Getting pregnant today means being overwhelmed with warnings from family, friends, strangers, the Internet, books, and a number of other sources. These sources can become so domineering that they can begin to take over, making an expectant mother feel inadequate even before the new bundle arrives. In the third trimester of my first pregnancy I would like to offer the top three things I’ve learned to other expectant mothers – not about how to mother, but about how to cope in this age of fearful pregnancy.

First, don’t let everyone else dictate what’s important to you and your family. You may want to listen politely but don’t feel obligated to take the advice you’ll hear. Stick to your guns if something is important to and your partner. I never wanted to find out the sex of our baby – a rarity these days – but my husband was almost pushed into it. When we broke the sad news that we wouldn’t, in fact, be able to find out whether my sister gets the nephew she so desperately wants or my mother-in-law gets the granddaughter she intends to spoil, our families were shocked. Devastated! How could they plan for this child without knowing its sex!?!

Still, it is important not to give in to everyone else’s ideas about how you should treat your pregnancy. Some decisions – most of them, in fact – are between you and your partner and really should be firm decisions the two of you make together without your parents or siblings or friends interfering. Everyone in the world, from your co-worker to complete strangers in the bookstore, will try to tell you about why you should breastfeed or have cameras in the delivery room. It is wise to make decisions independently of this “advice,” no matter how well intentioned.

Second, beware of what you read. I went out and faithfully purchased a pregnancy journal, a baby name book, and What to Expect When You’re Expecting shortly after I found out we were having a baby. The journal has come in handy; I must admit. As a writer, I want to record this journey to look back on fondly and to give my child an idea of what Mommy was like before he or she entered the world. The baby name book is quite a distraction. With 30,000 names, definitions, and origins at our disposal, we’ve still returned to the few names we came up with on our own before the baby name book entered our lives.

What to Expect, the anointed Bible of pregnancy, has some helpful information. I’ve found the answers to questions I didn’t want to ask my doctor or ones I asked but didn’t get answered. Still, the book is part of a culture of fear surrounding pregnancy today. I cannot count the number of times I’ve thought, “Didn’t women have babies for millennia before they knew this?” Granted, I’m glad we know that milk and other calcium-rich products are necessary for a healthy baby. I want to know that my doctor can order an ultrasound to tell if there are problems in my pregnancy. Reading all of the information out there, though, is impossible given the short time-span in which a pregnancy occurs. Trying to sift through that information is even more daunting a task, and forget about making sure you get just enough zinc but not too much magnesium in your diet. A pregnant woman could drive herself crazy thinking about all of the admonitions she hears during what should be a joyous time.

Finally, savor the moment. With baby due in 10 weeks, I actually feel relaxed. We have some of the décor for the nursery but not all of it. We are spending a weekend painting and rearranging – okay, I’m mainly supervising – to get everything ready for our little miracle. My husband and I are probably the only expectant parents who laugh hysterically when we visit baby stores. We’re shocked at the material possessions our baby needs to be a happy child. A compulsive list-maker, I have a list of all of the people my husband will need to call once the baby’s born. I have a list of what I’m packing for us to take, and I even know the date I will lug the suitcases out and pack them. Of course, I’m hoping our little one does not plan on an early arrival, but even in that event, I have my list handy. I picked out a place to order food to pick up for our first night home.

I am pretty organized about this pregnancy, but it is important to do it in a relaxed manner. I love sitting back and watching my tummy contort with the baby’s movements, and I’ve enjoyed spending quiet time with my husband in our last months before parenthood. It is key not to feel caught up in the whirlwind of modern parenting, buying everything out there for your child and forgetting to put emphasis on the most precious cargo – the baby.

When I was pregnant with my first child, friends and strangers alike often asked me questions. Some of these questions I was expecting: Do you know if it’s a boy or girl? What names have you picked? Some of these questions I was not expecting: How much weight have you gained (never a good question!) and Are you going to breastfeed?

