Breastfeeding Confession

Whether you are fully supportive of long term breastfeeding, excited about it for newborns only, or not into it at all, get ready because I’m about to offend you.

Lola nursed until she was three and a half and was only persuaded to stop with the promise of a party and some new jewelry. Felix looks as if he’s on track for a similar breastfeeding career. People who’ve seen me with a boob hanging out in public or with a large child sticking a hand down my shirt tend to think I’m of the hippy persuasion despite my mascara and lack of patchouli aroma. For some reason it seems to make people more comfortable about the whole thing if they think you are a yurt dwelling, tofu making, back to the earth type. I happen to not be that type, but people assume. There’s a ton of research out there to support long-term breastfeeding with all its health benefits for both mom and baby, and it’s easy to hide behind that research when someone questions why you’re nursing a person old enough to ride a scooter without help. But that research isn’t really my reason either.

The true reason is that I’m lazy. Lazy and unorganized. There are those highly capable moms out there who are always ready with just the right snack that their child loves, the perfect distracting toy, the cozy security object. They make nutritious, kid friendly food or buy it in cute packages and their kids are happy to eat it. I am not like them. When my child is freaking out at the playground, I rarely have a snack that they want to eat. My bag is full to the brim, but not with anything they want to play with (it’s mostly other people’s dirty socks and grocery receipts if I’m being truthful).  As much as I’d like to be organized enough to have a healthy snack and a fun distraction always at the ready, I’m not. Well, actually, I am. Because I have a boob full of milk, yes mam!

That sweet milky milk fixes most ills, heals most pains, and calms most frustrations, at least if you are under three years old. It makes children shut the hell up for a couple of minutes. It’s cozy. It gives me a glimpse of the baby still inside my quickly growing boy. It allows me to sit and rest and have my thoughts to myself for as long as the goodness lasts. It’s a way of relieving my guilt if all my child has eaten that day is scalloped potatoes and part of a cupcake (shhh, don’t tell the parenting police). It’s healthy food and it’s comfort. It stops the whining. It stops the whining. I know I wrote that twice but it’s such a great thing that I had to repeat it.

So, now you know the not so glamorous reasons I’m in no rush to stop lactating. They may not be noble. They may be selfish and offensive. But for this time that my breasts hold such power I’m going to take advantage of it.