When Losing Your Breast Milk Means Losing Your Identity

Recently, I made the decision to leave my babies with their Dad for a weekend. I was fully sponsored to attend an amazing conference, and thought that I couldn’t “pass up the opportunity”. I’ve also been told repeatably, and consequently believed, that I “deserved a break”. In hindsight, I have learned that once you become a mother, there is no such thing as a “break”. At least for me personally, at this particular point in my life, there is always a part of me that remains a mother, regardless of where I may be.

Up to that weekend, the only other time I had left Alina overnight was to give birth to her brother in the hospital. And though Alina is no longer a baby, my sweet boy was not even five months when I left him for that weekend trip. The mother I was 3 years ago would have never left my baby at a mere five months, especially since I exclusively breast feed. But here I was, a mother of two and needing some time out for myself. I felt justified and entitled. And specifically because the trip would not financially cost my family, I agreed to leave my nursing baby. But I never expected what happened next.

My plan was to leave the conference every 2 to 3 hours to pump in my quiet hotel room, which is exactly what I did for the entire weekend. The first day and a half went exactly as planned, and I was able to pump out a sufficient amount of milk. I was in constant contact with Daddy D, who assured me the baby was doing fine on the bottle. I was so proud of my big boy, as Alina never {ever!} took a bottle, and elated that his easy temperament was allowing me some time away without that wretched Mommy guilt. In my glee, I sent out a tweet about my proud pumping experience to Medela {the maker of my pump} and thought it was pretty cool that they tweeted back so quickly. I was stress free and having a blast on my mommy break.

But by the mid afternoon feeding of the second day, I knew I was in trouble. My breasts began to feel engorged, with less and less milk being produced. I tried every trick in the book, but the milk would not come out. I continued to pump every two to three hours, leaving conference sessions and social outings early, just to alleviate the pain. I remained as professional as I could, but my fear was swelling. I prayed every night that I would not dry up. I was gone a total of two half days and two full days, three nights total.

In that time, I lost my breast milk.

The days since coming home from my trip have been heavy, to be sure. And although some of you won’t understand, for those women who have breastfed, attempted to breastfeed or can empathize with the unbelievable amount of devotion that goes into breastfeeding, my hope is that I find solace in communicating my ordeal with you.

Losing my breast milk, without a single doubt in my core, has meant losing a part of my identity.

Many, many tears have been shed in the last three days, pounds have been lost faster than I could have imagined, but losing the ability to feed my baby has been one of the most painful realizations I have come across in my motherhood. I think mostly because it is my fault this happened. I made a decision to take time for me, away from my infant. In taking time for me, I took away the precious relationship of breastfeeding from my son. That fact was not more clear than when I reached out to the largest, national breastfeeding support network and was told “You should have not left him. You should have hired a nanny. This is your fault.” I’m using quotes because that is exactly what was said, and in reality, exactly what I was feeling. In one weekend, I went from 100% breastfeeding to completely dried out. And I was in shock. I had a fantastic time at my conference; I met new friends, learned so much and was surrounded by woman pursing their dreams. But, I will not be leaving my child again for the foreseeable future. This mistake will not be made again.

It has been four days since I returned from my trip, and if you know me at all, I haven’t taken my body’s betrayal as the final determinant of my breastfeeding identity. I’m a stubborn girl. The lactation consultant told me my chances of relactation were poor, only 30%. But if there is a chance, I’m going to try. In the last four days, I have been latched to that kid almost nonstop. I’m drinking herbal tea. I have an appointment with an acupuncturist. I am trying my best to restore the identity that I so casually took for granted. Despite my body’s refusal, I still very much see myself as a breastfeeding mom. I don’t for a moment think I am a bad mom, or unjustified in my choice to take a weekend away, but I do wish I had done things differently. Since it was my first conference, I just didn’t know. I didn’t know I could take my infant. I didn’t know my sponsor would be okay with his presence. I didn’t know my roommate would be as wonderful and supportive as she was. But, I should have asked. I should have known for my son. And if I wasn’t sure – I should have stayed.

As of today, I have managed to restore some flow but still need to supplement. He’s a big boy, and needs the calories. Also, I want to be clear that, although I believe that breastfeeding MY babies is the best option for US, I hold no judgement for those that don’t or can’t. Breastfeeding is so much more than nutrition and caloric quality; its a relationship and bonding experience that very much impacts the way you relate to your baby. Having lost that relationship is what most upset me.

I’m not sure if I’ll be able to completely restore my breast milk production, but I’m trying…