On breast milk

I started lactating when I was pregnant with August, sometime in 2001, and since he and William both nursed until they were around three years old, by the time they were both weaned, I think my body was so used to producing milk, that even a year after the last latch-on, I could still expel breast milk. I might have gone about a year or two without, but then I got pregnant again, with Karl-Abraham, and my body instantly started the milk production again. In all, I’ve lactated for most of this past decade.

So breast milk is a very natural thing in our household. The boys both have a very healthy relationship to it. When Abraham was born, we all joked about them trying the milk again, and although they thought about it for a moment, and talked about it, they both decided that was a little weird.

When we were discussing Abraham’s mini-birthday party last week, and I asked the boys what they thought we should serve, William suggested we serve breast milk. I’m still not sure if he was joking or not. I think he was thinking that we would invite only babies, since Abraham’s real friends are the babies we meet. “We should get a bunch of pregnant womens together,” he suggested, “and serve breast milk, Abraham’s favorite food!” Very thoughtful. We talked about why this was not a good idea. First of all “What?” Secondly, pregnant women usually don’t lactate, at least not very much; new mothers do. Third, no; substituting the full milk in the cake with breast milk would not be a nice compromise, because people in general don’t drink breast milk and it’s considered weird to serve it or cook with it.

I don’t think I had to explain all this to William. He knew already. But the little boy he is, he still needed to ask all the questions, and in the end, I ran out of good, prearranged answers. "Why is it considered weird? We drink cow’s milk. How is that not weird? Is it dangerous to adults? No? Breast milk is healthy? Then why don’t people drink it? Why do we buy milk when you have all that milk?"