Breastfeeding Is a Full-time Job (Part 2)

After three months of tireless effort, I quit The Pump Co. My best friend is on her eighth month breastfeeding her second child. Both journeys are marked by different challenges and lots of love.

I first published Breastfeeding Is a Full-time Job (Part 1) during the peak of my breastfeeding struggles several months ago. I’ve since stopped breastfeeding as of October. I’m now sharing this follow-up piece about my transition to formula and also to share my best friend’s experience exclusively breastfeeding both of her babies. Three entirely different feeding journeys — three happy, full, and thriving babies.

I haven’t heard the monotonous sound of the nipple punisher breast pump since the leaves turned orange, and my relief has been palpable.

I knew next to nothing about breastfeeding before I gave birth. I only knew that I wanted to do my best to make it work. My mind was on overdrive preparing for each new stage of pregnancy, birth, and postpartum. I read books, I sought resources from The Village, I rested. With the understanding that it is impossible to know everything, I simply trusted in my instincts when my brain reached knowledge capacity and would endeavor to figure out the rest in stride.

My husband and I received a few free trial cans from different formula companies to have on hand in case my milk didn’t come in and I ordered a breast pump covered by my medical insurance through Yummy Mummy.

Breasts? Check. Breast pump? Check. Bottles? Check. Reinforcements? Check, check, and check.

Human babies need food. Food comes from mom. This mom seems to have the goods. How much more difficult could things get?

Every mom reading this has now started to laugh.

I’m laughing now, too, as I place the label of “Breastfeeding Torture Devices” on my storage bin filled with objects that could do little to help my breastfeeding journey become a fruitful experience for my baby or me this time around.

I made it to three months of exclusive pumping before I rolled my Spectra S2 into closet oblivion. My husband says that sometimes, late at night, he can hear her whispering hauntingly to us, “Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.” And one time, I thought I saw a skinny, clear tube slither underneath the doorway to the hallway bathroom during a night feed. Or maybe it was just the sleep deprivation.

On the contrary, my amazing best friend since childhood, Lindsay, has two beautiful baby boys; one who is now a toddler because time is a menace, and an eight-month old. Both of her children have been exclusively breastfed by her and her incredible body.

Lindsay and I met when we were children in elementary school. We now have children of our own and it has been absolute magic sharing in every life experience together, including motherhood.

Two little babies who grew up and had babies! The fabulous and very stylish heart-shaped glasses picture is from 2006, our eighth-grade prime.

While our bodies and babies have led us down entirely different feeding paths, we have both encountered a perplexing phenomenon: feeding support for babies is unnecessarily bumpy for seemingly all moms.

There is no shortage of think pieces and data-driven papers on the undeniable benefits of breastmilk, the pitfalls of the healthcare system, the general lack of support for women in the postpartum period, and so on. But underneath the academia of it all lies this peculiar social tendency for mothers to pile on each other about their opinions of how one chooses to feed a child.

It is nonsense. We’re all tired. We’re all frustrated. We’re all feeding tiny, hungry milk monsters. There’s no time for this.

Lindsay and I are sharing our stories of our contrasting feeding experiences to bridge the gap between moms who breastfeed, moms who formula feed, and everyone in between. Because moms deserve as much compassion as possible when trying to figure out how best to feed their own babies.

Feeding a baby is not merely instinctive. It requires skill, practice, patience, and a near-perfect set of circumstances that may not be possible for everyone. It can be harmonious and blissful, or it can be devastating, exasperating, and the hardest thing you have ever had to do — or it can be a little bit of all of it.

We don’t all gather at the same table with equal resources, histories, physical capabilities, partners, support, or milk supplies.

The multidisciplinary issues impacting the parent-sphere are not on the individual mother to resolve on the backs of her crying, hungry children. It is not on the mother crawling through the newborn trenches, drenched in sweat and tears with no hands or strength to bear any added weight other than expectations for the next hour, to solve the problems of all other mothers in those moments.

She does not owe anyone a peer-reviewed dissertation on the evolution of infant formula and why she may or may not have opted to use it.

Just like the mom who continues to breastfeed her two-year-old does not owe anyone a philosophical lecture on why it’s important for her to continue to do so.

