Out of the blue, Lucia asked, "Mommy, what's the most incredible thing you've ever done?"
A short pause, and I said, "Breastfeeding you." I often talk about breastfeeding her with her and she made the sound that I told her she used to make. It sounded like a sigh. I told her she would often look at me while I breastfed her, and so we would look at each other while she fed.
"I wish I remember what it was like," she said.
I will always remember it. After giving birth, I had to stay in the hospital three more days to recover. Even so, we were forced to go home without her as she still needed to stay in the NICU. (She was born in distress.) I looked at the empty baby seat beside me in the car and felt immensely broken. I spent that first night at home crying. In the middle of the night, an intense pain overwhelmed me. My milk had come in and my body was writhing in the pain of not being able to mother.
When I went to the NICU the next day, I realized I had no idea how to breastfeed her. The nurse brought her to me and she was crying. I was so afraid. And then I held her. And then she stopped crying. And then she latched. The relief was enormous.
When she was finally satiated, she slept, but my breasts were still leaking. There was simply so much more to give.
I was still breastfeeding when I was confined in the psych ward. The first few days, I had to pump my milk, only to see the nurses pour it down the drain. My milk had turned poisonous for my child because of my meds. Never had I felt more useless, like a complete failure. On the fourth day, the milk simply did not come anymore. The pain I felt when my milk came was nothing compared to the pain when my milk left.
It's been years since my breasts have gone dry, but thankfully, there is still so much to give.
One time, she said, "I can't believe so much milk came from these." (Prepubescent girls have larger breasts than I do, haha.) "But it's still my favorite place to be in," she said, and then she slept.
