nursing

The Cookie by Caroline M. Grant

At seven weeks, Ben was thriving; nursing constantly through a growth spurt, alert and interested in the world, smiling at his dad and me. He had just gotten control of his hands and we laughed as we watched him wrap one hand around the other and, brow furrowed in concentration, push it into his mouth. Self-soothing! we crowed, and encouraged the behavior as best we could. It was hard to imagine a day when he would actually pick something up to put in his mouth.
 

On Breastfeeding and Weaning Under Occupation by Laila El-Haddad

For Yousuf and I, the past two years have been an interesting journey, to put it mildly, wrought with the obvious hurdles of living under occupation, and nursing him has helped us both get through it. It was our moment together-our special time that, though time-consuming and difficult at time, we both equally enjoyed, that no one could interfere with-no matter the time or circumstance (save for an hour when I was interrogated by the Shin Bet in Rafah, and a then two-month-old Yousuf was howling in the other room with a female soldier because they forbid me from taking him in the interrogation with me).

Good Boob, Bad Boob by Annika Rahe

It all started years ago, when a thoughtless boyfriend gave me a backhanded compliment. He told me that if he were to create the perfect woman he would give her my boobs, but he'd make both of them like the left one because it was bigger.
 
"Bigger?" I asked. "One side isn't bigger. They're perfectly the same."
 
"Yes, they are perfect, but not the same. And if I were making my perfect woman, they'd both be like the left one."
 

Goodbye Party by Rachel Sarah

If my body could talk, it would say, take me back, take me back. My breasts are shapeless and deflated. Some nights there is milk in one, but not in the other.
 
My daughter Mae asked me recently, "If I suck really hard, will it come out?"
 
"No, no, no!" I wanted to tell her. My body wanted to curl up into a ball like a cat in the afternoon sun and sleep.
 
There's the doorbell. It's New Year's Eve. My friend Siobhan and her two-and-a-half-year-old daughter Hazel are here for our Goodbye Milk Party.
 

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