What a joy it would be to hold our newborns in perfect, cradle position at the optimally shaped and sized breast for maximum comfort from the start. Unlatch a silky nursing bra that is somehow not stinking and leaking. Watch baby flawlessly latch and feed for 20 minutes, mom smiling down at her angelic child like she didn’t just expend an extra 500 calories producing milk, having just eaten a rainbow of fruits and vegetables and also remembered to drink enough water within the last 24 hours.

She’s hydrated. She’s glowing. She’s not even sweating. Her hair is perfectly curled and there’s not a sign of spit-up ANYWHERE. She’s —

Lindsay and I’s fantasy woman. And she sure doesn’t look like us.

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I wanted to feed my daughter only breastmilk. It wasn’t feasible. And this fact is not a failure, it’s an outcome.

Lindsay and I are the harbingers of our own experiences, bodies, and beings. We know what ailments have followed us to the birth of our children and what lingers after. We know only of our own experiences and only the microcosms of what we hear about others’.

We will never be in a position to ever tell another mother that we know better how to feed her own child. That is not support, that is ego — and it is distinctive from providing another mother with resources, helpful tips, and guidance so that she is equipped to make the best decision for herself.

I breastfed my daughter through her first three months of life, and I wanted to go longer, but I couldn’t. My original goal was at least one year. Then it was six months. Then it was six weeks. Eventually, three months became my actual limit. My body had other ideas, and so did my daughter. Breastfeeding is a full-time job, and I felt like I was working three at once. So I quit.

I did see many lactation consultants. At the hospital, immediately after I gave birth, I was barraged by an army of them; some of my nurses were also lactation consultants. One of my nurses unabashedly told me that “formula is yucky” and refused to bring some to my room. Luckily, my night nurse agreed that her behavior was appalling and helped ensure my baby was fully fed. Were those couple of drops of colostrum that I hand-expressed nutrient-rich? Absolutely. Was I grateful to have produced a few milliliters of the golden milk? Of course. Was it enough food? No. I wrote about this disappointing part of my breastfeeding experience in Part 1.

On the night after I was discharged from the hospital, my milk came in at full force. I still had no idea what I was doing! Not a single lactation consultant provided me advice that accounted for my body shape, body size, breast size (in proportion to my body), or where my nipples were located and how that might affect latch. They did not discuss nipple shield sizing, breast pump flange sizing, or methods to minimize pain. And not a single lactation consultant helped me setup my own pump — they wanted me to use the hospital’s because it was “stronger.” I said, “No, I’m not using the hospital pump at home.” Thus, they all directed me to YouTube.

What do we do when those who are supposed to be guiding us through this journey fail us?

We must turn to each other — not against each other.

Almost all of the advice from my hospital lactation consultants felt spoon-fed from a generic training course. “Make sure to sit up straight!” “Guide the baby’s mouth to the nipple!” “The pump will help bring your nipples out!” My arms didn’t reach properly for either type of cradle hold. Football hold didn’t work for the same reason. No other positions were proposed — it was just, “Keep trying!” So, I guess I’ll YouTube more feeding positions later, too? “But here’s a Medela hand-pump!” They screeched.

Sigh.

I fed my daughter most of the breastmilk I produced for her from a bottle; she never learned to latch. She did not and does not have a tongue tie, a tongue thrust, or any oral concerns. Nipple shields were supposed to be my solution. Lindsay sent me a few to try, but they were incongruent with my daughter’s needs — the nipple shields that fit her mouth were too small for me, as the too-narrow suction caused me mastitis twice, the pain of which was honestly worse than my labor contractions or my c-section recovery. On the flip-side, the larger nipple shields that fit me were too large for my baby’s mouth. I pushed through for nearly four weeks, determined to keep my daughter on the breast. It was painful and miserable. She was constantly crying. I was constantly bleeding. It wasn’t working for either of us.

Alas, I married Sally Spectra. She was an awful wife. And she demanded constant attention. Why? Because I was always engorged and she was my reprieve (until Lindsay sent me her cousin, Haakaa).

Despite all of my breastfeeding challenges, my body’s milk production was a glimmer in my overall experience. I am incredibly grateful that my milk ducts worked as hoped. I cried over all lost drops and spills. I worshipped at the altar of my collection jar. And still, an oversupply brought a different set of challenges.

