If you were part of my daily life, I’d be able to just preface this guest post by saying, “She needs no introduction”. Since you aren’t necessarily hanging out with me enough to know her, I probably do actually have to give her an introduction. This post is by my best friend, Rebecca. She also does the majority of the photography you might run across on this blog. Want to know how close we are? When I found out I was pregnant I asked her to experience it with me, since we’d both been through infertility and miscarriages together. She came to a midwife appointment with me and was there beside me in the hospital as I labored with my son. She listened to me when I whined about breastfeeding and has been an incredible support in this adventure we call adoptive parenting. She has truly, literally seen it all when it comes to me and my life and I’m so thankful for her love and input.
She writes beautiful things and takes beautiful pictures over at her blog and I’m so thankful she’s sharing her thoughts about bottle-feeding and adoption. Take it away, Rebecca!
I grew up putting pillows underneath my shirts and pretending to be pregnant like many other little girls. My mom breastfed all three of us kids as did all other moms I remember–breastfeeding didn’t seem like anything special to me; it was just what you did. I’ve now come to realize this was an unusual thing during the 70’s and 80’s, to see breastfeeding as the norm. But that’s how I grew up. On the other hand, I don’t remember anyone getting too worked up about bottle-feeding either.
I also grew up loving the concept of adoption. My folks always talked of adopting or fostering, and though they didn’t do it, my husband and I started the process just a few years into our marriage. I had been diagnosed with type 1 diabetes during high school, which meant that though pregnancy was definitely possible it would also be a lot of hard work. I chose to put off pregnancy attempts in favor of adopting. (Years later, this seems a bit ironic as I now also deal with endometriosis and infertility!) As our adoption wait turned from one year into two, we began to consider trying to conceive. At the same time I began to experience joint pain and by the time we heard of a baby available for adoption, I was in a bad spot, pretty much crippled by arthritis (untreated) at age 26. To make a long story short, I began medical treatments for rheumatoid arthritis, consulted my rheumatologist for his approval, then launched headfirst into adopting our daughter. And we haven’t looked back.
Suffice to say, the way I was going to FEED this child was not my first concern in life. We had a daughter–miracle of miracles! This child we had waited two years for–prayed for, hoped for, longed for–finally was here. I’ll never forget placing her in her crib (borrowed from church friends) among a bevy of stuffed animals (from my childhood), underneath a mobile (from my parents), inside crib bumpers (made by a young friend I used to babysit) and watching her look around with her wide hazel eyes. It was such a beautiful thing. She was such a beautiful thing! I continued to feed her the same formula she was eating while with her birth family and consulted with our new pediatrician on issues related to eating and weight. And that was it.
During our adoption waiting period several well-meaning people mentioned that I could nurse an adopted child. I did some reading, learned of the great lengths it takes to get the smallest amount of milk produced, learned that my never-pregnant body could never provide enough for a whole feeding, and that was it. I decided against attempting to breastfeed. After that point my pride would get insulted each time someone would bring it up. Pride, schmide. The deal is, my body was weird enough and had enough problems without going through the extensive forced-breastfeeding process. I didn’t feel like sharing my body’s chronic diseases with acquaintances who’d bring up adoptive breastfeeding, which is probably why my pride got wounded a few times.
After we adopted our infant daughter, I did my best to create and encourage the bonding process. A summer baby, she was naked much of the time anyhow, so I’d strip off my shirt and enjoy the skin-to-skin contact. I even offered her my breast in case she wanted to suck for comfort, but no, she didn’t. I imagine the nipple was far too different from the bottle’s nipple for her to show any interest. I cherished our middle of the night feedings because it was just the baby and me and it was kind of magical. (Magical and easy, I might say. She was only waking up once in those days and then slept through the night at 12 weeks. After fostering a newborn recently I’ll readily admit that nighttime feedings are not all magical, not by a longshot.)
Every so often I wondered if people were judging me for bottle-feeding my baby when “breast is best.” But I didn’t worry too much about potential judgement. We knew we were providing for our daughter. It was far harder when unthinking friends commented on prenatal care and how careful they were to eat just the right things and how important it was for their unborn babies to hear their voices, etc. Again, we were so pleased to have adopted this child at all! Goodness knows we had zero control over her prenatal care.
At times I was really grateful to be a bottle-feeder with my first child. I knew how much she was eating and could easily maintain a daily routine with her. I functioned well on a schedule and she did, too. However, if I was to ever produce a biological child, I am certain I would attempt to breastfeed. Free milk perfectly formulated for this particular infant? Sounds helpful!
I have little patience for discussing breastfeeding within the world of adoption. It’s not that I judge anyone else’s choices or need for bonding as breastfeeding allows, but I question the necessity of it. This world is a broken place and there are a lot of hardships in this life. I should know, my body is a walking hardship! Adoption involves making the most of messy situations. I think adoptive parents are incredibly blessed to be parenting at all, and adopted children are incredibly blessed to be chosen and added to a new family. Breastfeeding, to be completely honest, is the least of my worries in this type of situation. Sometimes formula really is a great option. And I, for one, am not losing any sleep over it.