I'm in a seriously sweary mood today, it's three weeks since my last silent coffee. Ordinarily sweary wouldn't be a problem. You'd never have known that I've shouted expletives into the fridge with the frequency of a bad case of Tourette's today.
Usually you'd be none the wiser....
But I saw a blog post judging women who formula feed their babies, even suggesting that women that choose to formula feed are somewhat uneducated: and I've been giving all the fucking fucks for this. My swear jar (like I have one of those! Pah!) would be overflowing. I'd have saved for the Christmas splurge in an hour.
What gives anyone the right to judge mothers who formula feed?! It's been a while since I let my mind wander back to our #breastisbest journey. Basically one clear thought ran through my mind:
Get back in your bastarding box, pretty please.
I'll admit this is a sore subject for me (literally- if you've ever tried breastfeeding you might relate!).
I take maje offence to anyone slating Apamil and the like. Without this my baby wouldn't have survived! With a projectile case of reflux I was told to express milk and add this magic powder to aid the ample Pukage which had covered every surface of our home over those first few months of manic babydom.
My anxious awol confusion of a brain simply couldn't handle the timing of expressing, feeding, winding, sleeping, expressing, freezing, powder mixing, winding mind-fuck of a routine.
How do you think I came up with the blog name 'Muma on the Edge' in the first place?!
Formula was mine and my baby's life line. Once we had made the decision to switch to formula the relief was mahoosive. Finally someone else could feed / wind / clear up the puke. I could share the hum drum newborn survival routine with my husband (or anyone else who was offering!). My anxiety levels began to reset and I actually gave myself moments to enjoy this mum thang.
Guess what: my baby was less sick AND began to thrive. Well, well- formula being responsible for a baby THRIVING. Did you hear that haters?
And I assure you I am not uneducated, I even have a degree AND a private education, fancy! I engaged brain and made a conscious decision to saunter down to Tesco and buy up a crate of Aptamil Nectar.
No one raised any eyebrows as I bought the illicit products either. Bottles, a steamy cleaner, even DUMMIES... Oh yeh, to fuck with it, I went the whole sodding hog.
Here's a confession for you: the 2nd time around I chose to bottle feed after just three weeks.
Because I wanted to.
I'll skate over the fact that my left boobage refused to refill. It looked a little like the surgeon had forgotten to pop the silicon in my sad looking pyramid tea bag to my left. Selfishly I wanted my body back, I wanted to wear clothes that didn't unhook and flap open. After 9 months of growing a baby I needed to be in charge of me again.
It wasn't that I was frightened of breast feeding in public, no one had ever made me feel uneasy. I simply chose. And I'm not a bad person btw. I can be quite nice - if I like you...
My girls are now 6 and 3, they walk, talk, run, hop, skip, answer back, learn, wash, cartwheel, swim, eat, and, touch wood, have never been in hospital. So far I'm not seeing any adverse effects from our formula decision. All present and correct thanks very much.
So Judgey McJudgeface, before throwing your magic wand of formula hate around why not locate a ladder, clamber down from that Trogan Horse and rejoin the rest of us on cloud normal. Please.
#fedisbest bitches.