Breastfeeding Bullies Debunked

Is breast best? Maybe not — at least not in the long run.

A study published in the journal Social Science and Medicine followed children, some breast fed, some bottle fed — and found that there is not much difference in how the kids turned out after babyhood. According to Slate, breastfed and bottle fed kids were measured for “11 outcomes, including BMI, obesity, asthma, different measures of intelligence, hyperactivity, and parental attachment.

And there just wasn’t much difference.

Huh? That’s not what we’re used to hearing.  We’ve been told that a child who was breastfed as a baby is practically guaranteed to edge out his bottle fed peers in almost every area. So why does this study tell a different story?

Here’s why this study is different:  it didn’t compare breastfed children with bottle fed children; it compared breastfed children with their bottle fed siblings.  The way they were raised — the education level of their parents, their economic status — was the same in every way. The only difference was how they were fed.

In previous studies, bottle fed children scored lower than breastfed children because bottle fed children tend to be less advantaged in many other ways, which accounts for things like poorer health, lower scores in school, behavior problems, etc.  Slate explains:

When children from different families were compared, the kids who were breast-fed did better on those 11 measures than kids who were not breast-fed. But, as Colen points out, mothers who breast-feed their kids are disproportionately advantaged—they tend to be wealthier and better educated. When children fed differently within the same family were compared—those discordant sibling pairs—there was no statistically significant difference in any of the measures, except for asthma. Children who were breast-fed were at a higher risk for asthma than children who drank formula.

Why is this important?  Because, in some circles, there is enormous pressure put upon women in difficult situations to breastfeed no matter what the physical or emotional cost to baby, mother, or family.  I’ve written about breastfeeding bullies before, andI’m reprinting that post here.

Breastfeeding is lovely, breastfeeding is a gift, breastfeeding is practically a miracle. I have breastfed for something like 150 months of my life, and my 26-month-old toddler isn’t weaned yet. I know why women breastfeed, and I believe that, in general, it’s good for women and for families, as well as for babies. I know why it’s important. But I also know a good many mothers, excellent, dedicated, generous, tenderhearted mothers, who feed their babies with bottles.

It’s wrong to tell women that the only way to be a good mother is to breastfeed.  It isn’t right. It isn’t compassionate. And now, we discover, it probably isn’t even medically sound.

At the Register: Reading Suggestions for Lent

Sixteen great books I’ve read or mean to read for Lent.

Breastfeeding Bullies

[This post originally ran on the National Catholic Register in December of 2011.]
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At my last prenatal visit, I saw a new midwife.  Her exam room had all the usual distracting mobiles and soothing photos of crocuses and placid water birds.  It also had, right on eye level as I leaned back on the paper-covered table, this photo  (WARNING:  not for sensitive viewers).

I was stunned—first, from the incredible insensitivity of displaying the image.  At 38.5 weeks, I am barely keeping my head above the flood of a thousand anxieties about my baby, myself, my family.  Maybe I’m a pampered American brat, but when I recline to hear my baby’s heartbeat, I don’t expect to be confronted with horrors.  But there was a suffering child, one who was not saved, and the image of her suffering was six inches away from my head.

Even worse was the message the image implied:  that formula kills.

Now, I am the breastfeedingest mother ever.  I’ve spent nearly a third of my life doing little else besides producing milk.  Sometimes it’s easy (people tend to give my babies nicknames like “pork chop”) and sometimes it’s very hard; but I am thoroughly convinced that breastfeeding is physically healthier for babies and mothers alike, and that the little ones are drinking in more than nutrition when they spend hours and hours folded in their mothers’ arms, fading in and out of sleep as they are fed.

So why would I object to the pro-nursing message of the photo?  Because—yes, this particular child probably died because she was given formula.  But she also died because because the water was likely contaminated; because formula is expensive and was probably diluted to save money; because if she had other medical needs beyond basic nutrition, these were likely ignored, because she was just a girl.  The third world is flooded with medical technology that promotes sex-selective abortions, perpetuating a disastrous societal preference for baby boys.

Formula didn’t save this baby girl’s life; but it was ignorance, extreme poverty, and cruel sexism that caused her death.

So in rural, impoverished countries, formula can kill, and in most cases, breastfeeding can save lives.  But showing this picture to an American woman who is already receiving prenatal care, the picture is a lie, and a cruel, manipulative one.  The hand-lettered caption explained only that the mother was told she could not breastfeed both twins, and that the bottle-fed baby died.  The message is clear:  don’t want a skeleton for a baby?  Then you had better breastfeed.

This is simply not true in most of modern America.  Mothers have a moral obligation to take good care of their children, and good care very often takes the form of offering them the best possible nutrition, which very often takes the form of breast milk.  But not always.  It is shameful and irresponsible to tell attentive mothers who use formula that they are slowly killing their babies.

