My Father Holds Me StillWritten by Abigail Dotson
When I was younger, my room always got icy cold at night. Before I went to bed, I would crank heat up something vicious and close all windows tight; then I would crawl into bed and fall asleep all toasty warm. As far back as I can remember, night after night, my dad would sneak into my room after he was sure I was sleeping and open all windows. You see, he’s from Minnesota, and he always thought fresh night air was good for me. Well, sure enough, morning would come and I would wake up shivering, all my windows open to let in wind. I would jump out from under covers and hop across wood floor, bouncing out back door into early morning sun and find my dad in garage, printing. I would yell at him, frustrated that he had done it again, and he would just shrug his shoulders at me and not really say anything at all. Every night was same. And every morning I woke up cold and angry, although after awhile I guess I came to expect it. After awhile, I guess while I was sleeping I could feel wind on my cheeks and hear trees waking up...after awhile, I guess I kind of liked it, even if I didn’t know it.When I was eighteen and moved away from home to go to school, my dad helped me move in. My first night in my dorm room I was alone. I guess I really knew I had left home when I woke up and window was still closed. It scared me. From that night on, I always kept it open.
| | Keeping AbreastWritten by Abigail Dotson
When I found out I was going to become a mom, there were a lot of things to consider. I had to think about whether or not I wanted to immunize, who would be at my birth and what to name baby. I thought about whether I would quit working all together or try to work from home, who to invite to birth and whether or not to give my newborn vitamin k. But there were some things that were a given from moment I stood in my obgyn’s office and heard her tell me I was pregnant. I would have a home birth, I would sleep with my baby and I would breastfeed. Forever, if I could. So from moment that sweet little pea slid out of my body and latched on, I was as hooked as she. I couldn’t really imagine that there would be folks who would be offended by my tendency to whip ‘em out at any given moment, sort of like how when I was growing up I couldn’t imagine that there were really republicans and that I would ever meet one. And so I approached public breastfeeding with an almost “I dare you” sort of philosophy. I was a firm believer in feeding on demand from very beginning, and if my daughter wanted to nurse right at moment I happened to be standing in checkout line at supermarket, then formula feeding mother of four behind me and Harley Davidson rider in front of me were just going to have to be privy to our not-so-private moment. I could often be seen wheeling her stroller with one hand as I walked down beach cradling my suckling daughter at my bosom. It doesn’t take long to learn how to use your two hands as if they are four when you’re a breastfeeding mother.There were certainly stares, and occasional nudge to a friend as strangers passed me and my breasts in public venues. I let obscene comment of a teenager or two roll off my shoulders (only because they were teenagers), feeling sad that seeing a breastfeeding woman as nature intended her was cause enough to incite such nasty comments in new millennium’s generation of kids. I wondered what that said about our society. If nothing else, it said that not enough women are either breastfeeding at all, or comfortable enough doing it publicly to normalize experience for those around us. And sadly, this directly affects our children. When we are uncomfortable breastfeeding, we will turn more quickly to alternate forms of nourishment, forsaking ultimate nutritional and bonding value of breast milk for bottles (even those who choose to pump are robbing themselves and their children of many other benefits of breastfeeding). As those of you who’ve breastfed children yourselves already know, it takes a little time to really get knack of it. So in beginning, I must admit, my grace was suffering and often I stumbled through experience, unable to successfully lift one side of my shirt without lifting other, accidentally untying bow on my postpartum drawstring pants, not to mention needing to expose entire breast just to get my daughter to nipple. But these things happen, and with a little practice we soon became an expert team. I could push stroller, browse new releases at our local bookstore, carry on a cell phone conversation and nurse baby all at same time. Most mothers can. With time, nursing became second nature to me, and I suppose like every nursing mother these days I was confronted with a certain facet of society who was “not-so-supportive” of public breastfeeding. Like a true Sagittarian, I was ready to rumble. I confess there was a part of me that almost couldn’t wait for man in bank to call me a “f---ing rodent” as I sat on a sofa quietly nursing my baby girl. I knew what to say to him, I had it all rehearsed in my head. I almost wanted to get kicked out of a restaurant, just so I could give manager a piece of my mind. I would defend my right to breastfeed with a patriotic gusto, vehement in my pro-breastfeeding stand. When confronted with such blatant disapproval, I knew exactly what to say and stood on strong ground. The problem came from a less likely place. I had anticipated angry passersby and disgusted store owners; what I had not prepared for was onslaught of subtle disapproval cleverly disguised as support. I did not question my motives, my exposed breast or my timing when openly harassed. It wasn’t until a kindly woman asked me if I would like her to show me to a more private corner that I began to feel ill-at-ease. Until then, it hadn’t occurred to me that many rational people- people who believed whole-heartedly in breastfeeding- expected that I would prefer privacy. Her well-wishing concern gave me my first dose of self-consciousness around issue, as if someone had suddenly pointed out that there was something to feel awkward about where before there had been nothing. While it is words like hers that led me to examine this very issue, I am hopeful that one day our society as a whole can return to place of my previous naiveté.
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