The other day I was chatting to a fellow school mum when she pulled such an anguished expression I thought she was in pain. The reason? At a cross-country event, watching our sons compete, I happened to mention that my ten-year-old was born by elective caesarean and fed solely on formula milk. Not because I'd attempted to breastfeed and it didn't work out; I'd made the decision the moment I discovered I was pregnant.
![[Only-child families are predicted to make up 50 per cent of all families in the UK within the next seven years (file image)]](https://i.dailymail.co.uk/1s/2025/02/14/01/95185029-14394741-Only_child_families_are_predicted_to_make_up_50_per_cent_of_all_-a-184_1739497850530.jpg)
Add to this the fact that I've also committed the heinous crime of only having one child and this mother-of-four could hardly contain her disgust. As far as she was concerned – and I've found that so many mothers secretly (or not so secretly) share her view – this unholy trinity makes me some sort of faux mum. A pretend parent. An amateur. Who am I if I haven't pushed a baby out of my vagina; experienced a perineal tear; had an infant latched on to my boobs 24/7; or known the chaos of herding an entire brood to different schools, activities and parties in tandem? A veritable imposter in the world of motherhood, that's who.
It's common knowledge that mothers can be ultra-competitive and critical of one another, but I hadn't realised until I became one myself that some parental choices are particularly incendiary. Namely daring to stray from the 'natural' (or apparently more self-sacrificing) path. This confirms that you're a selfish part-timer. It's bad enough to commit any one of these crimes, but all three? Why did I even have a child in the first place? That's how some of my critics have made me feel over the years. Particularly in the various baby and toddler groups, where stories of birth and breastfeeding were accompanied by sighs and eye-rolling at my own choices.
There are no easy options when it comes to getting babies out. Although tell that to the mothers I know who had 'normal' deliveries, unaided by a surgeon's knife cutting through layers of skin and muscle. Some of these women (you know the sort...) still seize on any opportunity – a full decade on – to hark on about being induced, spending four days in labour, or popping their babies out in car footwells.
According to the Office for National Statistics, there were 3.7 million one-child families in Britain in 2023 - an increase of 16 per cent versus 3.2 million two decades ago (file image). I prefer to keep a dignified lid on my own experience. I felt like a magician's assistant who had been sawn in half after my son was born (and I speak as someone with a high pain threshold). The amount of blood I lost (a natural consequence of surgery in many women) and a lifelong history of anaemia meant I had to stay in hospital for three nights and was given a transfusion.
Why did I want to avoid a 'normal' birth in the first place? In all honesty, my mum had died a deeply traumatic death from cancer two years before; I knew I wasn't in the right frame of mind to cope with the unknowns of natural labour – particularly without her there to support me. I'd also heard too many horror stories from friends. Some had told me their lives – and that of their babies – had been at risk because emergency C-sections hadn't been offered. I also knew of another woman whose little one was stillborn at full term; afterwards an inquiry showed that a caesarean would have saved his life.
So it was with all this in mind that I decided a C-section would be the safest way to bring my own precious baby into the world. A couple of friends and my mother-in-law were intent on reminding me that it was major surgery (I was fully aware of this!) and that I'd be missing out on what they saw as the 'bonding' experience of a natural birth. Thankfully, though, my obstetrician, a woman in her 60s, was more enlightened. I was 39 the day I made my request to her. She recognised that I wasn't coming at this as a naive, misguided twentysomething who thought it would be the easy option.
As for the pregnancy itself, I was plagued by extremely low iron levels and pelvic pains. And having struggled with eating disorders during my teens and 20s, I didn't find it easy coming to terms with my changing body. So, desperate to have my body back to myself, I made another controversial decision – I would bottle-feed my baby from birth. At least I'm honest about it. Yes, I was force-fed the usual 'breast is best' mantra by midwives and friends alike, but I'd done my research and my mind was made up. Believe me, had the statistics about breast milk's links to the prevention of cot death been more compelling, I'd have breastfed in a heartbeat.
It seems to me that the real reason some mothers feel so furious about formula is that they think it's vain – that mothers like me are just trying to avoid the droopy breasts apparently caused by feeding. I couldn't have cared less about that. But I did care very much that my husband should be involved in the lovely bonding process of feeding our little boy, along with grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and friends.
