After an appearance on a local radio program to talk about women’s progress in the five decades since Betty Friedan’s book The Feminine Mystique got published, I was hired to write a series of freelance articles from the perspective of a modern young mother. Since I’m up at all hours nursing and changing diapers again, I’ve been managing to do a lot of background reading, even though my mental focus for writing is non-exsistent.
Breast-feeding does not belong in the realm of facts and hard numbers; it is much too intimate and elemental. It contains all of my awe about motherhood, and also my ambivalence. Right now, even part-time, it’s a strain. But I also know that this is probably my last chance to feel warm baby skin up against mine, and one day I will miss it.
“The Case Against Breastfeeding”
The Atlantic Magazine
While I didn’t completely enjoy breastfeeding Sonya, I’m glad I did it, and this second time around, it’s been far easier right from the beginning. Every few hours, I get to bond with both my daughters— unbelievably special time.
Sonya likes to sit beside NeeNee while she drinks her “mulk.” Usually, we sing the alphabet song, identify body parts, or I make up a story and knit while Sonya listens and fidgets with her toes.
In fact, the only thing I really dislike about breastfeeding Leena is having to wear nursing-friendly attire like button-down shirts while I want to be in springtime dresses that zip in the back. It just seems cruel after months of drab maternity clothes and snow boots. I only had a very brief window of normalcy (about three months) between nursing Sonya and being visibly pregnant with Leena. And before that, for an entire year, I dressed mostly in scrubs.