Breastfeeding Begins

One of my earliest baby-related memories is watching my aunt nurse her firstborn son. In fact, memories from my mother's side of the family are flooded with visions of swollen breasts and nursing babies. So naturally, my plan from the start was to breastfeed my son. I was breastfed. My siblings were breastfed. My husband was breastfed and is very supportive of breastfeeding our son. Two weeks before James' birth we purchased nursing bras and nightgowns and my mother gave me a book on breastfeeding. Everything was set to go.

The morning after James was born I had what was probably one of the most bizarre yet amazing experiences of my life.

My husband went home to take a nap, and my mother came by to see her new grandson. Minutes later, my abuela entered. There are no words to describe this woman, but I will attempt to. Abuelita, or "Lita" as we call her, is half old world and half new world. She's stuck somewhere between Nuevo Laredo and Arlington, VA. She puts toothpicks in her avocado pits and attempts to grow a tree on the windowsill. She belongs to a "grandmas only" duck pin team. She has a portrait of a neon blue bull fighter next to a picture of my abuelo in his American Army uniform. She eats frijoles refritos on Wonder Bread. Seriously. And boy, does this woman always have a story for you. My brothers and I used to play a game where we would try to think of the most random thing possible and bring it up with her to see if we could stump her story telling. It has yet to happen. And I love her. I love everything about her. She can drive you crazy, but her stories and food and quirks make everything worth it.

That morning, I had old world Lita standing in my room. My mother and my grandmother sat with me and showed me how to help James form a proper latch to the breast. There I was, totally exposed to my mother and grandmother. 1 year ago I would have died at the thought of this, but for some reason, the situation felt totally right. Lita held James while my mom helped me get situated, and when I was ready for him she said, "zhoom! eet eez tiyime for lonch leetle whun!" and placed him on my breast. And then James began to chomp away. I've never really identified with my Mexican heritage, my mom's family assimilated big time in the 50s and lost a lot of their culture, but for that moment, we were in Mexico, and it was beautiful. If only every woman could have this kind of support from women in her family, then maybe a lot more women would breastfeed.