While the first week of your life wasn’t easy, neither was the first week of breastfeeding. You lost weight, you had dehydration crystals in your diapers, and your tongue was extremely dry despite all the time you spent nursing. We went back to the maternity ward four times to have you weighed, to see the pediatrician, and to check your latch… Did you know what the problem was? My milk supply was slow to come in and would never be enough to fully satisfy you, so we had to supplement with formula—up to 3.25%. At that point, why continue?
Because with your big sister, I couldn’t do it. I never managed to pull myself together and try. During my childhood, my innocence, my purity, and my consent were stolen from me. The person who was supposed to teach me how to ride a bike, how to twirl my spaghetti with a spoon—the one who was supposed to protect me, dance with me at my senior prom, walk me down the aisle—that same man I called Dad. Instead, that man taught me manipulation, sexuality, and how to use my breasts and other parts of my body for his own personal gain. How long would my mind have to battle against myself?
The answer was 23 years. The day after my 23rd birthday, you came into my life, my youngest, my smiling baby. During my pregnancy, I wanted to breastfeed. Then, no. Oh, wait, yes… I was struggling. My thoughts always led me back to: “My body is an object of sex and pleasure, not for nurturing.” People worked with me; they helped me a lot, but the person who was truly my partner in this was you.
Despite the milk supply issues, other people’s comments, the stares, the judgments, and the somewhat odd advice, I kept going—because I really appreciated the support you gave me. Despite the obstacles, the exhaustion, and the fact that you’re a baby who needs to be held—always clinging to me—I kept going. Because that moment between us, that moment of us pressed close together, allowed me to see myself differently.
What breastfeeding gave me was a reclaiming of power, a new connection with myself. My body isn’t a sexual object; my body belongs to me.
For a long time, my body felt like it was floating above my head. For a long time, my body wasn’t mine. For a long time, my thoughts about it were ugly. Thanks to you and our “breastfeeding moments,” I’ve managed to rediscover myself and reclaim my body.
Thank you so much, my baby. Thank you, breastfeeding.