My Body Is Not My Own

When my first baby was born and he was figuring out how to breastfeed, I didn't recognize my body anymore. My breasts were swollen and painful, my womb had not yet retracted and I still looked pregnant -- even though the bloody evidence that I had given birth was soaking the thickest pads I had ever seen.

I began to resent that, between my husband and me, I had to be the person to experience all of these uncomfortable bodily conditions. My sweet husband did his best to take care of my needs, and that was helpful. And eventually the baby learned how to suck without making my nipples bleed. My postpartum bleeding subsided. Time really was healing my wounds, and I started to actually enjoy the moments that I sat and nursed my little guy.

I loved watching him develop the cutest fat cheeks and thighs! One day it dawned on me that it was my milk -- my gift to him -- that grew that second chin for him! There were times he would smile at me, sometimes with the nipple still in his mouth, and I realized I was also contributing to his mental and emotional growth. I would get hugely satisfying swirls of oxytocin that helped me understand that no, my body was no longer my own, but it was inseparably connected, on a cellular and soul level, with this child. And rather than resent my husband, I almost pitied him!

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