Hooray for Tracts of Land

Bazongas. Tatas. Bowling balls. Cans. Sweater puppies. Melons. Mosquito bites. Mountains. Molehills. Speedbumps. Social faux pas.

Well, it is what it is. Or rather, they are. And that would be enough if

IF

I argued with myself over what to title this blog because I didn't want to shove my breast efforts into anyone's face (and it felt a tad-bit juvenile). Also, please understand I refrained from about five other terrible puns in that last line. For the people who know my wit well, this is no revelation.

I'm not over breasts or their natural intended purpose (feeding babies) by a long shot, and I'm biting my tongue a bit here--always--, but as I type this, I am not surprised in the slightest that a certain NBA star can flash his non-food-producing anatomy on national television and the world goes out of its way to celebrate it, while women in public still catch guff for breastfeeding their kiddos exposed or not. To even compare the two makes me uneasy, as one is entirely sexual in nature and the other two are not.

I would insert a tea-sipping Kermit here, but it is my business. Feeding my child to the best of my God-given ability is absolutely my business until he's a grown man, and even still, I'll offer up as many home-cooked meals as he needs in the future. Granted, those home cooked meals won't be made with my breasts. Thank Jesus for hands.

My soapbox is tall and mighty, but rather than rant, I want to offer some healing words up. I have found it is the positive that gets me by (and I am desperately trying to train my hands to not click the comments section of mass-posts. Some particular comments can severely dampen a day, no?) James the Just comments on this universal truth succinctly where he states: "From the mouth proceeds blessing and cursing, my brethren. These things ought not so to be done" (Aramaic Bible, trans. plain English: James 3:10). I find blessing in stories of personal struggle, the overcoming process, and shared hope. It is my wish to share that here.

There have been many new stress factors in my life. Such is the joy of parenthood, and as social media, well-intending individuals, and ridiculous greeting cards like to remind me: such is my lot in life from now until I die. Gee, with reminders like that, pressure creeps in, and death feels imminent! You shouldn't have.

This stress launched mini-bombs at me throughout pregnancy in the form of preggo ailments (ASK ME ABOUT MY HEMORRHOIDS) and folks insisting on taking my picture --Never "point and click" at a preggo unless death is your wish* friendly reminder**/insert fairy dust and Miss America wave here--, and then exploded into all-out assault once my son (now 9 weeks old) arrived on the scene. The biggest pain, struggle, and obstacle has been my breasts. From day one, one of the biggest focal points has been my...um, focal points, and it's never-ending. It started when my nurse milked me in the hospital and exclaimed with glee, "LOOK AT THAT, COLOSTRUM!"

Please read that sentence again.

My nurse.

Milked.

Me.

Every nurse from thereon had wisdom to impart about my parts. And I had not asked. Every nurse had a line to rehearse to me about baby being the best pump, milk from me being this magical nectar from Olympus, and 'you'd betters/don't do THAT!' But remember, as someone who has procreated, I apparently asked for this. Unsolicited advice is my life now.

More than anything, I appreciated a nurse coming in and reading my mind when she said, "No one else will say this, but breast feeding is hard, and babies' mouths are SO small. Don't feel bad for doing the best you can." I cut her words here, but there was nipple/aureole talk, and other nurses had mommy-guilted me over feeding incorrectly. Consider that I had been in a hospital sans sunlight for a week at this point, awakened every 1-2 hours by someone or something, was still swollen from being pumped full of everything from TWO births--an induced labor followed by a Cesarean, filled with medication, and just plain tired. Criticism is the last menu item I wanted.

Of course, nothing compares to lovingly looking down into the closed, beautiful eyelashed-lids of your one and only and having his tiny newborn hands give you a Hulk-strength titty-twister and then smiling up at you. Nothing. These are mild annoyances. And the latter is almost cute. Almost.

Some days are easy. Some are difficult. Fullness and stinging from when it's been a while since milk was removed is uncomfortable, at best. I promised not to preach, but let's just say--making someone who is breast feeding wait or giving them extra steps to "set up camp" under a giant breast feeding tent is added discomfort and potentially damaging when milk supply is in full force. If there's any one reason I could pinpoint that I leave the house less now than pre-baby-external, it's BREAST FEEDING. I count myself among the lucky because I have not dealt with cracking or dryness--but I'm not saying it could never happen to me. The one time I felt pained from ducts clogging up (which is not a dance with wooden shoes, for the record), water in a clean, warm diaper as a compress worked wonders. The attached link from Kellymom doesn't mention it, I don't think, but there are great solutions there for anyone feeling pain.

My husband has been fabulous throughout this whole breast feeding fiasco. He brings me a daily Gatorade and feeds little man from a bottle when he can tell I'm just not feeling it that day. Stuff happens. But the reality is, we're getting it done, even when we supplement with formula.

For the women who wonder, "Is it worth it?" For the women who tell themselves, "I can't do this one more day, or I will die!" For women who make it work in spite of pain, societal pressure to make it more difficult, and any other obstacles I say, #ThankyouforBreastfeeding.

To the women who cannot breastfeed, but who feed and love on their babies as they see fit, my tip of the hat to you also. Your narrative is not my narrative to tell, however. Thank you to my kindred sisters at Moms Off Mute for inspiring this post with their blog post "The Most Encouraging Thing You Can Say To a Breastfeeding Mom."