…and also I wanted them to have lower IQs than all of the carefully breastfed, loved kids.
I think that you are reading the blog of the only upper middle class, well educated, white woman who did not even try to breastfeed. Wow. That didn’t take long – I can already feel the judgment, and the blind rage that I am so despicable to my children! I know you think I’m unfit. Maybe I am. Did I tell you that I let my 2 year old drink a juice box once in awhile? Yeah. Didn’t even water it down. And while I’m airing all my dirty laundry, the yogurt I feed them isn’t organic, nor is it sugar free. Its the Yoplait kind. That adults buy. And they watch TV. Everyday. And sometimes I lose my shit and yell at them. Okay and sometimes I pretend its their bedtime an hour earlier than it actually is. So I’m not going to be on the cover of any parenting magazines soon. But Oprah didn’t breastfeed either, so I’m still holding out hope for a shot at “O”. I’m just lucky that the La Leche League hasn’t made it a federal crime not to breastfeed.
I know a lot of women that wanted desperately to breastfeed their children and then for whatever reason it didn’t work out much to their horror and chagrin. You know exactly who these women are because they will immediately tell you all of the medical reasons it was impossible and apologize incessantly for their failures as a person and a mother, but they just want to make sure you don’t think they are one of those terrible mothers that would actually feed their babies formula on purpose. Like me. I fed my babies formula because I just didn’t love them that much and I was hoping that if they were born with any native intelligence, this would make it disappear instantaneously. And because I don’t love them. Have I said that yet?
Let the record reflect that I respect women who love their children/breastfeed them. There is a lot of fuzzy science research and good, documented reasons to go that route. Except if that “baby” is four fucking years old. That is disgusting and yes, I will sign the petition making that a federal crime. Twice the penalty if they pull it out in public and lift up their shirt so their four year old can feed as he fondles his transformer.
But I’m not really that judge-y. Really. Not like you. Who hates me because my kids that you don’t know and will never know didn’t suck on my little sad boobs. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about breastfeeding. I made a little pros and cons list. It went as follows:
Pros of breastfeeding:
- Big boobs (finally!)
- Elite playgroups will invite me to join, despite the fact I work full time. Maybe. Wait – that may be a con.
- My children will be 8 or 34 times smarter, 90 times healthier and 637 times more loved than they will be if they take infant formula from a bottle.
Cons of breastfeeding:
- Another hungry human (that will eventually get teeth) will want to suck on my boob all. the. fucking. time. this includes 2am, 3am, 4am, 5am. All hours that I am very unpleasant to be with, if awake.
- My babies might get hungry in public.
- I might have to whip it out and have that smug look on my face as everybody notices my boob hanging out at the mall and I’ll feel all righteous that they are so ignorant not to rejoice in nature and give me a special breastfeeding bench to show off what a good mother I am.
- BD gets off scott free. Isn’t 40 weeks of being hormonal and fat and peeing all the time and having indigestion and people commenting “are you sure you’re not having TWINS” and giving up alcohol and sushi enough sacrifice for one person? Oh yes, and then there is the pleasantness of delivery. Shouldn’t a father be given an opportunity to do penance for all the crap I had to endure ease the burden and bond early with his new baby?
- I will be bitter and angry at all times.
- If I want to go anywhere by myself, I’ll have to carry around a big backpack and hook up myself up to a loud machine with big suction cups, that looks like a medieval torture device to pump out milk that I’ll fret about keeping chilly. And then clean the whole damn thing when I get home.
- And hate my life.
- And my husband.
- And secretly think that this “mom thing” is a pain in the ass.
So my favorite kind of women are the ones that figure out what is best for themselves and their kids. They don’t worry about what me and my kids are doing, because it doesn’t make one fucking bit of difference to their lives whether I breastfed my kids or not. And I know this might be hard to believe, but I do love my kids. Honestly. Really. And myself too except when battling an excruciatingly large stress zit.
So regular breastfeeding moms, I love you. Judgy breastfeeding moms, I love you, albeit a lot less than the others. Don’t worry Oprah – I didn’t forget about you. I love you too. Formula feeding moms that would have preferred to breastfeed, stop apologizing. You’re cool. Formula feeding as a first choice moms — I’ll see you in hell. But its best if we all stop judging and become friends although we all know that will never happen – because lets face it – we are all total experts at raising children and we know a bad mom when we see one.
So I won’t judge you even though I really want to. Oh wait, there is a caveat. I will mercilessly judge any person pulling the whole whipping-out-a-boob-in-a-public-place-to-feed-large-children-old-enough-to-have-mastered-the-monkey-bars. Yes. I have witnessed this. Yes. When I got over the shock and awe of it I threw up in my mouth a little. Yes. I have been scarred for life. Yes. I guess I’m judgy. Yes. These people are fucking nuts. But I will practice compassion for these women because I am forever grateful to them for not inviting me to their playgroup.