BAN THE BREAST PUMP

Ban the Breast Pump
At another time, in another place, they would have been burned at the stake as witches.

In coming weeks, as the news of their heresy spreads, they will undoubtedly roast in the hellfire of mommy-blog vituperation.

“That was my least favorite thing I ever did in my whole life,” Washington writer Hanna Rosin says in a podcast conversation with three pals that accompanies her sure-to-be-controversial new feature, “The Case Against Breast Feeding,” on The Atlantic’s Web site.

She’s talking about pumping breast milk – the grotesque ritual carried out behind closed office doors nationwide by beleaguered working mothers who are fully “committed” (as the lactation consultants put it) to the goal of long-term, exclusive breast-feeding.

“The way your nipples can get stretched,” the others chime in. “… the nipple gets sucked into the plastic thing” … “and it hurts by the way” … “and you measure your success every day by now many ounces you produce.”

Rosin does an excellent imitation of a breast pump machine as the room erupts into laughter. “Who could blame [your husband] for never wanting to sleep with you again?”

“It’s the moment that kind of brings together all the awfulness of being a modern mother,” she says.

Hallelujah, I all but shouted at the computer, desperate to join in the conversation with these newfound sure-to-be best friends.

And then I flinched. And then I ducked, as though I expected the long arm of All That Is Decent to reach out from behind the screen to strike me.

Now, let me just be clear: I am no enemy of breast-feeding. I nursed both my daughters and would not take back that experience for all the world. But I did not breast-feed them exclusively. I had a mother who breast-fed in the mid-’60s despite the disgust of friends and family, and who insisted that my happiness depended on giving them one bottle of formula a day. I was in France, where their doctor started adding fruits and vegetables to their diet at about three or four months. And where it was easy, after a few miserable weeks, to give up on pumping milk, if only because it made me feel like a cow.

Is it at long last possible – on this side of the Atlantic – to suggest that we’ve maybe taken “breast is best” a bit too far? That a mother’s need for some semblance of physical dignity is perhaps a right worth respecting? That supplementing with formula – if it makes for greater happiness (and emotional availability) in the baby’s most important caretaker – isn’t necessarily an act of gross irresponsibility?

Maybe. Maybe we’re even at a point where it’s permissible to insist that the needs of a mother and the needs of her baby, rather than being opposed are, in fact, linked, and that the best way to meet both is to scale down the demands now put on mothers and beef up support for them.

Rosin’s article, based upon a review of the relevant medical literature and some physician interviews, makes the case that the health claims about breast milk have been greatly overstated. There’s contradictory evidence, she writes, on the virtues of breast milk in combating allergies, leukemia, high cholesterol and diabetes. There is evidence that breast-feeding can help prevent diarrhea, and some indications that breast-feeding might hike up a baby’s I.Q. – by a more or less meaningless couple of points. But the cause of this intelligence boost is unclear. Are breast-fed babies very slightly smarter because they’ve been fed breast milk, or because they’ve been snuggled more closely, been cooed over more exclusively, or otherwise enjoyed any other hard-to-identify-or-isolate variables that simply can’t be controlled in the kinds of studies that currently exist and compare breast-fed and bottle-fed babies?

There’s no way to know. After all, you can’t carry out randomized, controlled trials of baby-feeding. You can’t assemble a group of mothers of equivalent levels of education, income and physical and mental health, control for every possible variation in their emotional availability and parenting style, and then instruct half of them to breast-feed their children, while ordering the other half to bottle-feed for the sake of science. Which means, Rosin writes, that there really is no good science on breast-feeding.

I am sure that the American Academy of Pediatrics – which currently recommends six months of exclusive breast feeding and some breast feeding for at least a year – will soon speak up to refute Rosin’s conclusions, and that the Dr. William Sears-inspired attachment parenting crowd will soon assail her in the blogosphere. Whether her science is or is not on track, I cannot judge. But her argument raises questions that I believe are worth asking.

Why have we made such a fetish of breast milk when there’s no evidence to prove whether, as Rosin puts it in the Atlantic video, “what’s key about breast feeding is the milk or the act of breast-feeding”?

Why, as a society, have we privileged the magic elixir of maternal milk over actual maternal contact, denying the vast, vast majority of mothers the kind of extended maternity leave that would make them physically present for their babies?

Why do we keep sticking our heads in the sand, putting all the burdens of our half-changed society on women – their “choices,” their “priorities,” their bodies – instead of figuring out reasonable ways to make our new family lives work?

Why do we, as women, accept all the guilt and pressure about breast-feeding that comes our way instead of standing up for what we need in order, in the broadest possible sense, to nourish and sustain ourselves and our families?

“There’s this funny thing going on where women have worked for a long time. Almost 50 years. There’s been a tremendous change. Children still have to be raised. The equation doesn’t add up and everyone pretends it’s not happening,” Rosin says near the end of the video interview. “So I feel like when that step happens, there’ll sort of be a degree of ownership, that O.K., we have to make all these things happen at once. And formula will enter into that conversation.”

And she adds, “I’m hoping pump companies will just disappear.”

So am I. In fact, I hope that some day, not too long in the future, books on women’s history will feature photos of breast pumps to illustrate what it was like back in the day when mothers were consistently given the shaft. Future generations of female college students will gaze upon the pumps, aghast.

“Did you actually use one of those?” they’ll ask their mothers, in horror.

And the moms, with a shudder, will proudly say no.