Breastfeeding: The Good, the Bad, and the Super Messy

Alright, let’s dive into one of my least favorite but oh-so-real topics—breastfeeding. Sigh. My husband’s heard it all: "Am I pumping enough? Why is my supply dipping? Am I drinking enough water?" (Obviously not. I survive on four coffees and a single shot of water a day.) Should I be eating oats? Is beer the magical milk-booster? How do I even power pump? Is my baby crying because he’s hungry or because I'm not making enough milk?

One minute, I'm convinced my baby’s crying because I’m not producing enough, the next minute—BOOM!—I’m hit with an engorgement that comes out of nowhere. Leaking breasts? Check. Soggy shirt? Double-check. For one whole day, I feel like the milk fountain I’m supposed to be, and then... dry spells. It's like my body can’t decide what team it’s on. Why do we do this to ourselves? Because “breast is best,” right? But here’s where it gets real: I struggle with these weird, irrational thoughts, like if I stopped breastfeeding and relied on formula, my baby would die. There are those intrusive thoughts. I mean, really, I know formula isn’t harmful, and millions of babies thrive on it. Still, there’s a part of me that fears failing at this mom thing if I’m not able to provide what my body “should” naturally produce.

I love the bond that breastfeeding gives, don’t get me wrong. There’s something incredibly comforting in knowing I’m giving my baby a piece of myself. But some days, my supply just can’t keep up, and then I’m faced with the dreaded decision to supplement. And today? I fortified his milk and added in three ounces of formula. Guess what? The world didn’t end, and my baby was just as happy. It’s a relief, but also a reality check—I can’t be everything, all the time, and that’s okay.

Let’s not forget the part no one really warns you about: the 'no sleep'. It’s been over five months since I’ve had more than three hours of consistent rest. Some days, I feel like a zombie, barely able to keep it together. And on days like that, I wonder, am I a bad mom for refusing to go formula-only, so I can actually sleep a little longer? Or am I a bad mom for wanting to stop breastfeeding altogether? I know the answer to both is no. But guilt has a funny way of sneaking in anyway.

Here’s what I’ve realized: there’s no “best” answer here. Formula is fine. Breast milk is fine. But mentally beating ourselves up? That’s what we need to let go of. If it doesn’t work, or if it’s affecting your well-being, give yourself permission to do what’s best for both of you. Because let's face it, the true goal is a happy, healthy, and well-fed baby.

I’ll admit it—pumping is my least favorite thing ever. But I love the bond that comes with breastfeeding. I don’t want to give up on it because of the “breast is best” slogan stuck in my head. But honestly, what’s best is a full, happy baby and a mom who’s as sane as possible. I’ll be real: I worry that if I stop, my husband or society might see it as “giving up.” And I’ll admit, I’ve imagined all those confident “boob-out-in-public” moms shaking their heads in silent judgment. But at the same time, how incredible would it be to sleep through the night for once? Or to not feel chained to a three-hour feeding cycle, free to leave the house without panicking about when my next feed will be? I don’t know what the 'happy medium' is. Maybe it’s a mix of both, or maybe it’s something I haven’t figured out yet.

Talking about it helps, though. Sometimes, just saying it out loud reminds me I’m not alone in this. Because, honestly, being a mom is hard. Being a breastfeeding mom is really hard. And being a full-time working, breastfeeding mom? It’s next-level. I want to blame everything—my job, my diet, stress, my lack of water—for why my supply dips. But maybe, just maybe, my body’s doing its best with what I’m putting it through.

So, if you’re reading this and feeling the same way, here’s my message: Don’t stop breastfeeding if it’s what you want! Or do, if it’s what you need! The best thing you can give your baby is a happy, healthy, and present parent, however you manage to get there.