Sorry — You Can’t Guilt Trip Me About Bottle Feeding My Kids

Sarah Fister Gale

Bottle-feeding my babies was one of the best parenting decisions I ever made. And while this simple statement will likely enrage men and women across America, I won't be made to feel guilty about it.
Fourteen years ago, when I was pregnant with my oldest child I was fairly certain I did not want to breastfeed. I didn't have a medical problem that prevented lactation, and I wasn't planning to return to an office. It just wasn't right for our family. I didn't like the idea of whipping out my breasts in public, or attaching a milking machine to my nipples, or being the only living source of food on the planet for my child.

I did however like the idea that my husband would be able to participate in the most intimate act of feeding our son from the day he was born. I liked that I might be able to sleep for more than four hours at a stretch. I liked knowing exactly how much my child was eating, down to the very last ounce. And (I admit it) after nine long months of total sobriety, I liked the idea of drinking the occasional glass of wine without worrying that I was getting my newborn hooked on cheap chardonnay.

Despite my confidence in this decision, a caterwauling mob of concerned friends and lactation zealots convinced me that I absolutely had to at least try to breastfeed.

"Oh no," frowned one close friend. "If you don't breastfeed, your child will lose IQ points."

"The baby won't bond with you unless you breastfeed," tsked another.

"He will almost certainly die of typhus, or swine flu, or some dastardly childhood disease that breast milk can absolutely prevent," warned the lactation consultant. "Plus formula is made from nicotine and tequila and mashed up dung beetles."

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