moloko

the moment i looked at this vandalized city sculpture in reus (small city, south of barcelona, where famous architect antoni gaudí was born), i identified myself with it. with her. i was breastfeeding at the time, and let me tell you, it's tough. sure, it's healthy, natural and beautiful, but exhausting and, at times, even excruciating. that is something i was not expecting while i was expecting, during which a lot of my energy, and a little bit of fear, were focused on childbirth.

for the first few days, it was a cup of tea, lovely and sweet. as the hours progressed and the feeding continued, a slight discomfort turned into shut-your-eyes-and-squeeze-someone's-arm-pain that eventually became unbearable pain. after all, a tip of me was being sucked ferociously by a tiny, yet very hungry person.

what did i do? i pumped my way through three months of breastfeeding in a bottle. i did it every three hours, whether at home, in the car, at the museum (in the restroom, of course) or on an airplane. it was physically draining, which is why, when my coco became as plump as a cherub, i gradually stopped my supply. apparently, if i had originally sweated it out for two to four more weeks, everything would have gone back to cup-of-tea mode. unfortunately, i learned this after pumping my heart out.