I am not a doctor or a nurse. This is not a diatribe on how women must breastfeed. I make no judgments about what other moms do, and quite honestly, it’s not my business. Or yours.
How you want to feed your baby is kosher by me, as long as you don’t feed your baby worms. That would be so wrong.
But for me, I had to breastfeed. Under no circumstances, was I not going to. And it wasn’t just for health reasons and because breast milk is so awesome for babies. While I don’t care what you decide with your child, if you ask me, I will say that breast feeding is awesome.
Here’s why I had no choice but to be a successful milk factory.
After enduring 2 pregnancies (one short, and one full-term) basically back to back, and being ill with both–I had severe hyperemesis with the second pregnancy and mild with the first ( I miscarried), my body was in crap shape.
Breastfeeding made me eat like a professional football player. I sometimes felt tempted to eat myself out of my house, and hated when my husband tried to take the larger portion of food at mealtime. Was he kidding me?
Breastfeeding fueled my body to eat again for the first time in I don’t know, a year?, and got me back to health.
Have you heard my voice?
I have a squeaky, high-pitched voice. It’s charming. It’s cute. I can do a million different character voices. I basically spoke solely like Pee-Wee Herman for about two years. I still know the whole theme song to Pee-Wee’s Playhouse and can sing it in character.
As cute as it is or annoying, depending on your taste, while I’m a great storyteller, I’m not exactly the yoga-woman masseuse voice-type. Sure, I can soften it up and soothe a bit, especially in an emergency, but I do much better with entertainment and the strict “You’re in trouble” voice. I’m not like other women. I worried I wouldn’t be very soothing. And I’m probably not.
Thankfully, my boobs did the job for me.
And I had her dad for the soft voice when I wasn’t cutting it.
I had never been around infants much, and I didn’t flock to babies as a kid. They scared me a little. What did you do with them? I wondered. If my kid cried, if she looked annoyed, bored, or disappointed in her food selection for the day, I had boobs. Boobs worked.
I’m Lazy About Cooking
Making a bottle seemed like work. Pumping certainly wasn’t my dream job, but I didn’t have to do it too much.
Just using my boobs was easy. And cheap, and damnit, I like to save money!
After being abused and treated like a sex toy for a good portion of my teens and twenties, it was nice to finally use my breasts for a positive cause. It was peaceful, it made me sleepy and happy, and I bonded with my kid. It put good memories associated with my breasts on the map. It was the beginning of a brand new Laura.
I never got my period. I didn’t get it until I weaned. I liked this. I hate breakouts, and no periods meant no breakouts.
So that’s why I nursed. Sure, I did it for my kid’s health and I did it because I was healthy and able to nurse well, but at least when my nasally-quirky voice didn’t quite work the “Shush” angle enough, and when my inexperience came to bite me in the ass, breastfeeding helped me conquer my baby’s issue, and it kept me away from prudish people who I didn’t like much anyway.
Here’s to Boobs!
if you like to celebrate boobs, motherhood, humor, chocolate, and role play, follow me at Twitter.
I humbly thank you,and up you one shot in the eye of breast milk,