For context, I am 5’3. Before pregnancy, I weighed 130 lbs. I lost 10 lbs in my first trimester, and I weighed 193 lbs when I gave birth. I have a relatively small frame, and so my body exploded in extra blood, water, and fat to accommodate a healthy carry for my daughter. And what else came with that? Breasts that went from a 34DD to a 38J.

J as in the 10th letter of the alphabet. HAVE YOU EVER SEEN J BOOBS ON A 5’3 POSTPARTUM MILK-LEAKING WOMAN? I WAS OBSCENE.

Hey, Mama. Looking like a milk maid, Mama. Great job, Mama. Got milk, Mama?

My breasts occupied my entire torso, causing intense neck and back pain, and of course, a waterfall of leakage all day and all night. I was not a cute little postpartum mom unlatching a cute little nursing bra like all of the advertisements made me believe was reality.

I was The Barbarian from Zach Cregger’s 2022 horror film of the same name leaving puddles of milk in my wake.

I tried to pump less, but it didn’t work. I was like a leaky faucet that couldn’t be plugged. My Haakaa would fill, or threaten to drop, within 30 minutes. I would wake up in thundering pain at every hour of the night — which was more often than my baby was waking. Eventually, I managed a 5x per day pumping schedule, but every time I would sit down with my Pump Wife, I felt like the world was ending.

I saw a different lactation consultant during my postpartum check-ups, who was wonderful; both she and my OBGYN described a condition called Dysphoric Milk Ejection Reflex (D-MER). With every letdown came a rush of hollow horror, like a panic attack was impending but would never come. Stomach drop, dread creeping — and all would disappear about three minutes into my pump session. I experienced the same phenomenon when my daughter would attach at my breast with a nipple shield.

Every time.

It was painstaking to grapple with the fact that I had breasts full of milk, ready to pour for my baby, and still there were a thousand barriers between my milk ducts and my daughter’s mouth. I felt like I was failing. At the peak of my own internal crisis, my clinical lactation consultant armed me with new techniques to try, but gracefully reminded me from her own experiences, “I had four children. I breastfed three of them: one for twelve months, one for two years, and one for five weeks. One of my children didn’t breastfeed at all. I knew what I was doing, and still they were all different. It’s okay if it doesn’t work.”

Cue sobs — and a light bulb.

In October, after three full months of breastfeeding, I began to wean and my mental health began to lift. Joni was combo fed until November. Six months later, I still leak, but my daughter now exclusively drinks formula; she is healthy, happy, and I am now a much healthier mother and wife — mentally, and otherwise.

Lindsay’s breastfeeding journey started off differently, but she also felt inadequately prepared once she gave birth to her first son:

Much like my bestie, I too was naive about the ins and outs of breastfeeding prior to having my first born son. God gave me boobs, and boobs will automatically start to spit out milk once my baby is born, right?

Wrong. So wrong.

I had no idea that my breastfeeding journey was going to be one of the hardest journeys I’ve ever embarked on, aside from giving birth of course. Even if you read every book, article, Reddit thread, and listen to every opinion from any breastfeeding person alive, you can still never prepare yourself for breastfeeding a baby.

Every journey is completely different. Every baby is completely different. Hell, my breastfeeding endeavor with my first born was vastly different in comparison to my breastfeeding endeavor with my second born. There is no “right” way to breastfeed, and unfortunately, most moms are not told this prior to embarking on the Milky Express with their beautiful baby.

It’s truly by the grace of God that I’ve been able to successfully breastfeed both of my children without much of a hitch.

Breastfeeding is indeed natural, but it is not always functional. This distinction matters.

I knew that breastmilk would be the best nutritional source for my daughter on a fundamental level, especially if I continued to put the right nutrients into my own body to pass through to her. I also appreciate that formula is a scientific marvel that serves to mimic breastmilk and feeds babies who cannot functionally feed from a mother’s breast.

Both things can be true.

As Lindsay has alluded to in recounting her own experiences, breastfeeding is indeed natural, but natural doesn’t mean functional for every mother — or even every baby.

I switched to formula. Lindsay has not given her children a drop. And still, we both faced different challenges.

Lindsay recounts her experiences from the lens of functionality:

Though both of my sons latched fairly easily, it still did not come “naturally.” But also — what exactly does “naturally” mean when it comes to babies’ mouths finding boobs?

Words matter when you speak with mothers about how they choose to feed their babies.

