Reflections on a Challenging Breastfeeding Year A post caught my eye on the Huff today. It’s titled Mom’s Passionate Post Is For Every Mother Who Has Struggled To Breastfeed and at first look, a soft flood of compassionate tenderness welled up in my chest. I took a deep soft breath and remembered. Most of my breastfeeding hardship happened in a rocking chair. It was a big, beautiful wooden rocker that my daughter’s father surprised me with just two weeks before her birth. I spotted it at an antique shop, but it was out of our budget. He worked something out with the guy a few days later and suddenly, it was in my living room. I was over the moon. Here I would sit, rock and coo over my little boy (who turned out to be a gorgeous girl). I would nurse “on demand” and revel in the amazingness of my body, of my baby, of breastmilk’s incredible magic and value. I looked at the rocker and I saw the bliss-to-be. Six weeks later, that bliss was barely to be found. When my...
