At Scribble’s six month appointment, he was sitting pretty at the 50th percentile in height and weight. I had become smug about nursing; we were on an easy schedule and my supply was as good as ever. I had given away all the unopened formula samples and was confident I’d make it to my goal to exclusively breastfeed until I introduce cow’s milk at 1 year. Seeing his stats just reinforced my smugness. Tra la la!

In month seven, things got complicated! I got my period for the first time since my pre-pregnancy days and my supply seemed to dip: I didn’t feel overfull anymore, my pre-pregnancy bras were starting to fit better, and Scribble seemed less interested in nursing. I tried occasionally to pump and could produce only drops. I had read that I couldn’t accurately gauge my supply using these indicators, so I carried on. We introduced solids the BLW way; since we started with finger foods, I was committing to trust my body to provide the bulk of his nourishment.

Scribble didn’t have a seven month appointment, so instead I weighed him at home, using the super-accurate method that I know all moms have tried before: weighing myself (ugh!), then picking him up, weighing us together, and subtracting my weight from ours combined. I knew this was a bad idea, so when the scale said he hadn’t gained a thing, I just assumed it was a sign that I needed to stop being so obsessive. Fast-forward to his eight month birthday, which was also appointment-free. I was consumed with fears about his growth and was “weighing” him all the time.  The scale never budged.  So I took him to the lactation consultant’s office for a free weigh-in. When I got there, the scale confirmed my suspicions: no gain. I booked an appointment with our family doctor for the very next day, fearing that they would advise me to dump BLW, push rice cereal, and supplement with formula.

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The next day, Scribble weighed in. He hadn’t lost any weight, and he had grown a half an inch, but he hadn’t gained an ounce in two months. The NP I saw was concerned. The practice takes a contemporary approach to solids, so she didn’t mention anything about rice cereal or purees. But she did tell me to start supplementing with formula, ideally by pumping for every meal, then mixing in formula until I had a six ounce bottle to give him.  There was no talk of increasing my supply.

I recoiled at the suggestion. At eight months, Scribble is still emotionally attached to nursing. From December to February he wouldn’t touch a bottle, and even then he would only take one occasionally, and only from someone other than me. I felt that pumping exclusively was a one-way-ticket to exclusive formula feeding: my supply would take a hit if I only pumped, and I would probably get sick of doing both at the same time. I told her that wasn’t an option for me, and she advised me to offer a two ounce bottle of formula after every nursing session.  She told me that she expected him to gain at least a pound by his next appointment! I had my marching orders.

I felt so much guilt. I was convinced that sleep training and allowing Scribble to sleep through the night had caused my cycle to start and my supply to dwindle.  The NP had thrown phrases around like “healthy brain development” and “necessary calories.” Had I actually harmed my baby by doing what I thought was right?  Was I one of those crazy hippie parents who accidentally starves their child by keeping them on an aggressive diet regimen?

My experience with undersupply forced me to confront the extent to which breastfeeding had become a part of my identity.  Somewhere along the way I had gone from having a casual, practical attitude toward breastfeeding to having an extreme attachment to it. I started to wonder what sort of mother I would be if I didn’t nurse.  What would be the basis of our bond?  I decided to be a stay-at-home mother so that I would be available for every crisis; why had I devoted myself wholly to being an at-home parent just so that I could shrink back from this challenge?

On the other hand, I was just starting to dig myself out of the hole of new parenthood. For example, the hubs and I had started planning a daytrip away for my birthday and I was saving up milk– one or two ounces at a time– for Scribble to drink while we were gone. We had weddings and graduations to attend. How could I possibly make enough milk to supplement him six times a day, while also saving up for these times when nursing would be impossible or inconvenient?

I took a nap and thought things through. When I woke up, the choice felt obvious: I would try my best to hold off on formula and take it ounce by ounce. I had held onto my 1 year EBF goal for eight months, and to throw it away for a few hours alone with the husband, or the convenience of not having to nurse at a wedding reception, felt silly. I had come through oversupply, and I just wasn’t ready to give in. I wanted to believe what I had heard so many times: that the vast majority of women who want to breastfeed can do so if they make it a priority.

So I called my lactation consultant, who calmed me down, balked at the recommendations of the NP, then suggested I offer Scribble higher fat solids and pump in the middle of the night to provide Scribble with a supplement feed.  I gave myself a week to try this experiment: if he didn’t gain four ounces in one week (the necessary amount to get him to his 1 month 1 pound goal) I decided it would be reckless to continue. I set up a pumping station in my living room, borrowed an infant scale from a good friend, and bought a bottle rack. I took fenugreek, drank water like mad, and pumpedpumpedpumped.

I’ve been doing this for two weeks now, and he’s already gained a whole pound!

Supplementing has not been easy.  At first Scribble resisted the bottle and I had to feed my milk to him in a medicine dropper.  Over time he has become more comfortable.  I am never able to get the ten ounces I need; I usually get between 5 and 8. But Scribble’s weight gain has been so fantastic that I’m not concerned. I just give him whatever I can make and chart his weight daily.

As for solids, I didn’t introduce any more. I knew that breastmilk contains more calories than most solid foods, and I feel more than ever that Scribble needs to get the majority of his calories from my milk, because more nursing would mean an increased supply for me. So we continue with BLW, and we only do two meals a day. But I do try to make those meals count by offering dense foods: meat, oatmeal, veggies roasted in olive oil, and tons of avocado.

Although I hate having to pump twice a day, it has been a beneficial experience for me. Now that Scribble has met his one pound goal and I’m producing more, I am working on a freezer stash. This weekend we had to travel to a wedding and I pumped while we drove to our destination. I nursed him as usual but saved his supplement bottle to give him during the ceremony as a distraction!  I gave him a bottle when we were out running errands and he held it himself!  For someone who nurses 99% of the time, this was a revelation.  But tonight, when a freak boil water advisory was issued for my small town, I was thankful that I don’t require water to prepare formula.  I truly have the best of both worlds.

Scribble has gained so much so quickly that I wonder if he was not poised for a growth spurt anyway. Maybe all this supplementing and feeding is really unnecessary. If that is the case, I am glad at least that I did not throw my goal of EBF away on something that was a simple case of bad growth spurt timing.

My experience with undersupply has stripped me of my nursing -mama pride and restored in me a genuine sympathy for all women who encounter difficulty breastfeeding. I can now say with confidence that nursing is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done! And I know that, had Scribble not gained any weight, I would have offered formula. In fact, I still may have to eventually if his weight gain slows again. And that’s ok!

But my experience has also taught me not to give up on a goal prematurely.  It also strengthened my resolve to challenge the recommendations of health professionals if their advice is draconian and illogical!  More than that, this experience solidified my belief that breastfeeding is possible for most mothers, although sometimes it requires flexibility.  Having dealt with both under and oversupply, I want to tell other women facing these challenges that it is ok to fight for every ounce!

Have you dealt with undersupply?