Breastfeeding my own children has been hard. Damn hard. My first born latched correctly and the milk flowed freely, but as a first-time mom who experienced a traumatic labor and delivery, I was worried about every little thing post birth, including my son’s feeding journey. While I was anxious over his weight gain and wondering if his early, colicky days were due to him not siphoning enough from the breast, I was met with indifference from lactation consultants and pediatricians alike.

I sought advice from healthcare professionals and was given answers like, “If he’s having 8-10 wet diapers a day I wouldn’t worry.” He was, but that didn’t stop me from worrying because obviously every mom is going to worry about why their baby unconsolably cries multiple hours at a time. This type of advice wasn’t productive.

I also received advice from friends and family members, like, “Try putting rice cereal in his bottles,” or, “Maybe you need to combo feed with formula because your breastmilk isn’t enough for him.” I was seeking practical solutions to make my breastfeeding journey more manageable — how I could better measure my son’s milk intake, if I should feed on both breasts every feed given my circumstances, how I could lessen my anxiety, etc. But all the advice I received felt like “Everything is fine, just relax!” or “Just quit then!” which increased my anxiety about my son’s nutritional intake even more and invalidated my struggles without providing me actual resources for help.

“Try pumping so you can visualize how much he’s eating and that’ll make you feel better,” a friend told me. The first time I pumped after that bit of advice, I only pumped 2 ounces from both breasts. Cue a meltdown. Little did I know then, I pumped so little because my flange size was wrong, yet I was quick to assume my baby was only getting 2 ounces each time he nursed. I thought I was starving him! Wrong again. Why had no one told me about flange sizes?

Looking back, my son was getting plenty of milk. He was much more efficient at extracting milk than an incorrectly sized pump was — but I didn’t know a baby could be “efficient” or not. We eventually discovered that he had horrible belly pains that had absolutely nothing to do with breastfeeding. A simple probiotic changed our world for the better. We had to discover that solution on our own with no help from any specialists.

Sigh, I had gone into a tailspin over absolutely nothing. Had someone, anyone, shown me at the hospital or baby/mom class how to pump correctly and what the hell a flange was, I wouldn’t have beat myself up so hard. It’s easy to see why so many women hang up the towel when it comes to breastfeeding because the support is abysmal.

While Lindsay and I both felt underprepared for breastfeeding, we don’t mean that we didn’t seek any resources before birth. There is so much to prepare for, and we don’t know what we don’t know. Both of us went to multiple birth prep courses and read multiple books. Not a single one of them mentioned that breastfeeding might be a challenge.

30 minutes on how to swaddle a baby? Sure. One minute on breastfeeding? (“It’s a great option! Just practice when baby arrives.”) Abysmal.

I do honestly feel that my breastfeeding experience would have been more prolonged had I had better help, or saw the clinical lactation consultant before my hospital recovery battalion. However, I don’t believe it would’ve ultimately changed my own outcome given the number of issues I faced — I think it simply would’ve made my experience less miserable.

And I think that is equally important, as I may have been able to pump through the discomfort just a little bit longer like I originally wanted to.

More clinical, functional support. Less pressure and shame. It’s not so much to ask for.

Moms who breastfeed are doing an incredible thing and deserve to be supported.

As a mom who has opted for formula, I still think that moms who breastfeed are incredible. I don’t think that makes moms who don’t breastfeed “lesser” than — I simply appreciate from my own experience what difficulties have to be overcome to successfully breastfeed, and I think it’s worthy of acknowledgement.

Duality.

Lindsay has had two successful breastfeeding experiences, one that she’s currently still on, and knowing what she has endured makes her all the more admirable to me:

I successfully made it to a year of breastfeeding my first born. We made it! I celebrated by drying up as fast as possible and slept without a bra on for the first time in over a year. Wondrous doesn’t even begin to cover it. Now fast forward 1.5 years later and I’m embarking on another trip aboard the Milky Express.

“I can do this again. I’ve done it before, so the second time will be easier. I have the confidence and experience this time around.” Wrong again.

My second born son did not latch as easily as my first born did. I was confounded. He was gulping the golden milk, but it hurt. Bad. So much so that I was in tears for days. The lactation consultant examined his latch twice before we were discharged from the hospital. “He looks chompy, but his latch will get better over time. He’s swallowing, so that’s a great sign. I think you’re good here.” 

