Face Paint and All...

Breastfeeding, for me, was really difficult. I think I was under the impression that the whole process would be very natural and just kind of happen. In a way, it did… but it was a lot of work that I hadn’t expected. Breastfeeding was always portrayed to me as a beautiful and special experience that only a mother can have. Although it was a somewhat special process… I think no one really prepares you for how painful it can be. The breasts that I once knew were now temperamental water balloons that constantly felt over filled and in the way. I couldn’t get comfortable while lying down anymore. I leaked. I clogged. I cried. Breastfeeding is all about timing. If you don’t feed at even increments, your milk supply that is to be used to feed your child could increase unnecessarily, causing you pain, or deplete to a point where you may have to switch to formula. It was all a balancing act that took a few months for me to accept and get used to. Was it worth it? I think so. Was it uncomfortable? Definitely. Would I do it again? We’ll see. (That would entail having another child… hm. Let’s think on that one).

Something that I’ve been thinking about, now that Brody has been transitioning to formula and my milk supply is drying up, is how the breasts are very rarely thought of as a means to feed a baby. 99% of the time, they are seen in a sexual light. How often do you think people see a woman with extreme exposed cleavage and think “wow, I bet her kids are feeding real well off of those…” Yea no… never. Breastfeeding has made me realize that I don’t think I’ve even thought of my breasts as anything more than just… there. Now I see them as my son’s nourishment. I’m not sure I could ever go back to thinking of them as exclusively sexual beings anymore because I’ve literally used them as tools for the last 6 months. Such pain and suffering has come from breastfeeding, but I feel so accomplished that I tried and made it to 6 months.
Breastfeeding warrior… face paint and all… storming the walls with boulders (literal… boulders..)… that’s a site to behold. I’m sure a lot of women actually do feel that way after wading through the pain, lack of sleep, infections… it’s all for our children.

At times I’ve felt that my breast were huge, uncomfortable, weights on my chest that were so full… but at the same time a beautiful means of feeding Brody and almost a physical sign of motherhood. I learned in one of our prenatal birthing class that the breasts never fully develop until you have a child and the milk ducts begin to mature. Even though I am almost done breastfeeding, my breasts will never physically be the same. (Insert a joke about sagging here…).

I made this mockette of a woman with embellished breasts that are heavy, hanging in the way of everything… but beautiful in their own right. The woman stands stoic and noble. She embraces her gift.