My nipples are superheroes...?
A thoughtful rant about the invisible labor of feeding babies. Featuring titty floats.
Sometimes when I look in the mirror, my milk pumping bra makes it looks like my nipples are wearing a superhero mask. Like, if Wonder Woman had nipples for eyes? No, that's too weird. This is what it looks like (I guess I could just share the actual pic but somehow drawing it feels better.)
I saw something recently that compared mothers to superheroes. Maybe it's meant to be a compliment, and since we get such abysmal recognition, maybe I should take what I can get. But I think being likened to a superhero is exactly what keeps a mother's labor invisible. We're put on this pedestal of being bionic bad ass bitches who can physically and emotionally carry our families on our backs all while cooking dinner and running on four hours of sleep.
It's really a pseudo acknowledgement, like telling a drowning person that because they're kicking their legs real hard, they're doing great!
While it's true that I can surprisingly accomplish a whole lot on four hours of sleep, I'm past the point of feeling validated by someone telling me I'm doing great, or that I'm capable of so much, or that I'm so strong. Yeah, I pushed a baby out of my vagina and turned around and started mothering with no breaks since. I know that I'm capable of a lot. I see that every single day.
Words of affirmation just don't cut it. The whole superhero thing feels dehumanizing because it doesn’t leave any room for us to be weak, to need help, to be overstimulated, to be grouchy or angry or simply not in the mood for any of this.
Last weekend I had an emotional breakdown, which, for a six-month postpartum girlie, is just another Saturday. The flavor of this particular meltdown: breastmilk.
My body simply could not keep up with the insatiable baby I live with. I was distraught. I felt like a failure as a mother. Why can't my body produce enough milk for him? What's wrong with me? I should be doing more!
So, naturally, I vented about it on Instagram, as I am wont to do (I over-share on the internet, remember?)
As I was typing out my rant on IG stories, I realized that I was misdirecting my ire.
After airing my dirty laundry in the IG sun, it became clear to me that my anger was with society at large: with a culture that renders the labor of feeding babies absolutely invisible.
I feel like we are sold this idea that breastfeeding is this natural, easy, ~goddess vibes~ thing that happens: After you give birth, you emerge from sea foam à la Aphrodite with your baby latched at your nip. This could not be farther from the truth! Well, maybe for some people this is their journey, which, like, good for you. You go Aphrodite!
My truth is that breastfeeding is messy, stressful, uncomfortable, emotional, exhausting, time-consuming, very fucking cool and beautiful, and totally invisible labor.
Producing milk for a baby is the equivalent of running seven miles a day, but because I'm not jogging in Lululemons, my Apple Watch doesn’t count it towards my activity rings (et tu, Apple?) I spend, on average, 140 minutes a day pumping, and this doesn't even include the time spent actually feeding my baby, washing bottles and pump parts, storing and sorting milk, making sure I'm eating and drinking enough to keep my supply up—and I won't even get into the Jedi mind tricks I do on myself every day just to make it through without disintegrating into little sleep-deprived dust particles. All of that? Totally. Invisible. Labor.
I don’t want to be called a superhero for being able to entertain a six-month-old baby while cooking and pumping. I don’t want to be called strong, or badass, or resilient. I want us to be paid for working all day and all night, sacrificing our bodies to feed and care for our babies. Where are our standing ovations, where are our flowers, where are our parades with big titty floats, where are our monuments with fountains of milk? Where is our goddamn national holiday?
What my baby feeding fest flier would look like. Come one, come all!
I'm sort of kidding. But because certain bodies are capable of growing and birthing humans, and then making milk for those humans, these incredible feats are shrugged off because they're "natural" or simply just another function of the body. No one claps when I take a shit, so who cares if you can produce some milk for your baby?
Well, when you take an eight-pound, one-ounce shit, I’ll be sure to applaud! Until then, I will be feeding my baby while dreaming of a six-figure breastfeeding stipend and a parade of titty floats.
As always, I never promise to have the answers, but I sure do love having you along while I figure it out.
Ayu
Do you have answers?
Have you ever breast/chest fed a baby? Or just been responsible for feeding a baby period (we are formula friendly here!!)? What kind of support did you wish you had? I would love to hear from you! Respond to this email or leave a comment <3
This newsletter is created on the traditional land of the Duwamish People, past and present. I honor with gratitude the land itself and the Duwamish Tribe.
I feel this so hard Ayu, and am grateful for you taking the time to write about it. I literally have a pretty large substack draft about breastfeeding theology but it’s hard to find the words for this immense and exhausting and ineffable experience.
To answer your question, I’m really grateful that my partner makes me tea and breakfast pretty much every morning and is expanding his cooking repertoire more and more. I’ve always been a kitchen dom in our relationship so I haven’t given him much space to learn how to cook for my pleasure until now and I wish I had done so earlier. Being fed by others while feeding the baby is huge.
I also really admire people breastfeeding in public and I always thought I would but I’m so uncomfortable doing it. I think both due to hyper vigilance around the malegaze and that it’s just such an intimate thing to share with my baby. I want intimate private softly cushioned places just for breastfeeding everywhere in this country stocked with snacks and coconut water and kind other mothers who encourage one another.