My Breastfeeding Journey

 I never imagined that feeding would become such an emotional part of my motherhood journey. When my first baby was born, I had every intention of breastfeeding. 

But motherhood didn't begin the way I had imagined. Because of medical intervention and low sucking reflex, breastfeeding wasn't possible in the way I had hoped. There were medical appointments, check-ups, therapy appointments and so much to learn as I became a Mum to a baby with additional needs. There was so much that I couldn't control.

So I pumped. I syringed fed in those first few weeks, until we could switch to bottle feeding. Every four hours, I pumped. For six months. It was exhausting. Physically and emotionally.

But pumping became the one thing I could control in those early months of motherhood. I could provide my baby with my milk. I could do something that felt like I was giving him what I had wanted to give him from the beginning.

And then eventually, I made the decision to switch to formula. Not because I had failed. Not because I hadn't tried hard enough. But because I needed to give myself permission to breathe. I needed to relax. I needed to be less tied to a pump while we navigated the endless appointments, check-ups and therapies and while I learned how to be Mum to my beautiful baby. 

Then came my second baby. And everything was different. He latched immediately. I remember the feeling of it. After everything I had been through with my first, it felt almost surreal. I could breastfeed. And I was so incredibly proud. I fed him until he was 18 months old. And honestly, I was too scared to give it up. Because breastfeeding wasn't just feeding my baby anymore. It felt like a gift. 

A blessing. And, in some ways, a recovery from my first experience. We were still spending so much of our lives in hospitals and therapy appointments with our first baby. There were waiting rooms, check-ups, appointments and long days that revolved around someone else's medical needs. But with my second, I had something so beautifully simple. I could feed him "on tap", in a hospital waiting room, between appointments , in the card , anywhere. It gave me a sense of freedom during a time when so much of our family life felt complicated.

It gave me connection. Comfort. Normality. And something that felt completely mine. Looking back now, I realise that these two breastfeeding experiences couldn't have been more different.

With my first, I pumped every four hours for six months because it was the one thing I felt I could control.

With my second, I breastfed for 18 months because I finally had the experience I had once hoped for.

One journey was filled with grief, exhaustion and letting go.

The other was filled with relief, joy and holding on.

But neither journey was more important than the other.

Neither made me a better or worse mother. They were simply two different experiences with two different babies, in two completely different seasons of my life. And both taught me something.

Motherhood doesn't always look how you imagined it would. Sometimes you fight incredibly hard for something. Sometimes you have to let it go. Sometimes you get the experience you hoped for. And sometimes the most important thing you can do is recognise when you have done enough. And most importantly, I am proud of both versions of me who were simply doing the best they could for their babies.

Because in the end, breastfeeding was never the measure of my motherhood.

Love was.