. I cried on the phone with my husband, my mom, several times in the car, and when I tried to build up the courage to feed him his first bottle.

But…. When he gave me the first genuine smile in a week because he had a full belly, my heart absolutely broke. Why do I care so much about my needs and desires to exclusively breastfeed when HIS needs aren’t being met?

Yes, I wish more than anything I was able to fully provide for him, but that wasn’t happening and I realized I needed to make the best of it. And honestly? I want to deny the fact so badly, but I feel so relieved. Relieved that my baby is finally getting what he needs, and that I will no longer be stretched so thin with worry. 

My little guy will ALWAYS come first, no matter what I have to do or give up for him. Fed is best. Period.