( continues...) everything. There were prescription medicines, stronger than fenugreek, that might’ve boosted my supply if I hadn’t surrendered so quickly to the ease and convenience of the bottle. And what if Annabel never lived up to her full physical or intellectual potential because I didn’t try hard enough?

I got a reality check when my mother reminded me that I myself had been formula fed. And by most standards I turned out well. Maybe breast milk would’ve spared me from hay fever and given me enough of an IQ boost that I would’ve gotten into Yale instead of being waitlisted. But as health problems go, a few weeks a year of sneezing and watery eyes is minor, and I did well enough academically to make the Dean’s List at Penn all four years. I’m not exactly an advertisement for the perils of formula feeding. And I’m sure the formula Annabel is getting in 2004 is infinitely superior to what Mom fed me in 1971.

So I forgave myself. And on the rare occasions when nosy people criticized my decision, I told myself that they couldn’t have known what I endured those first few weeks. I’m doing the best I can for my daughter, and part of that includes accepting that the ideal isn’t always possible for either of us.

I'd like a fiercer ending, but that's just me. I have some anger issues with third-party disapproval of benign parenting decisions.

Your ending isn't as strong as your opening.

Suan, this is a great essay -- very frank, very informative, with plenty of emotion. My only suggestion is to think about the last sentence. After all you went through, and how well Annabel is doing, the end sounds negative to me, like, "Well, it's not really what we wanted, but it isn't killing us." I know exactly what you mean by it, but I would emphasize the positive aspect of it, as in, parenting always requires mean adaptation, but also (maybe) that the ideal is a happy mom and a thriving kid?

OK, how's this for a new ending paragraph?

So I forgave myself. I’m not sure I’m completely at peace yet—it’s a hard thing to fail to live up to a long-cherished ideal—but I forgave myself. Looking back on those first weeks is still enough to fill me with exhaustion and horror, but today my daughter is beautiful, smart, and healthy. She’s a joy to be around, and I must’ve done something right. And I’m learning that even things that don’t turn out the way I planned as a parent can still turn out right.

I'm staying out of this one, since my own issues with the repietition of "fail" and "guilt" as constant themes in this sort of essay would get in the way of rational editing.

But I will ask why on earth you have to emphasise that you are a Seattle mother. It read as if you thought Seattle was the last bastion of progressive motherhood.

I keep wanting to rewrite your essay in true-confession form, Susan.

"My daughter was starving to death...and it was my fault."

But seriously. I'd like a sentence about what being tongue-tied is and why it affects nursing. I also agree that the last sentence needs to be more positive--something like "I know I'm doing the best thing for my daughter and myself."

Because I'm submitting it to a Seattle magazine, deb. If I was going for a national market, it wouldn't be in there.

And I’m learning that even things that don’t turn out the way I planned as a parent can still turn out right.

Again, this could be tighter and would be more powerful so.

And I'm learning that even things that don't turn out the way I planned can turn out right.

Oh, DUH, deb. OK, scratch the Seattle question.

Thanks, Betsy and Ginger. I changed the last sentence and included a brief clause on the tongue tie thing.