We were in fact, not good. 

The first week at home my nipples bled and started to scab. I desperately called the lactation line at my local hospital only to be met with an automated message stating they would return my call during normal business hours.

I called on a Friday afternoon. They wouldn’t get back to me until Monday morning at the earliest. That was 3 days without help or guidance.

The lactation department might operate under regular 9am-5pm hours, but try telling that to an infant who is eating your nipples alive. Those 3 days of a silent phone almost did me in. Why wasn’t there someone I could call 24/7 for help? Breastfeeding doesn’t close down for the day at 5pm, so why do our resources?

I changed my tear-soaked shirt, slapped some ice packs on the girls, and turned to YouTube. Surely there was someone out there who created a video on how to appropriately latch a baby. And there was. Hundreds of them! I clearly was not the only desperate mother turning to the internet for help when I couldn’t find any local resources. I’m going to pour one out for YouTube at the end of this breastfeeding journey, because it single handedly saved our nursing venture. 

We love you, Dr. YouTube.

Lindsay also notes her frequent battle with which feeding decision to make as she persevered through her breastfeeding obstacles with her first born:

There were times when I thought to myself, “Today is the day I switch to formula.” Too bad, said the 2022 Nationwide Formula Shortage Crisis. How could “the greatest country on earth” not have enough formula to feed its infant citizens?

The formula shortage fueled my desire and determination to continue breastfeeding when I was in the golden milk trenches with my first born son. At the 8 week mark of my breastfeeding journey, I finally felt like we found our groove. At the 6 month mark of my breastfeeding journey, I finally had the confidence and willpower to establish my goal of making it to a year of nursing.

Shortly after making that goal, a friend reached out asking if I could donate my breastmilk to a friend of hers. Her baby was 4.5 weeks old and not gaining weight. He was going to be hospitalized soon if his weight didn’t start climbing, so they wanted to try adding breastmilk to his formula to see if it would help. Now more than ever, I was insistent on nursing not only my son, but pumping extra for another sweet babe. And he thrived with the extra breastmilk we provided.

I was so grateful in that moment; more than words could possibly express. Society likes to harp on the lows of breastfeeding to justify why formula is also a great choice, but rarely does the conversation begin with the highs, and donating breastmilk to another mom in need sure was one of them for me.

And it has empowered me in continuing to now breastfeed my second son.

We shouldn’t have to justify our choices on how we feed our children. Breastfeeding, combo feeding, formula feeding — in a perfect world we would all link arms and celebrate, no matter where the milk comes from, just knowing that our babies are fed and so, so loved.

Infant formula is a viable alternative to feed a hungry baby.

Not all moms who opt to feed their babies formula did so because breastfeeding didn’t work for them. Some simply choose formula from the start for reasons abound. Their reasons aren’t our business. But their choice is still providing their child with a viable alternative to breastmilk.

Breastmilk is nutritionally optimal, of course, containing unique biological components to match the nutritional needs of the baby from the mother’s own physiological signals. A mother’s body will adapt to a baby’s needs every day, providing different formulations of milk in the morning and at night. I find this to be truly miraculous and one of the coolest things I have ever learned about our bodies.

Formula mimics the baseline nutritional benefits of breastmilk, and is the reason my baby continues to thrive. No, she’s not receiving the prime nutrients from my body, but she’s receiving the nutrients she needs — and she received three months of my own milk magic before we switched to formula.

Luckily, my daughter is fairly tolerant of most milks. She did not have much colic, and she took to a handful of formula variations. We also opted not to try out formulas for weeks at a time, waiting for her body to “adjust,” as suggested. She has minimal spit-up, so we knew if she spit-up immediately or shortly thereafter that the particular formula attempted was not the one.

For every formula we tried, my husband and I also drank some. We were not willing to give our baby formula that we were not comfortable drinking ourselves.

(1) Similac 360 Total Care — she took this well (at the hospital), but we thought it was too stinky and tasted too funky for routine use. This formula option works great for many families, but we wanted something without excess additives and better taste.

(2) Kendamil Organic Cow’s Milk — we liked the ingredients of this formula, but our baby didn’t. It was too bubbly and caused our daughter to spit-up after each feed. It tasted much better to us than the Similac option we tried, though we also were a bit nervous about the formula being imported from the UK in case of a shortage or transnational transportation issues.

