Mommy Proof #3: My Best, My Breast, My Baby, My Business, Our Bond

Mommy Proof #3: Your parenting decisions are made for your family. No advice is needed.

A few weeks ago, I posted a picture of my son and I during a nursing session on a social network site. Nothing too controversial, most mammals produce milk for their babies. The picture did not have any nipple or areola sightings. My son was not standing up in the chair while I struck a "defiant" pose. Yet, there was a slight controversy surrounding the picture as it went viral, the caption under that sweet picture.

"My Best, My Breast, My Baby, My Business"

I did not post this picture on my own personal site, but on a pro-breastfeeding page. I had no idea that it would be received with anything but support. Most if not all of the negative comments were deleted, but here is the general consensus. (Paraphrased):

"After one year of age, breastfeeding is not needed. What is she trying to prove?"

"I could NOT nurse my child, so I didn't do my best?"

And my personal favorite:

" 'MY best, MY breast, MY baby, MY business!' Who is she doing it for, the baby or herself?"

What my breastfeeding picture's caption meant was that, FOR MY FAMILY, it was my best. My last pregnancy was filled with dread of the unknown. I didn't think I would be able to breastfeed, because I can not pump. AT ALL. The doctors were pretty sure he would be born before 30 weeks due to complications. When I was six months along, the doctors told me that there was little chance of survival. Without an invasive procedure that would have to be repeated and came with its own risks, this bouncing, kicking baby boy would die. We found about a less invasive, experimental procedure that we could try. Almost three months later, I gave birth to a healthy baby boy.

After five months of being unsure if this baby would be an addition to our family, I was left at an emotional standstill. I was so focused on grieving that I never imagined what would happen if he survived. I forgot to bond with this child. I was so sure I wouldn't have the opportunity to ever nurse, I did not prepare to do it. My milk took a whole five days to come in while this baby screamed day in and day out. Who was this child that is suckling from my breast? Maybe I should offer him a bottle? Would he finally be quiet?

The night before I was determined to quit nursing, I sat on the floor crying. Deflated, exhausted, and stressed, I told my mother how I could NOT do this. I felt no desire to nurse this child. I just didn't WANT to do it. The baby lay wailing in his bassinet, ready for another feeding. Instinctively, I reached for him. As I held him to my breast, I heard a gulp. Then another milk filled swallow and another and another and another, until I was finally holding a milk drunk baby with a satisfyingly full tummy.

I looked up in triumph. I did it, just as I had nursed my other three children. That night, I held him as he slept falling in love with every little breath. For me, nursing him made him real to me. It helped me bond with him. I couldn't take care of his needs while he was in my uterus, but I could now. I could offer him my best which, in this case, was a bond.