There are mothers who want desperately to nurse, but have horrible difficulties, either physically, emotionally, or logistically.  There are moms who were sexually abused, and cannot see their bodies as nourishing.  There are moms who get no joy or peace in the first several months of their babies’ lives, because they struggle so long and fruitlessly with trying to breastfeed.

For me, breastfeeding is easy and pleasant.  But there are lots and lots of moms who are just different from me—they have different lives, different attitudes, different needs, different priorities.  They love their babies as much as I do; they simply take care of them in a different way, which makes more sense for them, for where they are in their lives right now.

I remember vividly the crushing guilt and pain I felt when, four years ago, I brought my newborn preemie in to be weighed, and the nurse gently told me that, once again, the little one had lost ground.  She was losing weight on my milk, not gaining.  Despite all the care and sympathy and support I was given, I felt worthless, useless.  I COULDN’T EVEN FEED MY OWN BABY.

I’m glad I persisted with breastfeeding (aided by pumping and finger feeding and a round-the-clock nightmare of written schedules, trips to the hospital, and a thousand tiny silicone bits of machinery to sterilize).  But if, in the midst of this ordeal, I had seen that picture of that poor skeletal baby girl whose mother COULDN’T EVEN FEED HER OWN BABY, I think I would have thrown myself in front of a truck.

Breastfeeding should be encouraged and promoted, and mothers should be given generous support by family, doctors and employers when they are trying to nurse their children.  Breast is best.  But there is a difference between educating women and bullying them, and many well-intentioned breastfeeding activists cross the line, in their eagerness to promote good health.

Bottle-feeding moms deserve encouragement and support, too.  Caring well for our babies is a moral issue; breastfeeding is not.

Try this one weird trick for ending the war on women

You know what would cut through 99% of this crap, where we find ourselves arguing about whether or not saying, “Yes, I want to have sex with you” counts as sufficient consent, and whether or not “bystander intervention training” is sexist, and who’s waging a war on whom, and who’s winning?  Try following this simple rule:

If you are not married, assume there is never consent; and if you are married, treat your spouse like a person, not a thing.

I know I know I know. I know all the things, about marital rape and patriarchy and women’s sexual autonomy and the microaggression inherent in chivalry and bias against dads in family court and alllllll the things.

I also know there will be a neverending fountain of confusion and recrimination as long as we treat sex like something that can just happen between anyone at any time, and if we just figure out the right new rules, then no one gets hurt.

We already have figured out the rules. It’s called abstaining before marriage, getting married, having children if you can, and working hard at staying married.   Trying to figure out sex in any other context besides heterosexual marriage is like trying to grow tomatoes in a post-tomato cage era.  Congratulations, you’re free! And now you’re going to fall over and die.

Confession book winner!

And the winner is . . .

Ezbs • 3 days ago
who says

“I’ve never won anything before.”

Ha!  Ezbs, just send your mailing address to me at simchafisher [at] gmail [dot] com, and I will send it off. Congratulations, and thanks to everyone who entered.  The book is A Little Book about Confession for Childrenand it’s a good ‘un!

At the Register: Don’t Shoot Those Helicopters Down

Why can’t gay people (or depressed people, or anxious people, or people with temptations that are not my temptations) just shut up and go to confession?

PIC helicopter rescue

Advice for mom who is unexpectedly expecting?

A reader writes:

Dear Simcha, do you have any reading material suggestions (in print or online) for me?  I have an adorable 8 month old and just found out I am unexpectedly expecting another one!  I intellectually know this is a blessing but yet could use some encouragement about how to overcome the panic?

My answer:

First of all, congratulations on your pregnancy, AND don’t feel like you have to Feel the Right Thing right away. I always figure it takes nine months to get used to the idea of being pregnant; and it’s possible, even normal, to be welcoming of a new baby and horrified at being pregnant, all at the same time.

I just got a book called Tiny Blue Lines: Reclaiming Your Life, Preparing for Your Baby, and Moving Foward with Faith in an Unplanned Pregnancy. I haven’t read it yet – not even the first page – but it’s getting good reviews, and sounds kinda like exactly what you are looking for, so I’m taking a chance and passing the name along.
It’s a really, really good idea to find other people who will understand what you are going through. I used to belong to this message board for people who use NFP. It’s grown a lot since my day, but there are many, many women (and a few men!) there who will understand exactly what you are dealing with, and will be your real (online) friend.
Other than that, make sure you are praying with your husband every day – even just a quick thing. There is no substitute for being united and at peace with your spouse with the help of the Holy Spirit.  If at all possible, an hour a week at adoration can make a huge difference.
Hang in there! I know it’s to feel at peace about it, especially as you look forward and wonder what the next few decades might hold. I had my first two kids fourteen months apart, and the second and third kids fifteen months apart.  It’s hard, but definitely not impossible, and very often a joyful life, especially when you’re young.  And remember that you are giving your child a magnificent, irreplaceable gift in a sibling.
Readers, any other suggestions?

