by Mary Jessica Hammes
July 15, 2009

There are many things about motherhood that came as complete surprises to me, which makes me wonder what other information has been withheld from me over the years.

For example, no one told me that when I was pregnant that I’d wet my pants if I coughed or laughed really hard, or that both hair in weird places and my feet would grow. I certainly did not know that stretch marks looked like that.

After my son was born, I did not expect that his poop would resemble road tar or that I’d be so sleep deprived and miserable that I considered putting him in the mailbox for the next passerby.

I didn’t know that breastfeeding would hurt, or that milk “came in” (in a puddle, while I fitfully slept, apparently). I didn’t know that choosing to breastfeed while going back to work was practically a political act of defiance. I didn’t know that breastfeeding can make you cry or make you feel so in love that you wonder how your heart can hold it all.

You might as well know what you’re getting into, and that’s why Unbuttoned (Harvard Common Press, 2009), a collection of extremely frank essays on breastfeeding, from the first latch to weaning, is so valuable.

Editors Dana Sullivan and Maureen Connolly (co-authors of The Essential C-Section Guide) gathered a group of high-powered voices in journalism and publishing, most of whom live in major northern cities (the famed New York City breastfeeding resource store, The Upper Breast Side, is mentioned several times by different writers).

This limits some of the experiences in the essays—I now feel quite acquainted with the ins and outs of parenting and New York City apartment living, for instance—but the women’s experiences in breastfeeding are quite diverse and all expertly told by fine writers, which makes the book feel fresh with each chapter.

Some of the writers breastfed their children for years, some breastfed for just a few months, and others not at all. But all of them can relate to the overwhelming judgment coming from outside parties when it comes to how you use your breasts with your babies. And some of that judgment comes from within the mothers themselves, fighting postpartum depression or simply an overall feeling of not being good enough.

The short version? You are not alone.

The essays
There are moments of hilarity, like when Leslie Crawford writes about breastfeeding on a plane and accidentally (spectacularly, really) squirting a passenger in front of her in “Tit for Tat.” Fans of Catherine Newman (of Waiting for Birdy fame) will enjoy her particular blend of humor and poignancy in “Wean,” in which her toddler daughter asks: “Just a yitto, Mama? A tiny sip?”

Perhaps the most unexpected essay was Rachel Sarah’s “SWL(actating) Seeking Sex with No Strings Attached,” in which the author describes her dating experiences as single, nursing mother—and the man she meets who is really into lactating women. I mean, really into them.

Fernanda Moore’s “The Boys Who Nursed Forever” is a witty, bright and downright happy take on weaning. I particularly like the sweet rhyme she chants with her youngest toddler, in preparation for that day when the milk goes bye-bye: “When you’re four, there’s no more.”

Poet Rachel Zucker talks about how she thought her nursing journal would be more “dreamily poetic discourse” instead of the “litany of banalities,” but it’s the latter quality that makes her essay, “Only the Baby Has Nowhere to Go,” so enjoyable and relatable. She nurses everywhere—on the bus, in the post office, over dinner during an unexpected Sex Ed lesson with her two older children—but instead of banal, these moments feel deeper, more introspective.

For me, the most eye-opening essay is “Because I Don’t Want To,” by Patricia Berry. Berry writes that when she was pregnant, there was scientific proof that breastfeeding was best. But the queasy feeling she felt about nursing while pregnant—it “made my skin crawl,” she writes—trumped all that. Her husband didn’t understand why she wouldn’t try and her local chapter of La Leche League gave her hell. I confess that I didn’t understand, either, especially since she insists that there wasn’t any deep-rooted, underlying reason for her discomfort to the idea. It’s a little hard to gauge her present-day conviction on her decision: she seems to stand by it, but also says that she’s “wistful” she didn’t give it a try, that maybe if given another chance, she could shake off the “heebie-jeebies.” And of her daughters, she writes: “Do I think they should breastfeed my grandchildren? Yes, I do. I would like them to try, at least.”

In the end, one thing is crystal-clear. Instead of trying to dissect a woman’s decision, scorn her for rejecting what is objectively the healthiest choice, or pressure her to change her mind, perhaps the most supportive choice of all would be simply to respect her choice and support her as a mother.

Mary Jessica Hammes is an Athens, Georgia-based writer, trapeze instructor, knitter, gardener, comic book enthusiast, and hula hooper. She is mom to Tommy.