There is a not-so-quiet revolution at the moment in the Internet Realm; mothers everywhere, sick of being vilified and demoted as Citizens by some minorities, have decided to stand up and say, “I have breastfed; I am breastfeeding. I have not, I chose not to, yet I support any who are. We will be sisters together.”
I do not intend this to be a mothers-who-breastfed VS mothers-who-didn’t post because frankly, I support women in both categories. Becoming mothers is more, infinitely more, than what kind of milk your infant drinks. I know from personal experience the misery of forcing your body to do what it cannot do. This is what happens to some women. I know, and it kills them.
See this? This is 10 days after Keira was born. You can see the tension; the pain on my face. Feeding was not going well. In fact, until week 6, I was only a feed away from giving up. The formula was in the cupboard; a delicious solace. But I kept at it; my stubbornness would not budge. With aid of herbal supplements, water, faith, endurance, resolve, joy, rapture, I made it until Keira was 13 months old, when I weaned her because I was desperate for another child. The child came immediately; periodless, miraculously, I conceived immediately. My career in breastfeeding was only temporarily suspended.
Riley latched perfectly. We had none of the trials I had with Keira — no syringes stuck nervously in the corner of her mouth, seeing if she would take the expressed fluid. I suffered mastitis severely, though; 4 attacks in 3 months. He fed; he thrived. We did so for 15 months. Keira watched, curious, not knowing that any of this performed not only a survival function but, at times, a charade of sorts in wider society.
I feel we are lucky here in Australia. As a culture, I do believe we are more tolerant towards public breastfeeding than others in the world. Does that mean I’ve escaped public ire? No. I’ve been judged as I’ve raised my t-shirt to feed; and I’ve scowled back at these individuals, my teeth gnashing at their ‘right’ to judge, as they then turn away in the streets, to their own ends, and to make mine feel diminished. But I do not feel diminished.
For I have worn the scars of breastfeeding. I have the lovebites of mistaken latching, when the power of a child’s jaw surprises (and hurts!). These scars heal; as does the judgement fade. I do not breastfeed anymore: but I will fight for women who are, and do, carry one of the most perfect functions imaginable.
Go visit these women. Show your support.
Then, go leave your positive comments after watching this video.
