The moment that changed it all, though, happened at around 3am on my third night in hospital. I was at the end of my rope: my milk still hadn't “come in” and I constantly worried my baby was going to starve. I was sore, exhausted and disappointed, and positive that I was failing my child. She was crying (I probably was, too) and one of the overnight midwives came in and said “Would you like to give her a bottle of formula?” This sounds silly, but up until that moment the pressure to breastfeed was so intense that it didn't even occur to me that there was another option. It was as if that midwife handed me a golden ticket, a free pass to a few hours' sleep without the stress of a starving child playing on my mind. In that moment, I would have paid a million pounds for that bottle.