I’m not gonna take a picture.
Creepers be creepin’.
But let me just let you in on a little known fact.
(And by little I mean super tiny and SO not cool.)
When you stop nursing your baby, your boobs deflate. They turn into mush pie and sit on your chest like saggy sad pancakes.
(all male readers have left the building. All prude readers – please pick your jaws up off the floor.)
I swear I wasn’t gonna talk about my boobs today.
Fridays are better for boob talk…Tuesdays just don’t have that boob vibe, you know.
(how many times is she gonna say “boob”? I thought this girl was a Christian.)
If you hadn’t heard, it’s World Breastfeeding Week. Actually, August is National Breastfeeding MONTH.
In honor of this magical lactation week, I thought I’d share my own breastfeeding story.
Breastfeeding, for me, was hard.
To put it bluntly, in those first few months, I felt like a Mama Cow. Constantly being suckled at, in all hours of the day (and night), for any given length of time.
I felt used.
I felt obligated.
(Postpartum depression didn’t help with these feelings. A post for another day.)
I’d read all the books and bought the nursing pillow, bras, pads, a pump. I felt ready. But when the time came, I wanted to run far far away and take my precious girls with me.
(that’s me being dramatic. I’m allowed that.)
Anyway, the only thing that got me through those first couple of months with Henry was Travis.
He believed that I could do this thing that should be so natural and so perfect.
He believed that I was made for this.
He believed in my fight.
“Just one more day.” “Give Henry just one more day of nursing.”
How could I not give him one more day?!? I can do anything for a short period of time. (Hello, tabatas and intervals!)
(We also became praying parents during this time. Parenting will really bring out the worst and best in you. We needed God.)
So I kept at it. Not for myself and not really for Henry.
I did it for my husband.
And you know what – the Lord blessed that commitment.
Around month 3, something clicked.
Nursing didn’t change. Henry didn’t really change (although he did get a bit quicker with his sucking).
My perspective changed.
Day by day, nursing became just like any other challenge I had taken on – HARD BUT WORTH IT. After time, it became manageable, meaningful. And my attitude TOWARDS nursing shifted from negative to EMPOWERED!
I’ll never forget the first time he reached his fat little hand and swatted at my face. Gah. Heart melt. Or when he would smile up at me with that milk drunk look.
Henry and I nursed until he was 18 months old.
I nursed Clara until she was 20 months old.
Had you asked me in those early weeks whether or not I’d be an “extended nurser”, I would have stomped on your toe and squirted breastmilk in your face.
Now I can’t imagine it being any other way for my little ones and I.
I love breastfeeding. And I’m not afraid to say it.
(Hmm…I guess I really didn’t address the saggy boobs. Another time. But I did say boobs again. Boobs.)
**I could easily make a blanket PC statement about doing what’s best for you and your family. But I think that every woman should aim to breastfeed for the first year. If it doesn’t work out, then FINE. Don’t beat yourself up or feel like you’re less of a woman! You’re not!
It’s the TRYING that’s the most important.
The struggle….it sharpens us and makes us better.
More powerful. Stronger.
QUESTION: Were you able to nurse your children? Nursing in public – discuss.