It was surprising to me just how interested people seemed to be in whether I was going to breast or bottle feed our baby. Even more surprising were their responses when I told them that yes, I planned to breastfeed. “Good!” my breastfeeding friends would say heartily. “That never worked for me,” my non-breastfeeding friends would say almost apologetically. I was puzzled by how emotional this topic seemed. I also was amazed by how many of my friends had problems breastfeeding. I had two sisters who had breastfed their babies – one breastfed seven children – and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. I figured you had the baby, you put it to your breast, and the baby nursed. It seemed like it would be simple. Was I right? No! My experience breastfeeding was one of the most challenging yet rewarding aspects of being a new mother. It’s a story that’s fraught with as much emotion and tears as a Lifetime movie; and I’ve come to find out that my experience is not all that different from many women’s.

Last August, I was lying in bed, watching Regis and Kelly, when suddenly my water broke. This being my first child, I at first was unsure what was happening. Fluid was gushing out of me and yet my baby wasn’t due for another month and a half. I was terrified she was suddenly going to slip out of me in a rush of fluid. Little did I know it wouldn’t be until after another 23 hours of labor that our little Anne would make her appearance! Due to her early arrival Anne was whisked away to a larger hospital nearby to be in their NICU. My husband and I were left a bit dazed and shell-shocked. I had had many happy envisionings of Anne’s birth. I saw my husband cutting the cord, Anne being placed in my arms, a few pictures, and I had written in my birth plan: “I want to put my baby to breast immediately”. Instead I was felt like I’d been hit by a truck, my husband hadn’t slept and barely eaten in over 24 hours, our baby was in the next town in a large hospital and we hadn’t even been able to hold her.

Later that afternoon, I was lying in my hospital room, trying to think positive when the nurse came in to check my vitals.

“Are you pumping?” she said, somewhat suspiciously, eyeing me carefully.

“Pumping what?” I asked.

“Your breasts! You need to get your milk in!” she responded. She then left and quickly returned with a blue box on wheels. “I’m sending in the lactation consultant,” she explained.

A while later one of the lactation consultants arrived. Little did I know that she would be the first of 12 different nurses or consultants I would work with (all of whom had a different approach!). She hooked up some plastic tubing to the machine, then attached them to what looked like funnels.

“Put these over your breasts,” she ordered. I placed a funnel (technically called a “phalange”) over each nipple. She flipped the switch and I nearly jumped out of bed.

“Yikes!” I cried. “I feel like my breasts are being sucked into a vacuum cleaner!”

“That means it’s working,” she explained. “Now stay there for 25 minutes.”

Ten minutes later, I was near tears. This blue machine was killing me and nothing was coming out of my breasts. By 15 minutes I was in tears. I turned off the machine and called for the nurse. This time a different nurse and different consultant appeared. They tried to comfort me as I fretted over the lack of milk and the pain. What would they feed my baby if I had no milk? Why did this machine feel like a torture device? This consultant turned the machine down to a lower setting and told me “Only 10 minutes at a time, once every three hours”. I figured I would endure 10 minutes okay. They assured me that my nipples just needed to “toughen up”. Toughen up? What did that mean? I pictured my nipples looking some something that had been left on the beach too long. Would they “untoughen” later? How long did it take to toughen?

The next day I continued my pumping, though I had a great deal of pain. I would endure this, I thought. This is for my baby. She needs my milk! I looked down and noticed I was bleeding. I switched off the pump and called for the nurse.

“My nipples are bleeding.” I told her. I must admit I felt like an idiot. I had never heard of any of my friends or sisters nipples falling apart like this. Weren’t they supposed to “toughen up”? Why were my nipples so troublesome? And where was my milk?? I still hadn’t seen a drop. The nurse assured me that this was normal. My husband thought it didn’t seem to normal to expect bleeding, but I told him I‘d be okay. The hospital arranged for a pump to be brought to me to take with me when I left the hospital. Luckily, it was a kinder, gentler pump that the blue one I’d been using.

The next day I was discharged and we moved into a hotel near the hospital where Anne was. We finally got to hold our little girl! When the nurses in the NICU asked me if I was going to breastfeed I explained that I was trying to pump to get my milk in.

“Good!” they said enthusiastically. “We want the first thing to hit her stomach to be your milk. It’s liquid gold”.