The Dreadmill

That’s what my kids call my treadmill.  Today, the dreadmill and I discovered an unexpected advantage to living in an old house:  you can quickly, easily,unintentionally intensify your workout significantly by moving from the mostly-level living room into what turns out to be the ridiculously uphill dining room.

PIC calves burning

 

Yarr. I’ve had this treadmill for about a month now, and by gum, I am using it.  I don’t own a scale, and I’m pretty sure I haven’t lost weight; but that wasn’t my immediate goal (even though I am most certainly too fat, and not just in a “Oh, my wife says she’s fat” way but seriously, I’m a fatty). My immediate goal was to get off the damn couch, and get to a point where I don’t look terrible, feel terrible, feel like I look terrible, and look like I feel terrible all the time.

And I am there!  I do a half hour minimum, five days a week, 3.5 miles per hour minimum, and I “punch the invisible man,” as my kids call it, for at least part of the time.  (I know food is a big component of health and weight loss, and I’m making changes there, too.)

So, I have more energy, I think I’m less moody and more optimistic, I’m sleeping better, and I have bruises all over the back of my hands because I keep whacking them on the treadmill handrails.  Overall, net win.  There are plenty of other workouts I could be doing, but this is the one I am doing, and I don’t see why I would stop doing it.  As with so many other things in life, it’s working because I’m being consistent.  I’m hoping to be in good enough shape by spring to be exercising to the point of weight loss

Best workout album so far:  Gnarls Barkley’s St. Elsewhere. It’s not just the beat, which is pretty brisk on most songs; it’s the atmosphere of “let’s revel delightfully in this sweaty misery” which I find motivating.  What an amazing album. It should be written up as a case study of the intelligent, self-aware, artistic patient self-medicating for severe depression.  Boy, that doesn’t make it sound like much fun. But it is fun!

Looking for a good song to excerpt, I came across this live version of “Transformer.”  Holy wow, what a voice:

The Pogues are also pretty good for a strong beat and a sensation that we’re all just suffering bastards here, so why not get a little sweatier?

Also, I have tried all the ear buds in the house, which includes every brand from Dollar Tree to Mac, and they all fall out of my ears. Finally broke down and bought my own, which are JVC Gumy Inner Ear headphones, and they don’t fall out. The sound is fine.  I can barely hear what is going on around me, which is a little alarming, but if that’s what you want, these do a good job, and are cheap.

Mrs. Stupid is kind of enjoying her stupid exercise. Didn’t see that coming, did you?

Songs on butts, evebody knows one!

Songs on butts, every garden grows one! Oh, Neil Diamond, you always come back to me at just the right times.

Yes, so, speaking of sweaty music, a student at Oklahoma Christian University has transcribed the music that was written on the butt of someone in Hell, which is why you need to stop making fun of people who major in art history.

Here is the butt:

And here is the larger picture by Hieronymous Bosch (“The Garden of Earthly Delights”) which includes  many things equally as strange as music written on somebody’s butt in Hell:

PIC Garden of Earthly Delights

And here is how the music sounds when hastily transcribed by someone who didn’t expect everyone on the internet to be listening to it, despite the fact that, duh, it’s butt music from hell:

And here is someone who of course went ahead and arranged that hell butt music for choir, and posted it on his website which has some kind of yellow pony/fox creature for a cursor.

In conclusion, YES, I get paid for this kind of thing.

Desperate need for Creighton NFP instructors in Portland

So, you live in the Portland, Oregon area and want to learn about Creighton NFP.  You’ll be talking to someone about your body, your health, maybe your sex life, your marriage, even . . .  DUN dun dun . . . your mucus. Would you like to have this kind of teacher?

 

PIC mean teacher

Or maybe this kind of teacher?

Kate L. (pictured at right — and yes, I believe we were talking about NFP!) is exactly the kind of person you want to be teaching NFP — sympathetic, funny, sincere, and smart as a whip.  And to tell the truth, it’s not so much of a choice between a mean teacher and a good teacher. What they have now in that area is no teachers.

So Kate has started a Go Fund Me campaign to raise money for tuition, books, and travel expenses so she can complete the extensive training to become a certified Creighton NFP model practitioner.

Oh, and Kate is co-founder of the Real Catholic Love and Sex blog, where she is giving away a Love and Faith locket as a raffle prize, and there are five ways to enter.  Some excellent, honest writing about love and sex at this blog.

Go fund Kate! If you can throw even a few dollars her way, and maybe spare a prayer, she will be able to keep on fundraising until she reaches her goal.