I was 23 when I first read Beth Anne Fennelly’s Tender Hooks. I thought it was a beautiful book. I didn’t understand it. Eleven years later, I think I’m beginning to.
Today I’m thankful for breastfeeding. I’m especially thankful, seeing as how we’re sick and the baby is somehow not. (Go outside. Curse. Turn around and spit.) the science astounds me. The politics are my politics. The bond I have with Henry is incredible. And tender.
Thee have been times when breastfeeding was awful, when I hated it, when I wished that boy of mine would just for the love of God take a bottle already, all the rest. Times when the hooks were definitely hooks, and painful. Still, we’ve made it almost ten months. H doesn’t show any signs of weaning. I’m happy with that. I’m glad to know I can nourish and comfort him with all that’s ahead.
I didn’t have many examples of breastfeeding, but I’m also thankful for the women who were there for me to see. To listen to. To read.