I’m 24 weeks pregnant, staring down a national formula shortage, just hoping it works itself out before the new baby arrives. My first child was born in April 2020, less than a month into COVID-19 lockdown. He arrived 3 1/2 weeks early, starved out by my preeclampsia (a pregnancy complication that can prevent blood flow to the placenta, disrupting nutrient delivery to the fetus). He weighed just 4 pounds and 5 ounces, and he broke out of my womb in search of food.
He got it immediately, whisked off to the neonatal intensive care unit and pumped full of formula while I recovered from a thank-God-for-modern-medicine birth. I lost more than 3 pints of blood after the delivery, enough to fill two wine bottles — enough too, it turned out, to decimate my milk supply.
I had been planning to breastfeed. I am the type of mom who typically does — educated, affluent, with a flexible job and friends who breastfed their kids. My baby was too small to latch, so I spent weeks pumping constantly, hoping my milk supply would come in by the time he was big enough to hop on the boob. I FaceTimed lactation consultants, I took supplements, I bought a breast massager that looks like a weird little vibrator. At no time did any of the medical professionals I encountered suggest that breastfeeding might not be for me.
