Breast In Peace

a pink cup of milk

Control. Somewhere at the heart of my darkness there has always been a march to the drum of this notion – CON-TROL, CON-TROL, CON-TROL.

I crave it, stride for it, ideate ways to achieve it, fight for it when needed, wallow in it when I have it. That’s where my thirst for knowledge and understanding comes from, it’s not just a snobbish para-feminist statement that I, as a woman, regard the shape of my intellect much higher than the shape of, say, my tits. No, it’s the first stage of my need to minimize the chances of unforeseen circumstances, subtle panic.

For someone so hooked on control as I am, life with a baby (a kaleidoscope of hormonal explosions!) morphing into a toddler (a thunderstorm on a wedding day!) is like asking someone with arachnophobia to adopt a tarantula. Continue reading

753 Days Of Milk

breastfeeding teddy bear

We hit an important milestone – our tight little nursing dyad has existed for two years, three weeks, and two days. This means that, for 753 days (and nights) my body has produced milk, which my son has drunk several times a day, by suckling on my breasts. I’ve written about breastfeeding before, and I have also written about my conflicted relationship with my chest. Everyone who knows me personally knows that I am a breastfeeding advocate, someone who is not afraid to speak up for the normalization and the desexualization of this beautiful and necessary act.

Throughout these two years of motherhood, I’ve spoken openly in real life and on social media about why it’s important for me to feed my child with my own milk and how I believe it’s crucial that nursing mothers get all the support they can possibly get. I post status updates (even the occasional brelfie) to celebrate our nursing milestones and international occasions like the World Breastfeeding Week, I follow several websites dealing with social issues and promoting breastfeeding information, I even started working as a volunteer for an association that provides support for first-time mothers where I focus especially on nursing moms, because that’s the kind of experience I can share.

What I’ve never really spoken about though, is the pain. Continue reading

Back To Bra

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I leave the bedroom quietly, shut the door like I’m not even there. It took me so long to get him to fall asleep, nursing, he must have sucked for almost half an hour. I step into the bathroom, lift my shirt, and estimate the damage. I take the needle from the complimentary hotel sewing kit I keep handy on the shelf, clean it with rubbing alcohol then get down to it. The first time I had to do this I sweated profusely, the needle slipping out of my fingertips and my heart pumping like a traumatized squirrel’s. Continue reading

The Best Drink In The World

Yesterday was the last official day of World Breastfeeding Week. But because the benefits of drinking Mother Milk are so vast and understated, I don’t see why we should wean ourselves from the theme just yet.

But first, let’s make something clear.

If you had walked up to me two years ago to say that it’s World Breastfeeding Whatever and that we all need to support this coz it’s important and stuff, I most probably would have stared back at you blank and then carefully changed subject. Because to me (then) it would have sounded something like “Hey, let’s go out, pick up a banner and protest against Fake Tits! Because Fake Tits are bad you know, they fuck with women’s self-esteem, they cause hazard to one’s health, they give young girls a twisted vision of femininity and such and so and we really have to scream it to the wind so everyone hears and people will finally stop wanting to have Fake Tits!…”

Continue reading