By now, you’ve probably gotten the memo:
I’m still breastfeeding M and Little Homie.
(And I’m happy to take on another customer or two if you know of anyone in Israel who is interested. I charge 75 shekels an hour. I could really use the money.Thanx.)
It’s like a spread in National Geographic magazine over here – M on one tit, Little Homie on the other. I think B may have taken a picture or two, because, hey, if Octomom can get propositioned by Vivid Entertainment, maybe I could sell these pics to Hustler.
(My contact information is on the right side of this page. Again, I could really use the money Thanx.)
You may assume that I’m one of those crunchy granolla mamas with the wind blowing through my
arm-pit
hair, all hippied out and high on my attachment parenting ethos.
I’m really not
The only reason I tandem breastfeed is because
it’s easy to shut my daughter up by shoving my tit in her mouth when she’s in tired or sick
it’s convenient.
And cheap.
The women on this kibbutz are way more badass than I am. They all lift their shirts up with reckless abandon and feed their kids, and the men don’t even bat an eye. In fact, when I was skulking around the Kibbutz dining hall the other day looking for a potted plant to nurse behind, one of the other mamas asked me why I just don’t feed the baby at the table like everyone else.
And while I’m down with others nursing in public, I can’t bring myself to whip out my tit in Kibbutz dining hall and feed Little Homie in front of everyone.
It has nothing to do with modesty. I’m really not a prude. But in the immortal words of Chris Rock:
“40 year old titty? That’s your man’s titty. 20 year old titty? COMMUNITY TITTY.”
And while I’m only 29, after two back-to-back pregnancies, serving hard-time with a Madela nursing pump when M was little, and breastfeeding for almost three years straight it boils down to this:
My breasts look better in a bra. Under a shirt.
And besides the convenience of breastfeeding – tandem or otherwise – I believed
that my boobies would make lots of shiny, happy antibodies, and M and Little Homie would shit rainbows
that nursing would make my kids healthier.
But not so.
Newsflash: My boobies are not magical.
There’s a rumor going ‘round these parts that I’m having an affair with the
brooding, intense, and incredibly sexy
oncall ER pediatrician at the nearby hospital.
I suppose this begs the question how did I meet an ER pediatrician in the first place.
Well.
Ever since we landed here, our entire family has been body-slammed with disease.
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