A couple of days ago, after about half an hour of unsuccessful pumping, and in a rush to get to school and daycare on time, I turned to the emergency formula. And made Petals a bottle. I haven’t felt this guilty since…I can’t remember when. I cried for a good ten minutes on the way to work and it ate away at me for the next half hour.
The most ridiculous part? That I fully realize that this is not the worst thing in the world. 1) I, my husband, his brother, and two of my sisters were formula fed. We’re still pretty awesome. 2) Many of my friends feed or have supplemented feedings with formula. 3) She’s a good nine months old and doing a good job of weaning herself.
So why the guilt? Maybe it’s because if all the “breast us best” literature. Maybe it’s because of the tons of blogs and books I’ve read that warn that turning to formula is often the beginning of the end of a successful breastfeeding relationship. Or maybe it’s because after compromising on the natural birth thing, caving to pressure to forget about trying cloth diapers, and forgoing baby led weaning for purées, this was the one crunchy mom promise I’d made that I’d actually been keeping. It kind of hurt to let go of that a bit.
She drank the formula. And aside from a few spit-ups (to which she is prone anyway) she appears to be just fine. Perhaps supplementing with formula will give me the break I need to get some pumping done. And with her first birthday fast approaching (Yikes!) she will be hitting the cow’s milk soon anyway.
I think I’m cool with it. Especially considering the bug I found in her dirty diaper the other day. It would appear that formula is far from the worst thing on her menu.