breast envy (with a surprise! sentimental ending).

I am full of words.

With no time to spit them out.

I'll preface by saying that my children have been sick for what seems like, oh, I don't know, four months? Four months of clinging and whining and crying and syringes of yucky medicine and breathing treatments and doctor's visits and binge drinking. Four months of guilt. Four months of wishing that I could cram a milk-filled booby into their screaming mouths and make. them. better.

Unfortunately, my boobs are no longer the lovingly remembered milkjugs of our past. They are nothing but saggy sacks of sad flesh. Shriveling remnants of a golden mecca. A used and dried up savior.

And so begins my love-affair with breastfeeding all over again:

Last night I worshiped womankind after happening upon a facebook page where mothers posted photographs of themselves breastfeeding. It is called "Hey facebook, breastfeeding is NOT obscene." Apparently facebook loves them some big titties. Just not when they serve a purpose higher than the holy blessed erection. Photographs of feeders were deleted by facebook because these breastfeeding photos were considered "obscene." The Yankee version of me is starting a revolution. The revolution lead me to these photographs and was reminded of how amazing we are. We women. We mothers.

Somewhere in the New England countryside, another stay-at-home-mother-of-twins drinks wine before lunch. Forgets to bathe. Eats chocolate for dinner. Cries over her crazies and often frightens her husband. She has boys. They are the exact same age of my girls. They are the love of her life. They are so hard. Everyday is so hard. Everyday is magic. She is the Yankee me with one exception: she is still breastfeeding.

For thirteen months she has sustained the life of TWO baby vultures with her body. With her mind and patience and whole self. Breastfeeding is so much more than a baby sucking your milkjugs. It enrages hormones and causes night-sweats. It perverts your body chemistry to ensure that you will be easy to find and suck in the event of nuclear holocaust. It changes your once mildly attractive breasts into bulging gravel-sacks. A milk filled breast is not smooth and supple. It is not what you think of as a "succulent" titty. Pun intended. It is hard. It is rocky. It is so incredibly painful. It can get so full that your nipples will threaten your chin from engorged pressure. It makes you tired. It makes you crazy. It makes you wake up in the middle of the night to comfort all of the crying children of the world. It hurts your back. It hurts your libido. It hurts your refrigerator. It requires a diet intended for an infant. And unless you're into feeding your infant chocolate cake, Jack Daniels and Vicodin, you are just going to have to schedule your fun around the feedings of your children. It is blistered nipples and burning infections. It is slavery. It is draining.

It is quite possibly the most beautiful gift that is bestowed upon mothers. That is why, in spite of all of the painful commitments, seventy-five percent of mothers give it a shot. Over half of those mothers are still lugging the ball and chain beyond six months.

Lydia weaned herself by seven months and Zadie indulged me with a daybreak suck and snuggle until the bitter, biting end at eleven months. I quit pumping on November 17. When I passed my suck-buddy to another tired and eager twin mama: the amazing mother of my youngest nephews. I waited until I was ready. I chose to quit. Not that the reoccurring mastitis wasn't pushing me along, but I went out swinging. And I am so proud of myself.

I am so proud of all mothers that care for their young. It is far too easy to get lost in survival and forget what we are doing here. We are enriching or destroying the human race. We are molding minds and emotions. We are playing god.

Breastfeeding your young does not make you a better mother. I think it takes courage to know that it is NOT best for you. It takes a strong woman to choose what is considered to be a slow, painful death of formula feeding. The pressure to breastfeed is ridiculous. It's not for everyone. And it should be the decision of the mother to use her body in whichever way she sees fit for her family. I praise you bottle mamas just as well. You are no less of a mother and your child PROBABLY won't suffer severe brain injuries from all of that powdered poison. Good luck with that.

Ramblings aside, I just want to remind you beautiful mothers that you are something to be proud of. Sacrificing yourself to create another takes (proverbial) balls. And strength. And selflessness. You are writing the future with every silly song that you sing and every shitty diaper that you change. I want to encourage you to be easy on yourself for a minute. Be easy on the stupid mothers around you that are NOT raising their children like YOU would. Praise women. Praise yourself. You are worthy.

You are worthy.