(3) Bobbie Regular — we liked that this formula was similar to Kendamil’s and also based in the US. This formula was ultimately too stinky and bubbly, but we liked the simplicity of the ingredients and “no frills.”

(4) Bobbie Gentle — our choice! It does not have any stink, it hardly bubbles, and looks (and tastes) closest to my breastmilk. My baby has had zero issues with this formula, and for that I am so grateful.

We don't need to battle with “best” quips.

The quippy “breast is best” vs. “fed is best” taglines are mere summarizations of feeding experiences that shouldn’t be summarized so simply. I infer that “breast is best” is trying to encourage more women to breastfeed, and “fed is best” is trying to uplift the women who may not be able to functionally breastfeed.

“Fed is best” certainly helped ease my anxiety after my nurse told me, “Formula is yucky,” but I’ve more recently taken less to these quips in realizing that they don’t really mean anything at all.

Best is subjective.

Is best the healthiest mother possible? The perfect food intake, perfect latch, perfect milk? Is best the breastmilk from a mother provided to another mother’s baby? Is best formula for a mother who may not have breasts? Is best the woman who breastfed for two weeks, four weeks, six months, or two years?

Best is a distraction from the real stories and nuances of the mothers going through it. We all have unique stories. We all need more support. We all need to lean on each other, show up for each other, share what we know so every mother feels empowered.

Lindsay highlights this point further in discussing her lack of support from the healthcare system:

The first time I got sick while breastfeeding, panic immediately set in because I had NO clue what medications were or were not safe to take while nursing. I never even got a measly pamphlet with dos and donts, so I turned to Dr. Google.

I was this close to pulling a ‘Mike The Situation in Italy’ move. If you haven’t seen it — Jersey Shore, Season 4, Episode 5. It’s epic, and one thousand percent how I feel about how mothers are disregarded once the baby exits our womb.

I could go on for days talking about examples of when I felt abandoned by our healthcare system while trying to figure out how to best breastfeed my children, but it still wouldn’t quite capture the struggle that mothers nationwide deal with every single day. A struggle that shouldn’t even exist, because we deserve to have real, accessible healthcare support. 

Thankfully, we’ve made it over the hump with my second born, and we are now eight plus months strong in our second breastfeeding journey. I’m beyond thankful for it. My greatest wish is for every mom to feel empowered in their feeding choices, because at the end of the day, your toddler’s diet is going to consist of dino nuggets and heaps of berries regardless of how they were fed as an infant. 

In other words, we need each other so we can better prepare the next generation of mothers.

All aboard the Milky Express.

How privileged are we to be having this debate — that we have a viable option to feed our babies if breastfeeding doesn’t work for us?

In general, more resources and support would make us all feel more empowered, less stressed, and less anxious. But a medical, wellness, or even natural fix can’t always change a woman’s breastfeeding course. Sometimes, the body simply doesn’t do what it’s supposed to. I briefly touch on this regarding my congenital heart defect in No Revision for My Incision Decision.

We do what we can. We do what we need to do. No one is more concerned about my baby’s health than me. Just as no one is more concerned about Lindsay’s babies’ health than Lindsay.

Mothers are not in a race, or a competition. Feeding a baby is not a game of who can breastfeed the longest or who does not enter the race. There are no medals. There are no certificates. There is just matrescence and everything we are forced to learn about ourselves, our capabilities, and our limitations postpartum and beyond.

Wherever you are in your feeding journey, Lindsay and I hope you can find support. We hope you can breastfeed for as long as possible, if that’s your intention. We hope that you feel empowered to choose the best option for your baby, based on your own circumstances and your own capabilities. We hope you have access to resources and that you have advocates in your corner prioritizing your specific needs so that your “best” choice becomes clear.

To those in the milk trenches, you’ve got this.

💌

Xo,

Violet Carol and BFF Lindsay W.

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On Call for “Mothers Assemble” — Breastfeeding 🗯️

Mothers Assemble is a series of personal essays incorporating stories from readers to highlight the messy and magical shared experiences of pregnancy and motherhood that bring us all together.

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More from Mother Love Letters 💌

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Personal essay on my positive c-section experience: No Revision for My Incision Decision

Personal essay on the challenges of breastfeeding: Breastfeeding is a Full-time Job (Part 1)