I am not talking about economics like dollars and cents, because in the endless battle of breast vs. bottle, people often make the case that breastfeeding is fiscally responsible, stating that it is free, but anyone who has ever tried it knows that it is not. It means long hours, hard work, and if returning to work, a several hundred dollar pump.
I am talking about economics as in the cause and effect of production and consumption.
Starting with supply. Everyone is jealous of everyone else. I do not make enough milk to exclusively breastfeed my son. On an average week day, I spend 2-3 hours a day hooked to a pump and 2-3 hours nursing my kid (sometimes doing both at the same time). All that, and I still need to supplement with one or two formula bottles a day to get by. My friend (and reader of this blog) has 700 ounces of frozen milk in her freezer but has fought the battle of the plugged duct nearly a dozen times. I have another friend who visited several lactation consultants, purchased a high quality pump and supplies, sought help in support groups, had mastitis, and never was able to produce more than an ounce at a time. So basically, low-supply mommas wish they had more. Over-supply mommas wish they had less. No-supply mommas wish they had some. If there is a mom out there who had just the right amount, for the right amount of time, without any issues-please respond, so I can send you a gold medal.
The concept of supply was heavy on my mind over the recent holiday. At 4 am the day before Christmas, I got sick. Not from partying hard but from the cursed 24-hour-clean-you-out-I-don't-care-that-it-is-a-holiday-and-that-you-traveled-550-miles-with-a-baby-and-a-dog-to-be-here-to-celebrate-flu. For the entire day I was sweating (but freezing), in the bathroom, or asleep. These kind of flus do not care that another human being is depending on you in order to survive. My husband made up bottles of formula, and I managed to nurse a few times, and we got through it. Then nightfall came. I passed out hard after the days festivities, and found myself 14 hours without pumping or nursing. (The baby was fed bottles-no worries). Swollen and sore, I hooked up the pump and watched as little more than three ounces appeared. 14 hours and three ounces! My eyes welled up with tears, fearing that this was it. I was all dried up. Like the a grape in the sun. Wrinkled, deflated, and not nearly as good. Seriously, who likes raisins more than grapes?
I felt sick, tired, sad, and useless. It was not a good day. I pushed through the majority of a 2-liter of ginger ale and some orange gatorade, and kept trying to nurse my son. He had several formula bottles and some how seemed content. The next day things were pretty much back to normal. I couldn't believe it. Crazy supply laws.
Which leads to demand. And boy-howdy is there a demand. Sometimes as often as 12 times a day during those first few weeks. The demand comes at all hours of the night. The demand can be for more than is present. The demand shows no mercy.
Demand is good, though. It keeps up supply. And as any high school graduate can tell you, "as demand goes up, it will drive up the value". Breastmilk is gold. It is hard to understand it becoming more valuable, but as a grown woman who recently dropped a four ounce bottle of milk on the floor and cried real tears over it, I am telling you that this rule is true. I may have been extra emotional because while rinsing out the towel I was using to clean it up, my dog licked a large amount of it from the floor.
Oh, demand. I mentioned before that it can come at any time. I recently found myself caving to the demand in the most unusual way. My husband, baby, dog, and I were on our way back from said 550 mile trip last week, when our little man decided he was done with the whole car riding experience. Our normal nine hour trek, was quickly evolving into a ten, ten and a half, eleven...hour drive. I sat in the back seat singing, playing, and talking to little man and that worked for a while, then it was back to the crying. He would stop as soon as we pulled over and he got out of the seat, but at this point we just had to get home. Demanding that he either get out or get boob, I surrendered my modesty and leaned up over the car seat. For 40 miles, there I was half dressed, unseatbelted, "hanging out" in the car seat. It was the most I ever felt like a cow. I did not like it. But that is the thing about demand. It must be met. At ANY cost.
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