“Breastfeeding?”
“Yes.”
“Oh that’s great. Nothing better than Mommy’s milk.”

 6 months later.
“Still breastfeeding?”
“Yes.”
“No wonder. You look sleep deprived.”
You look deprived. Generally deprived.

Another 3 months down the road.
“STILL breastfeeding?”
“YES.”
“Wow, not bad. But be careful of sagging breasts.”
Well, you take care of yours and let me handle mine ok?

Doughnut’s 1st birthday.
“Ok, let me guess. STILL a human cow?”
If I’m a human cow, then there are 2 cows in this conversation.

18 months old.
“You really have endless supply don’t you?”
You really have endless questions don’t you?

Doughnut had just turned 2.
“No plans to wean her off? Your breasts need some rest you know.”
No. I plan to breastfeed her till she’s 5. (and wait for that priceless reaction)

If only I had the guts to answer them what I was thinking aloud in italics. If only.

When you become a mom, you are almost instantly surrounded by family members, relatives and their friends, more than 50% of whom you’ve never met or never knew existed. Once they find out that you are breastfeeding, 80% will happily dispense “friendly advice” and share their child-raising experiences with you, 95% of the time unasked for. And in the process, there’s a 99% chance that you will either hear stories of how they managed to breastfeed all 6 kids without any help, or testimonials on the wonders of formula milk.

Okay, I made up the stats. But you get my point, right?

People talk about breasts. All the time. And it’s not a problem, really. But if you’re talking about MY breasts, then I’m all ears. And it had better be something I like to hear.

As if breastfeeding itself wasn’t stressful enough, we are constantly reminded of sagging breasts, being a human pacifier, breastfeeding in public, sleep deprivation, unattractive nursing bras and clingy babies. So, after close to 3 years of “When are you weaning her off?”, I’ve come to a realization and an epiphany: that the biggest ‘side effect’ of breastfeeding is actually a rising blood pressure (and none of the above-mentioned), but if I can’t change most of the people around me, it’s time that I change my own perspectives.

Chin Up
First things first. Breastfeeding is (and should be) a very personal decision. Whether to breastfeed or how long to breastfeed is MY decision and no one else’s. There will be doubters, skeptics, hardcore advocates, mothers-in-law and all sorts. If you made the choice to breastfeed, stand firm and do what you think is best. It’s YOUR breasts and YOUR baby after all.

Read Up
It won’t be a bed of roses but it ain’t all gloom-and-doom either. Resources on breastfeeding are aplenty so take time to absorb as much as you can BEFORE your baby arrives. And here’s a GOLDEN tip: Get your husbands on board too — the sooner the better. In times of adversity, he will be your pillar of strength, the knight in shining armor that shoos away all the unwanted attention and let you breastfeed in peace. And if you train him well, he can even burp the baby correctly, giving you an extra seven minutes’ sleep.

You will soon notice that your (and your husband’s) archive of sniper replies are increasing steadily, while questions and comments on breastfeeding are decreasing at the same time. Based on personal experience.

Speak Up
With the exception of a few lucky ones, most of us warrior through our breastfeeding journeys alone, managing waves and waves of emotional roller coaster along the way. There will be days when you feel like throwing in the towel. But you know what? You are not alone. Get in touch with fellow breastfeeding mothers and share your war stories. Virtual hugs are proven to be one of the best cures.

Push Up
I’m referring to the little “extra gravity-defying help” we breastfeeding mothers could all do with after the long battle. Not the similarly-named physical workout routine.

And for the rest of the world who chooses to be ignorant or not to understand, Zip Up would be my only advice.

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Lai San is an ex-marketer living in Jakarta but her heart has never left KL. Mother to 3 years old Doughnut, she is close to total cure of her OCD with a toddler to clean up after at home. When not stuck in a jam, she writes freelance as a cover up for her total inability to cook, bake or sew.

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