Liquid gold? They explained that my body knew Anne had been born early, so the constitution of my milk had changed and it was just what Anne needed. You can imagine, after that pep talk I was geared up to pump (and even more stressed)! This time their consultant worked with me. The first thing she did was to get me new phalanges. The ones I had been using (the nipple-chewing ones) were actually too small for me. The new ones made a world of difference. She also taught my husband and I how to collect the colostrum with a syringe, using sterile water, and how to bottle it to bring to the NICU for Anne’s feedings. Fortunately for me, my husband is a scientist. He was quite comfortable collecting drops with syringes, sterilizing equipment, etc. The first time I lost a drop of milk from the syringe onto the floor I burst into tears. I’d worked hard for that drop! Anne needed it! He soon took over all collection activities. We called him “Pump Guy”. He also did the set-up and sterilizing of my pump parts for me, giving me time to get set up myself or to clean up. He even set the alarm and woke me every three hours during the night to pump.

Soon my milk came in, and it was cause for rejoicing! I pumped, more and more milk came, the baby had it through her feeding tube, and I felt like I was doing the one thing that only I could do for her. Then came the day that we learned to nurse.

I have to say “learned” to nurse, because I really thought nursing was going to be a reflex skill and it wasn’t. Anne was tiny and she had feeding issues. She couldn’t suck and swallow and breathe in a coordinated fashion. I wasn’t sure what to do except hold her close to my breast and worry that I was going to suffocate her. The first time she latched on and sucked (6 sucks it was) I burst into tears. We were going to do this! Anne was going to be okay! I had milk! Grab the camera! It was actually 2 and ½ months before Anne could normally and naturally nurse without issue and sustain herself, but those first four weeks were the hardest. She had a bad latch, a weak suck, and difficulty staying awake as the effort was too much for her. My nipples felt like they were on fire at times (thank goodness for lansinoh ointment!). We used a shield on and off for a while, too. But we made it. One way we made it was by doing what worked for us and what felt right. I appreciated all the people who tried to help me, and all the consultants who took the time to aid me, but I think it was my husband’s comment that really made the most sense. When I was still in the throws of despair and stressing over my milk coming in, he said that it seemed like the “trick” to lactation was that there was no trick to lactation! There was no one right answer. Everyone had to find out what was right for them, their body, and their baby. I really think he’s right. My sisters had no problems. They didn‘t even own a breast pump. I had lots of problems, but eventually met with success. Other friends of mine had so many problems that they couldn’t continue. While I think no one would argue that breastmilk is the healthiest and most natural choice for an infant, the adage “breast is best” can put undue pressure on women. What’s best should be what’s best for you and your baby. Women shouldn’t be afraid to ask for help (I found a wonderful nurse/consultant from the La Leche website after Anne came home). But for some people breastfeeding just doesn’t work out for them, even though they try.

Breastfeeding my daughter was one of the most wonderful experiences for me. I felt I gave her a gift to help her grow stronger while she was in the hospital. It was a beautiful bonding experience. But it wasn’t easy, and it certainly wasn’t what I was expecting. Fortunately, we were able to make it work.

Always the optimist, I was recently filling out my birth plan and once again I wrote “I would like to immediately put my baby to breast”. Who knows? Maybe this time it’ll be just like my sisters – the most natural thing in the world. At least now I know what to expect – and I know how to toughen my nipples!

In my mind before having a child, I had always envisioned myself breastfeeding. I had a picture of myself sitting in our rocker with my son to my breast and me looking down blissfully at this beautiful boy I created. I figured that I would feel a deep sense of satisfaction with myself because I was giving him the best thing I could give him-my milk.

In my last trimester, I had dinner with a good friend who had a child of her own. We somehow got on the subject of breastfeeding and she was sharing with me her own personal experience with it. Her child would not latch on, she was having postpartum depression, and she was sore, basically she was miserable. She told me that she decided to stop breastfeeding and that she and her daughter were much happier now. She leaned over and said to me, “Breastfeeding is not for everyone…” I thanked her for the information, but in my head I was still carrying around this beautiful image of Ethan and I sharing this special bonding moment together.

Two weeks before I had Ethan my husband lost his job. I had thought that we would quickly recover from this and he would find another great job without a lapse in pay. I couldn’t imagine him not working or being able to find a job, but that is exactly what happened for almost an entire year before he got his next job.

Being sick with worry over my husband’s job loss coupled with the extreme heat of the hot July sun, my son arrived into the world two weeks earlier than was expected. Ethan came so quickly into the world that the doctor jokingly offered to teach my husband how to do a home delivery for the next baby. Ethan was perfect in every way and I immediately put him to my breast as though this was the most natural thing a mother could do. My milk had not come in yet, but the nurses encouraged me to have him breastfeed because it would help stimulate my milk supply.

