Mainstream breastfeeding discourse has nothing to do with women. And everything to do with patriarchy

I introduced formula milk to my second son’s diet when he was five months old. I did this because I had a very busy schedule that kept me away from him for many hours during the day. 

While I was thrilled that supplementing breast milk with formula kept my son full and happy throughout the day, I was constantly bombarded with questions from people I knew and even strangers. 

Why are you not breastfeeding exclusively? Isn’t it too early to introduce the boy to formula? Do you even know what is in the formula?

Many of these people considered it appropriate to probe me in this manner. It left me feeling like a failure and with an ongoing question on my mind: why does society interrogate and scrutinize the actions of mothers and women generally, in a way that it does not do to fathers? 

When I had both my children, I looked forward to breastfeeding them and experiencing the joy and fulfillment that the experience brings.

This joy and fulfillment also comes with soreness, cracked nipples and sometimes bleeding with every suck the baby takes. I did not have enough milk, which made the situation even worse. I remember shutting  my eyes and clenching my fist as I took in the pain because, as I was told by more experienced moms who came to visit me, “It will get better.”

And it did. 

In time, the soreness passed and cracked nipples healed; the milk kicked in and I was breastfeeding easily. However, I came face to face with another challenge: too much breast milk. 

I would steal glances at my breast pads from time to time and in the course of my day to make sure the stains did not leak through. 

In time, this too passed and I started to enjoy breastfeeding.

The first time around, I breastfed exclusively for six months and continued for another one year and eight months. 

For my second son, however, life got in the way. While I wanted to emulate my first time and breastfeed him exclusively for six months, I had to introduce formula early although I continued breastfeeding him for another year.

All mothers are at a certain point faced with a similar decision as I was, whether to breastfeed or formula feed their little ones. This decision is further complicated by societal expectations, which bestows incompetence on mothers, should they choose the latter. 

It is almost as though choosing to formula feed makes you less of a mother. 

WHO and UNICEF recommend that children initiate breastfeeding within the first hour of birth and be exclusively breastfed for the first 6 months of life – meaning no other foods or liquids are provided, including water. 

They also recommend that breastfeeding be continued for at least the first year, with additional foods being added starting at six months.

Breastfeeding is hailed to be the cheapest, cleanest and readily available source of food for infants in many developing countries. Formula feeding, on the other hand, besides being expensive for many mothers, requires a dependable source of clean water which is not available to some 780 million people. 

A 2016 Lancet series on breastfeeding explains that it also presents an increased risk of diarrhea and respiratory infections. 

The series also revealed that more than 800,000 formula-fed infants who die each year could be saved by breastfeeding mostly by reducing diarrhea, respiratory infections, and malnutrition from the diluted formula. 

Knowing well how important exclusive breastfeeding is in enhancing maternal and infant health, I was overcome with guilt when I decided on formula feeding my son, and the judgment I received after did nothing to lessen my guilt. 

I am not against breastfeeding. I do believe that mothers need to be given as much information as possible regarding breastfeeding and why it is important, but they also need to be granted the freedom to choose. 

Through generations, many alternatives have been adopted when breastfeeding was not possible.

Some mothers relied on dry-nursing or feeding a baby without the breast, and when a mother died in childbirth or was unable to breastfeed, wet nurses rose to the task to ensure that the baby was fed. 

The practice began in 17th century France where many babies were sent by their mothers to live with wet nurses who breastfed them. 

By the 18th century, 90% of infants in France were wet nursed and only 1000 of the 21,000 babies born in Paris in 1780 were nursed by their mothers. 

In Egypt, wet nurses were renowned and treated with the same reverence as people did royals. 

Today, alternatives to breastfeeding like wet-nursing for many millennial women are shrouded in shame and criticism.

None of this is unconnected to patriarchy, a framework that always expects women to give and give even at the expense of their wellbeing. 

Breastfeeding the way society dictates may not be possible for all women and the conversation around it blatantly excludes women at the margins for whom many factors come into play, like income, nutrition, besides whether or not they want to breastfeed. 

Yet, the design of inequality and a world so compassionless towards women is that it prides itself in dictating, no matter the consequences. 

A friend of mine once confessed to me that when she stopped breastfeeding her older child at one and a half years, she was criticized for stopping too early.

I was sorry for her experience but I was not surprised. We must have a more rounded conversation about breastfeeding, one that notes its benefits but also makes allowances for women who exist on the fringes or women who choose to for whatever reason.  

Today, my second son is a healthy one-year-and-eight-months-old boy. I recently stopped breastfeeding him and while it wasn’t a popular choice, it was best for my son and me. 

This post is published as part of Minority Africa’s Breast Series, a collection of reports, analysis, and opinions aimed towards demystifying and decolonizing the discourse around breasts for African women. To view more in this series, click here.