the nurseling

breast or bottle? i can count on both hands the number of times Atticus successfully latched on and nursed; i was literally and figurativly the "mom-cow" and expressed milk for an entire year, breast in the bottle. as a new mom i was regaled with the glorious stories of the bond that nusing fosters and shuddered at the horror stories of cracked nipples, pain and time consumtion of breastfeeding. i was feeding mothers milk in a bottle, would we be lacking that psychic bond that nursing was supposed to bestow upon us? in short, no. i still held him when he had a bottle, he was happiest napping on my chest (still to this day, his favorite location to rest) and i remembered that i had felt bonded to him while in-utero so why question, like my milk i went with the flow.

Circe, while gestating must have heard me stating that she would never know a bottle. i knew that i would not have the time to pump every 2 hours for 20 minutes each while contending with a newborn and a toddler. shortly after the four pushes it took to liberate her from the abyss she took to the breast and stayed there all night, suckeling and savoring the small reward. my milk came quickly and she was a great eater, often times when her cries of hunger first began and the breast unloosed a fountain of milk guided her mouth towards her reward. then came the allergies, she would nurse and scream as if she knew she was ingesting evil. after the diagnosis i was offered two choices, give up the foods myself and continue nursing or feed her formula. i was free and plentiful, formula would stay on the shelves, she on my breast. all offending foods are foods i love(d), while nursing this critter who i initially was thankful for her appitite i now had resentment for. it was more of a sacrifice than time, or even duty; she was taking more than the basic nutrients she was taking things that made me happy and turning them into forbidden friut. gradually as her body healed my heart followed suit, she was happy and nourished and i became grateful she wasn't allergic to soy.

for a few months Circe remained a contented nurser, foucused on her task of extracting the milk my body was more than happy to provide. i survived four bites during her first teething and then came mobility.

my breasts became an afterthought, there was so much to do, so many other things to put in her mouth. each noise is a distraction and whatever breast shes on is yanked hither and tither in order to find out what is happening in her surroundings. age and development are fascinating, she has traced each contour of my chest and face with her little soft hands, plays peek-a-boo with my shirts and has developed her own nonverbal gesture of raking her hand across my tattoo and placing that hand into her mouth. she nurses best at night in a dark room with an extended hand waiting for my finger to hold onto and i whisper to her that this too will end.