Yesterday marked two months since my little one, Oliver, had his checkup. During the visit, the doctor casually inquired about how often I nurse him daily. That seemingly innocent question spiraled me into a moment of panic. Am I the type of mom who follows a feeding schedule, or do I let my baby nurse freely whenever he desires?
I can easily list the advantages of both approaches. Scheduled feedings offer:
- Greater digestive consistency
- Less chance of snacking
- Better regulation of milk supply
- Simplified planning for appointments and outings
On the flip side, on-demand feeding provides:
- Fewer tears
- Sufficient milk flow
- A more relaxed pace (since I nurse more)
- Enhanced bonding time with my baby
When I sat there, I struggled to respond to the doctor’s query because I embody both styles. I’m the organized, ambitious mom who needs her baby to fit into her busy lifestyle, but I’m also the nurturing mom who wants to soothe my baby on demand, wear him close, and relish those moments of intimacy. This dichotomy seems to reflect a broader debate among mothers.
Is it truly possible to be both? It feels like there’s no space for moms like me who embrace both sides. The online discourse often depicts these opposing viewpoints as adversaries, as captured in a meme I saw on social media this morning.
I wish I could articulate the inner conflict I experience when faced with these contrasting parenting philosophies. An average Tuesday morning finds me juggling lunch prep for my three older kids while Oliver cries in his bouncer. I scoop him up and nestle him in the Baby Bjorn, continuing my tasks as he settles into a peaceful observation mode and eventually drifts off to sleep.
In that moment, I feel empowered and accomplished, convinced I’m meeting his needs perfectly.
But then, 15 minutes later, I desperately need to use the restroom, and my daughter requires assistance with her project. Suddenly, I feel trapped. I initiate the delicate process of transferring Oliver to the bed so I can regain some freedom. Unfortunately, he wakes up just ten minutes later, leaving me with a baby who has snoozed for only 20 minutes.
The following morning, I try a different strategy. Remembering yesterday’s frustrations, I place Oliver in his crib for a nap, attempting to get the older kids lunch. As I hear him crying from the other room, my anxiety rises. I find myself repeatedly checking on him, patting his back and replacing his pacifier. Eventually, he falls asleep.
For a brief moment, I feel that same sense of empowerment and success. But soon enough, he wakes again, this time screaming out in distress. I can’t bear it any longer and scoop him up, feeling all my instincts urge me to hold him tight. I grab the Baby Bjorn and once again place him against my chest.
About half an hour later, I receive a call from the pharmacy notifying me that my prescription is ready. I glance at the car seat in the corner and regret not trying to put him to sleep in it instead of the Bjorn. Being in this carrier feels limiting. Frustrated, I transfer him to the car seat, only for him to wake up.
This scenario mirrors my experiences with feeding, too. Some days, I want to keep track of the last time he nursed, constantly assessing, “Is that a tired cry or a hungry one?” Having a schedule alleviates my stress when I run errands because I know when I need to return home for his feeding. It grants me a degree of freedom, and I’m reassured that he’s growing well.
Yet, just like that, my confidence diminishes when I accidentally bump his head against the car seat handle during an outing. I know the best way to calm him is to offer him the breast, and the pacifier I have is likely to be as effective as a petri dish in a science lab. So, I sit in the car and nurse him, even though I just did back at home. He takes a few sips, then pops off and smiles at me, which makes my heart flutter.
However, after our errands, I notice he’s starting to fuss again. Unsure if he has had enough milk for a nap, I sit down once more to nurse him. We lie together on the couch, all the shopping bags still in the trunk, but I’m unfazed. He’s happy and feeding, and in that moment, I feel truly empowered.
But, an hour later, in the midst of preparing dinner, Oliver seems ravenous in Alex’s arms. My hands are covered in chicken juice, and I can’t determine if he genuinely needs to eat or can wait a bit longer.
This tug-of-war happens repeatedly with so many parenting decisions. I adore feeling his breath against my face while we snuggle in bed—until I crave intimacy with Alex and struggle to transfer Oliver to the crib. I find comfort knowing he’s safe and warm in his crib—until I have to get up multiple times to fix his pacifier and wish he were in bed with me.
I cherish our strolls around the block with him cooing in the stroller—until he starts to cry, and I’m juggling a crying baby in one arm while pushing an empty stroller with the other. I love using the Baby Bjorn, certain he’ll fall asleep quickly—until I need to help my daughter who has fallen off her bike; if only I had the stroller!
I appreciate leaving the house knowing there’s a bottle ready for Alex to use—until I experience an unexpected let-down at a restaurant, realizing my breast pads aren’t doing their job.
I’m both types of moms and can’t be the only one feeling this way. Surely, there are other mothers who resonate with both sides of this divisive parenting dialogue. Why can’t we embrace both approaches? Why can’t we incorporate baby-wearing and the “cry it out” method into our parenting toolbox?
Is it feasible to alternate between demand feeding one day and scheduled feeding the next? Can we stash our Baby Bjorns in the stroller’s storage area? What if we tried introducing a bottle of formula once a day, allowing moms a break from pumping? Can we let our children sleep in our beds sometimes and in their cribs at other times?
As I looked at the doctor, I hesitated before answering, “Sometimes it’s 50, sometimes it’s the prescribed 8. Other times, it falls somewhere in between. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure.”
She smiled and reassured me, “That’s perfectly okay. He’s thriving based on our assessment. My main concern is you, the mom. How are you managing all of this?”
Therein lies the crux of the matter. What do the mommy wars accomplish other than leave us feeling defensive and perplexed? Let’s collectively embrace our multifaceted parenting styles. Moms are wise enough to make the best choices for our babies each day, whether that’s using a Baby Bjorn or opting for scheduled feeds or a walk with a stroller.
I’m both, and you know what? I feel empowered. I feel successful. I feel like I’m doing exactly what Oliver needs of me.
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Summary
In the parenting landscape, many mothers find themselves torn between different philosophies, such as scheduled and on-demand feeding. The author reflects on her experiences as she juggles the demands of motherhood, expressing the challenge of reconciling both sides. She ultimately advocates for embracing a multifaceted approach to parenting, acknowledging that it is possible to be both types of mothers.
Keyphrase: Parenting dilemmas
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