Yesterday, while driving home from work, I received a text from my partner, Mark, who was taking care of our seven-month-old daughter, Mia. “How much longer until you’re back? We had a milk issue.” My stomach dropped, and panic set in. I immediately called him back, demanding to know, “What kind of issue with the milk?!”
Mark had thawed a bag of frozen breast milk from the new chest freezer in our garage, only to discover it had a strange odor. He tried another bag and got the same result. When I finally got home, I confirmed that all the bags, which I had stored over different months, smelled off. (Yes, I tasted it—don’t judge!)
The night unfolded in a haze as I anxiously awaited more bags to thaw overnight, replaying in my mind what could have gone wrong. We hadn’t experienced any long power outages, nor had I left milk out to spoil before freezing. Noticing my distress, Mark asked if I was alright. I shrugged, struggling to articulate the turmoil inside me. In that moment, I realized I was grieving.
I was mourning the potential loss of around 500 ounces—about 20 days’ worth of milk—that I had painstakingly saved over the past six months. Saying it out loud made me feel foolish. Who grieves over milk? However, my sorrow wasn’t just about the milk itself; it was about the countless hours spent pumping in a cold, sterile room at work, the monotonous nightly routine of cleaning pump parts and bottles—SO many bottles. The investment in a chest freezer dedicated solely to storing my milk, along with the personal sacrifices and health struggles I faced to keep my baby nourished and happy.
Let me clarify: I am “fortunate” to have an oversupply of milk, meaning I produce more than enough for Mia. Some mothers would love to have this “problem,” and I recognize that daily. But oversupply comes with its own challenges.
This past summer, after several nights of waking up uncomfortably full, I developed a clogged duct that refused to clear. I spent hours in the shower, massaging the lump with my fingers and even an electric toothbrush! After trying various remedies, the lump became warm and red. I visited a doctor, who prescribed antibiotics for mastitis, a breast infection.
A week later, I developed a fever and had to return for an ultrasound, which revealed an abscess. Luckily, the breast surgeon could aspirate it without surgery, diagnosing it as staph. After a stronger antibiotic, I recovered within weeks, all while managing to nurse Mia. Throughout this ordeal, I worried incessantly about our breastfeeding relationship and whether I could continue to provide the nourishment that connected us.
My experience is not isolated. Many of my friends with young babies have shared their own breastfeeding struggles. One friend pumps tirelessly every night to ensure there’s enough milk for daycare. Another navigates her baby’s food allergies while adhering to a strict diet to avoid reactions. Yet another friend exclusively pumps, ensuring her baby receives her milk, while some face the heartbreak of being unable to nurse, despite their best efforts.
We rely on nipple shields, special pillows, supplemental nursing systems, lanolin, and hospital-grade pumps. We bake lactation treats and eat oatmeal daily, even when we’re tired of it, all in hopes of boosting milk production. We endure painful early weeks when feeding every hour feels like a punishment on our bodies. We rise multiple times at night while the world sleeps.
Through it all, we press on, often silently bearing the significant weight of nurturing another life—our most crucial duty as mothers. We hide the emotional burdens of breastfeeding behind tired smiles, just as we discreetly cover our infants while nursing in public.
As it turns out, Mia drank the defrosted milk today. Thanks to an incredible online community, I learned that I likely have high lipase levels, a harmless condition that alters milk flavor at colder temperatures. As long as she continues to drink it, we’re in the clear.
Yet, the fleeting grief from last night lingers, highlighting how emotionally invested I am in this breastfeeding journey. Beyond the hours spent producing and storing milk, I cherish the unique bond formed through nursing. I am grateful every day for the opportunity to breastfeed Mia, despite the challenges.
To all the mothers grappling with the emotional weight of breast milk—whether you have too much, not enough, or choose not to nurse at all—I see you. Your efforts are valid, and you are doing your best every day.
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In summary, breastfeeding carries not only the physical demands but also a profound emotional journey that many mothers navigate, each in their own way.
Keyphrase: Emotional impact of breastfeeding
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