"The first time my daughter asserted her independence, she was a gummy 2-month-old who spent most of her time crying, pooping, or blatantly refusing to drink from my left breast. Out of habit (or comfort), I always nursed her first from my right, which I felt was the dominant one—similar to my preference of putting my right leg into my jeans first. It had better muscle memory.
One day, my little girl started refusing the left side. She screamed bloody murder at my offering. I cried with her. She was only 2 months old, in the scarce 2 percentile of weight. My boob ached. I felt like I was in the 2nd percentile of successful mothers—if that was a plausible measuring system (it’s not).
With time, she stopped taking my right breast, too. My supply dropped. I tried pumping but pumping made me sad. The suction of my Spectra gasped in and out. I listened to my husband take our daughter and swaddle her in the other room. The pump timer light illuminated my guilt-stricken face and time slogged on. Somehow, a plastic machine imprisoned my body and mind.
Eventually, she stopped wanting to nurse at all. She pushed me away and screamed until her cheeks flushed purple. I tried and tried. Breastfeeding should be natural, I thought. Breastfeeding is so logical. Breastmilk is the only way baby animals get nutrition! I’m a mammal! I wept with her, blaming myself. She doesn’t like the taste of my breastmilk, I thought. It’s not coming out fast enough. I’m a terrible mother.
Learning to Let Go of Control
But, of course, none of that was true. She loved baby bottles. She chugged with enthusiasm, looking up at me with these adoring, almond eyes. I was a good mother. It was time to face an important parenting lesson I learned from breastfeeding: I could surrender my instinct to control her and adapt to her needs. She was an independent baby who wanted milk fast, plentiful, and with a plastic nipple. There was nothing ever wrong with that for her or me.
It had been easy to underestimate the decision-making abilities of my baby, a tiny person who still poops in her pants and eats chicken pot pie from a tube.
By her 6-month birthday, we supplemented with formula full-time. I stopped pumping to keep my supply plentiful (i.e., leaking onto my bedsheets every morning). Formula kept her happy. She found her way into the 86th percentile of weight. I didn’t waste hours pumping. I spent them with her. I put my Spectra in a giant, black bin. In my imagination, I threw it across the yard and buried it.
Listening to My Baby and Following Her Lead
It took me a long time to understand the decision-making process and how to listen to my little girl. I always thought I would make the decisions for her. If breastfeeding was good for her, I was going to breastfeed for a year. But I didn’t know that the opposite could be true. If she wanted to stop, I would stop. In some circumstances, she would decide what worked best for her.
“I always thought I would make the decisions for her. If breastfeeding was good for her, I was going to breastfeed for a year. But I didn’t know that the opposite could be true. If she wanted to stop, I would stop… she would decide what worked best for her.”
My plan, like many others, has been debunked by the unpredictable nature of motherhood. I was mystified when she decided not to crawl and instead scooted around the house. Or when I rocked her to sleep until she was 4 months old, only for her to suddenly prefer falling asleep alone. My plans shattered when she started preferring regular baby food over formula weeks before she turned one, and I thought she would dehydrate herself.
How It’s Affecting My Parenting Now
Motherhood is entirely complicated. Before I gave birth, I read somewhere that motherhood is like having your heart walk outside your body. But isn’t it more complicated than that? Motherhood can be so full of things we can’t control. Sometimes, the tough choices we make as mothers aren’t our own. The little humans make them. Their little heartbeats beat separately from ours. Despite what we want to believe, their hearts are no longer a physical part of us. And that is poetic, too.
“Sometimes, the tough choices we make as mothers aren’t our own. The little humans make them. Their little heartbeats beat separately from ours.”
I’m working on being at ease with her preferences. I sincerely want her to be happy and healthy. But I must let go. I must let her explore the world in its messiness, bruises, sickness, and joy. While they are these ethereal little angels, babies are humans, too. I do not have control of every moment in time. Most of my life is out of my control.
My husband bought a book that gives daily helpful notes for parents called The Daily Dad by Ryan Holiday. One of my favorite notes said, “Don’t waste these opportunities. Relish the moment, even if they’re crying, even if you’re disappointed or crying. This is a chance to see them from a different angle. This is a chance to ask questions. This is a chance to spend time together. It’s a chance to do things you couldn’t do before. Things that wouldn’t be possible in ordinary circumstances. It’s always a chance to get closer. To love more. To understand better.”
Letting go is the most gracious way to love.