In the morning, the nurse brought Ethan to me so that I could feed him. I was holding him rather awkwardly in my arms and trying to get him in just the right position so that he would be able to feed. The nurse suggested that I hold him “football style” because she thought it would be good to teach me a few different ways I could hold him. I am a very private person and having someone hovering over me and moving my breast made me nervous and more anxious then I had been before. The football position was more awkward for me and immediately after she left, I returned to holding him the way that was most comfortable for me and only then could I relax enough to actually feed Ethan.

When we brought our son home, I thought that I couldn’t have been more tired, but I was wrong. Ethan nursed with a passion and so frequently that I felt that I had nothing in my own body to nourish myself. He nursed for a half hour and then I would lay him down in his bed where he would proceed to scream his little head off and curl his entire body up in a ball. Twenty minutes later, I was feeding him again for another half hour and this routine proceeded through the entire night and the days of the first six weeks of his birth. I told my husband that I wasn’t even going to wear a shirt because I didn’t see any point in it. I was a human milk truck and every single time I got my shirt buttoned, my child was ready to feed again minutes later. He was colicky and extremely unhappy and his skin was broke out in a terrible rash.

After the first week, I brought him into the doctor and explained that I thought something was wrong. The doctor disagreed and said that his rash was typical of a newborn and that he would “grow out” of the colicky stage within the next three months. THREE MONTHS? THREE MONTHS? I wanted to sit down and bawl right along with Ethan.

Those first few weeks were extremely hard on us. I was sore and uncomfortable and with him feeding so frequently, there were few places that I could go to where I could feed him in private. The only place we went to was the mall. I remember sitting in the rest room as the door swung wide open and people walked through to use the restroom. At that moment I felt a great sense of embarrassment. Not because I was embarrassed that I was feeding my son, but because I was having trouble being discrete and also having trouble letting my milk down with such an audience. Ethan was screaming at me because no milk was coming out and I was near tears because he was in tears. Not exactly the blissful picture that I had created in my mind.

Encouraged by a talk with my mother, I decided to contact a Le Leche consultant on what the problem could be and she asked me what I had been eating. She said the very best thing I could do was to eliminate everything from my diet except for bread and water and gradually add things back into my diet to figure out what he was allergic to. Emotionally and physically drained, I decided to give this a try and see if it could help. I did this for about a week and my son was still screaming and crying at me. At a loss, I contacted the consultant again and she reassured me that I was doing the best thing I could do for my baby, but some foods (like dairy) take three weeks to fully get out of your system so that may have been partly to blame on why he was so colicky. THREE WEEKS? THREE WEEKS? Three weeks of bread and water and again, I sat down and bawled right along with Ethan. I felt such a sense of desperation and I knew that three weeks of this was three weeks longer than I could handle.

In the sixth week of his life, my parents came to visit us and to help me take care of the baby. My mom and dad sandwiched Ethan between them and looked down at him as he hollered with his rash-covered face and that is when my mother suggested formula. As soon as she said the word, I almost rejoiced. It was as though someone was giving me permission and telling me that I was not a bad mother just because I wanted to bottle-feed. I could not open a can of formula fast enough.

That day we started Ethan on soy formula and within one day his face had practically cleared up, he slept without being curled up in a ball, and I could rest. We brought him in for his six week check-up and I shared with the doctor the remarkable improvement we had seen with Ethan being on the formula. Only then, did the doctor disclose that some children do have an allergy to milk proteins. At that point, no explanation was needed because I had made peace with my decision to not breastfeed.

We are hoping to have another child in the near future and I am still planning to try again with breastfeeding. Just because this experience was not a positive one for us, does not mean that the next one will be as difficult. I do admit, however, that I am more open to bottle-feeding and that I am more realistic about my expectations of breastfeeding. It is hard, you are sore, and it is a big commitment, but it can be a wonderful experience for both the mother and the child. But just as my friend shared with me, I am sharing with you, breastfeeding just isn’t for everyone. A mother must do what makes her and her child happy and for Ethan and I, the answer was bottle-feeding.