Because I Am

Regardless, I can’t lie, the fact that I am still bellying our 13 month old boy up to the booby bar three times a day, has me feeling a bit like I have to justify myself… Not because the people in my life have passed any judgment… But because the subject of breastfeeding is a wee bit taboob (like what I did there?). And breastfeeding a human who has blown out a candle on a birthday cupcake … Well… I think there are a certain subsect of people who would shout that that’s downright unnecessary. 

It’s somehow sort of okay to talk about breastfeeding right after your baby is born. At that point, I can talk cracked nipples, poor latch, and massaging my stopped up set with quite a bit of acceptance. Like before they have teeth. Or can sit up. Or can babble mama. But once you get to the age where breastfeeding in public looks like you are smuggling a sack of wrestling mice under your hooter hider, well, I feel like it’s more like mum’s the word on the milk-filled mams. 

It’s crazy, really. That such a biological function of the human body is not dinner table convo. I mean, being keeping close-lipped about the fact that some humans can actually feed the world from their bosoms is mind-boggling to me given the fact that it’s waaaaay cooler than your standard pooping, peeing, farting, and other body business. I mean, I create a food source and can burn more calories than I typically do on the treadmill while expressing that food source. That’s the shiz. But it’s even nuttier that it is perfectly acceptable to be visually assaulted by breasts at the local mall when walking by Victoria’s Secret but whip out your nips for a babe to sip and people are up in arms. Riddle me that, batman? I mean what are boobs anyway?! Fat mounds adorned by nipples. That’s what boobs are.

I’ve said a million and one times… Breastfeeding does not work for everyone. It is not the only way to feed a babe. There is more than one way to skin the proverbial cat, my friends. And those ways aren’t wrong. But after breastfeeding three babes, I find it head-scratchingly confusing that the thing that is closest to nature is the thing that makes some heads turn. 

Think I’m off? Have you ever seen wrapping paper littered with cute pictures of nipples all over it? I haven’t. But I see adorable baby bottle images everywhere. Have you ever seen Victoria’s Secret make a nursing bra? I haven’t. Because their boobs and nursing boobs are two different sets of boobs. Have you ever seen a celebrity having to justify why they have posted a picture of their baby being fed from a bottle? I haven’t. But I’ve seen much uproar over people like Alyssa Milano posting a picture of a baby pressed to her chest. Because boobs are for women to woo with! They are lust mounds! They are surely not meant for secreting nutrients! And if that baby, the one the celebrity is nursing, can walk and is over the ripe old age of 1… Well, call a therapist because that kid is sucking doses of crazy from his or her mother with every extended feeding! Surely!

I will admit… I doubt I will keep at it much longer as the wee one has taken to lambasting my nipples with his tiny but deadly teeth. So self-weaning by him is not in our cards. Because if I wait until he’s any older, I fear my right nipple may share the same fate as a Broward County voting ballot circa 2000. And no one wants a hanging chad upon their chest if they can help it. 

And truly, I think I’m ready to board up the Breastaurant for the final time. And that’s really why I write about this… Because when it comes to breastfeeding or bottle feeding, exclusive pumping, or formula, moms should be able to decide what is right for them and their babes. The fact that I went from being a first-time mom who loathed breastfeeding to a third time momma who didn’t drop it like it was hot when the clock struck one, I think that says something about what motherhood does to you. It changes your  perspective. It makes you feel much less judgy about other people’s parenting choices and styles. And it teaches you to answer, “because I am” when necessary. 

So yeah. I’m still breastfeeding. My one year old. Because I am. And my palms… they’re a bit drier than when I began. Maybe that will make it easier for the breast, errrr, rest of you, too.