I triple-fed my child. I regret spending so much time trying to make chestfeeding work.

• I triple-fed my child by chestfeeding, pumping, and topping off with formula.
• It was meant to be temporary while she gained weight, but I kept going until she was 6 months old.

There's a photo on my daughter's nightstand of her and me. In it, I'm nursing her, sunglasses on (though we're indoors at a major train terminal), a blanket draped over my shoulder, her head barely peeking out the other side.

Moments later I'll be racing through the breakfast we were there to have as a family, barely taking my eyes off the clock, because I know I still need to pump and feed her the ounce of milk I'll collect before she falls back asleep — and according to the clock, I had approximately 24 minutes to do it.

Triple feeding — when you chestfeed your child, pump to increase your supply or fully empty your chest, and top off with formula — is designed to increase your milk supply, improve the baby's latch, and assist in strengthening preterm babies and those born with jaundice or other conditions.

Triple feeding my daughter was meant to be temporary — a few days, really. But it lasted months.

My baby was so hungry

There's a photo of Scarlett when she was not quite three weeks old, just before we left for our every-other-day chestfeeding clinic and weight check. She's in floral with an obnoxiously large bow. Her eyes are closed, her skin is yellowed, and her arms are hanging at her sides, seemingly lifeless.

I'm horrified to admit the last bit was somewhat true.

The lactation consultant in the hospital, a warm and comforting human, held my hand and took us into the next room. "I know how hard you've been working for her, and I know how much you want this, but it's time to let some of it go," the consultant said.

My baby, who had to be woken up to eat and was jaundiced, wasn't just sleepy or a "good baby." She was hungry and didn't have the energy to spend telling me so.

Before we left the hospital, I fed her a bottle of formula after latching her. I felt my shoulders fall and my gut turn. This was the thing my body was born to do, and I'd failed.

I supplemented with formula and tried to increase my supply

I clicked her car seat in, did my best to set my tender-to-the-touch body in the driver's seat, and let myself weep — deep, guttural heaves, muffled by the sleeves of my sweater. I let the lactation consultant's last sentence play on a loop as a form of punishment: "I know you would never hurt her, Mama, but you could."

I began to supplement with formula at every feeding. But my ego, compounded by my desire to do everything right, meant I was willing to try anything to avoid that. I tried supplements, tinctures, nipple shields, and a medication that had to be imported from Canada. I joined online forums and breastfeeding Facebook groups. I spent hours reading and researching. But I had a nearly constant thought that I couldn't do it right.

I set an alarm for every two hours, day and night, and walked around in a haze that only those early days postpartum can create. Fueled by adrenaline and my commitment to producing as much milk as possible, I was consumed by all things breastfeeding.

I continued to work with several lactation consultants. Then one said she thought I had insufficient glandular tissue, commended me for my "hard work," implored me to drop the triple feeding, and told me that nothing I did was going to make chestfeeding successful for us.

I realized my body just wasn't built with the hardware to be able to provide enough food for my daughter on my own. I wish I could articulate the simultaneous blow and relief I felt.

When I think of those first few months with my daughter, I see snapshots of the time I spent trying to feed her, the devastation and exhaustion I constantly felt, and the arguments with my then-husband it produced. I remember feeling entirely feral.

She was 6 months old when I stopped trying to chestfeed for good. She was rosy-cheeked and absolutely plump, and I was exhausted but proud of her. I wish I had stopped sooner, and I also forgive myself for not.