A complete mental breakdown when the pump broke!

In the past

“When I'm 10, I'll be a 'teenager', which means a lot, you know”

Afterwards: “If you're in 8th grade, then you're really cool”

Afterwards: “When I'm in high school, then I'll be cool”

Afterwards: “When I'm 16, I can drink!! Then I'll be the bomb, you know”

Daarna: “Op MSN; **-^^LaUrA^^-**MoNnE**-^^NTB-4evah**”

Afterwards: “When I'm grown up and have children, then I'll be a woman, and not a girl anymore”

I always just felt like 'that girl'

And what I used to worry about the most during my teenage years was my age, boys, my round butt, and all the fat deposits elsewhere on my body. Now that I'm a mother, I suddenly worry about things that I would have thought before; “If you can worry about such things, then you really have issues and should see a coach, psychologist, or psychiatrist, no wait: a clinical admission.

For example, I had a complete mental breakdown in December. A huge drama, which seriously(!) kept me awake at night. With crying fits, feelings of guilt, and all that comes with it. For those who don't know me: our youngest son, Joep, was born with a cleft in June 2019. What is a cleft? A cleft is a split lip or palate, and in some cases, both the lip, jaw, and palate are split. Our Joep had the whole package. Everything was open. (no worries, they can fix it beautifully nowadays, ohh, ahh, it will all be fine). Anyway. Joep couldn't breastfeed. I, with my good behavior and my trusty Bertha42 breast pump, managed to exclusively breastfeed Joep for six months. Then we went away for a weekend. Super fun, but also super far. Three hours drive and, drum roll.... The pump broke. But really, broke.

Stress and panic everywhere!

I bought second-hand breast pumps nearby through Marktplaats. But since my let-down reflex wasn't coming anymore, I also needed syntocinon nasal spray. It was also at home. That same home, three hours away. I went with my grandmother to the medical center in the town, looking for that darn syntocinon (because my breasts, they were about to burst!). At that medical center, there was also an on-duty pharmacy, but they didn't have it. While I was there, half crying, calling other pharmacies, a grandmother with her granddaughter came in with a hole in her head. The girl's mother followed. She stepped in and fainted. Her grandmother took care of her own daughter and the girl sat there with a tea towel over her bleeding wound. The syntocinon had completely faded into the background, first to the girl, who started crying because mom was lying there on the floor. Total chaos. What was I worrying about again? Oh right, nasal spray. Well, my grandmother and I had called all the pharmacies in the surrounding area and set off with full confidence, high spirits, and full breasts. We ended up in Den Bosch. Once I had the nasal spray in the pocket, my grandmother cautiously said: 'Should we also take a pack of powdered milk just in case?' 'Powdered milk, grandma? Do you think I've been pumping for 6 months to give him powder now!? What if he gets cramps?! What if he starts throwing up? No!!' *My grandmother can be quite persuasive...* So we went back to the cottage with a hand pump, syntocinon nasal spray, and a pack of powdered milk.

I have never been pumping this much before

“Mommy, can we color?” No, mommy has to pump. “Mommy, can we play a game?” No, mommy has to pump. Mommy…” I kept this up for two days. And my milk yield? It just kept getting less and less… With a sidelong glance, I even considered that pack of powdered milk. The guilt that came with it was unbearable! I truly felt like the worst mother in the entire universe! I was now spending whole days pumping with that damn hand pump, because Bertha42 had been sent off for repairs. The guilt I felt about Joep possibly having to drink formula was overwhelming. On the other hand, I also felt so guilty towards Lotje and Noud (our other two children). Lot and Noud were put on hold so often because of that hand pumping, I didn't want that either.

And then the time had come

Joe got the powdered milk that was intended for calves, not for human babies. And what do you think happened? Exactly! Absolutely nothing. Joe drank it. And that was the moment it was all right. There, where I was afraid Joe would turn white with black spots and start mooing, nothing happened.

Of course, I know in my mind that formula feeding is perfectly fine

And that some mothers opt for formula feeding. That's perfectly fine too. But because of his cleft, I chose to do only the very best for him. Now I had failed. I was a bad mother because I had only done it for six months and couldn't keep it up until after his palate closure.

When I think back on it

Gosh, we moved heaven and earth that weekend. What a panic. I used to think, of course. Above your 30s, when you have children, when you're an adult and have everything in order, you don't have issues and insecurities anymore. My conclusion is: I was wrong. I am now an adult married woman. 31 years old, with three children and everything in order. But I often still feel like that 16-year-old girl. But now with a lot more issues to worry about, than 15 years ago about that one cute boy, and my big butt.

LAURA