A Letter to My Son on Our Last Night of Nursing

WRITTEN BY MELISSA HOAGLUND

I went into motherhood with the mantra of: Fed is best, but breast is better. It was my goal to exclusively breastfeed my son for six months. Due to a combination of an unidentified allergen (which ended up being apples) and my own postpartum depression, we had to stop nursing at four months. What follows is a letter I wrote to my son on that last night. I believe that it reflects the guilt we as parents can carry for things that are out of our control.

To my son on our last night of nursing.

Nursing never came easy for us. You were put to the breast when you were just five minutes old. I couldn’t get you to latch, but the nurse said that was normal and it would come to us.

When you were a few hours old, they took you to the NICU and gave you formula in addition to nursing and the few microliters I could pump for you.

When we brought you home, my milk came in quickly. We nursed exclusively for two weeks. I felt optimistic. I was able to get plenty from the pump, so even when I just couldn’t handle being touched any longer, I was able to feed you the best stuff I could.

The physical contact wore on me. I started doing one bottle a day. Then two. You demanded more food even after nursing for an hour. I just couldn’t keep up, and I started to resent you for touching me. I kept pumping. After a month, it just wasn’t enough and we started back on a little formula.

After a few more weeks, I couldn’t get enough pumped for your dad to feed you in the middle of the night. We went from one can of formula a month to two.

Pumping started to make me feel like a cow. Physical contact made me nauseated. You could only go an hour and a half between nursing sessions. You could go two or three if I gave you formula. We began to do every third feeding.

You got sick. Your weight gain slowed. You developed eczema. The doctor said it was a milk allergy. My diet was already restricted; I was vegan except for eggs. But I wanted what was best for you, so I did everything I could and cut out dairy.

It wasn’t enough. You started to lose weight. You were still sick. They switched you to a specialized formula. I tried to get you to nurse, but you pulled away and screamed. It’s been three days of this and we have nursed for the last time.

I wanted to give you a few more antibodies. You are only four months old. I decided to try some skin-on-skin. I wanted to nurse you to sleep and then nap together. You suckled for five minutes and then fell asleep. Twenty minutes later, you became gassy. You cried. You were in pain. I held you and cried until you calmed. Then your father gave you a bottle.

You are sleeping now. I am sorry that you will be given processed food. I am sorry you won’t be getting your best defense against infections. Most of all, I’m sorry I didn’t stop sooner. We don’t know what you are allergic to, but I’m clearly eating it. Every time you nurse, you get a dose of poison. I am causing you pain and I’m sorry.

I wanted to nurse you for six months. I wanted it available to you for two years. I am doing what is best for you, I hope. There are a lot of things I will fail at during your life. This is the first. I’m sorry.