Pumping. It’s a seven-letter word that can either make you smile or make you cry. Sometimes both.
Long before I ever got pregnant, I always knew I wanted to breastfeed. But I’d heard so many stories about how it didn’t work out for some moms, and deep down, I was afraid I’d be one of them. I mean, seriously how are we supposed to just know what to do five minutes after giving birth?
If you struggle, they send in a lactation consultant. And while I know they’re there to help, let’s just say some are gentler than others. When you’re sore, exhausted, and barely able to sit up, being manhandled isn’t exactly what you need.
Honestly, the kindest help I got wasn’t from a specialist at all—it was from a nurse who happened to be walking by during one of my many meltdowns. I asked my husband to find someone, anyone, to help me. She came in, took her time, and just… helped. No pressure, no judgment.
My son was born weighing almost 10 pounds nine pounds and fifteen ounces, to be exact. A big boy. And I knew he was hungry. But breastfeeding didn’t come easy for us. Every day in the hospital, at least two consultants would stop by. I was poked, prodded, repositioned, and told over and over that I was doing it wrong. One person would give me a tip, then the next would completely contradict it.
I had just had a C-section. I couldn’t even get out of bed without help. And now I was expected to master breastfeeding this big baby with stitches across my abdomen without any consistency in guidance. It was overwhelming. And honestly? It was humiliating.
At one point, a nurse came in to check my incision while another brought in my breakfast, and then the lactation consultant walked in all at once. I was half-naked, crying, and completely exposed. Whatever modesty I had left was gone.
When they told me my son had lost too much weight and that we might need to supplement with formula, I felt like I’d already failed. I hadn’t even been a mom for 24 hours.
I cried. A lot.
I felt like my body was broken. Like I wasn’t cut out for this. Why could other moms figure it out and I couldn’t?
We left the hospital and went straight to his first pediatrician appointment. He had lost more weight. That feeling of failure deepened. I dreaded his cries because I knew I wasn’t giving him what he needed. I was painfully engorged, which only made it harder to nurse.
That’s when my husband stepped in. He crouched next to me in a doctor’s office chair—he’s 6’3″, mind you and held our baby up to my chest for 45 minutes while I tried to feed him. He didn’t complain, he didn’t move. He just held our son so I could try one more time.
That’s love.
After two grueling weeks of tears, frustration, and feeling like I was losing myself, I made the decision to stop nursing and switch to pumping. That night, I became an exclusive pumper—and I was determined to make it work.
And guess what? Three days after I started pumping, my son gained a whole pound. At four months, he was over twenty pounds and thriving.
I didn’t know it was okay to pump instead of nurse. I didn’t know colostrum was so thick that it’s hard for babies to get it. I didn’t know it might take weeks for your milk to fully come in. I didn’t know that being “engorged” would feel like your chest was about to explode. Or that your nipples could crack and bleed.
I didn’t know that pumping is breastfeeding.
And I didn’t know I’d feel so ashamed when asked, “Are you breastfeeding?” as if pumping didn’t count. But it does. My body was still making the milk. I was still feeding my baby.
It doesn’t matter if it comes from the breast or a bottle. What matters is that your baby is fed. What matters is that you are okay, too.
Yes, pumping is hard. It’s isolating. It’s time-consuming. It requires schedules, bottles, pump parts, cleaning, storing, planning every outing around your next session. But it’s also worth it.
Not just because I got to provide milk for my baby, but because I was able to help other moms too donating over 3,000 ounces to babies who needed it.
Here’s the truth: It’s okay to stop nursing. It’s okay to stop pumping. It’s okay to give your baby formula.
It’s okay to do what you need to do to survive motherhood with your mental health intact. Whether you breastfed for one day or one year you deserve a gold medal. Because this is not easy.
You won’t know everything right away. You’ll learn. And just when you think you’ve got it figured out your baby will start teething at four months and throw you a whole new challenge.
But in the end, what matters most is that your baby is loved and that you are, too.
Take it one day at a time. Because soon, they won’t be your tiny baby anymore. And you’ll wonder how time moved so fast.
