On Boobies and Darth Vader

It’s been 4 months and I still haven’t gotten over the fact that I  grew a real live person inside my body. I made a human! Not only did I make a human, but I also continue to make her grow, using only my boobs (and love and junk). She’s like my little meaty pooping plant, and I water her with my milk.

This knowledge, and the fact that Whitney is a very healthy little girl, has made me cocky. Up until last night, I was convinced that my breast milk had magical powers. When Whit’s crying, I feed it to her to make her stop; when she scratches herself, I slather it on her cuts to heal them; when I’m feeling fat, I tell myself I would be morbidly obese if I wasn’t nursing to make myself feel better…. I was so convinced that my milk is magic,  I never expected Whitney to get sick. I kept telling myself that her health streak was 100% attributed to my boobs (it certainly wasn’t related to my sterilizing bottles or keeping her inside or making sure she doesn’t gum the toys of her sick friends – because I do none of that).

And then she got hit with a cold last night that made her sound like a tiny Darth Vader. It broke my heart and made me realize that, even though my milk is like Jesus tears, even breastfed babies get sick.

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