WFPP Guest Post: FCUKing the Patriarchy

Welcome to the first official entry to the Womanist/Feminist Parenting Primer! Today's guest post comes from a reader who wishes to be known as "Mama of the Family from the Fringes".

The Family from the Fringes Mama is a former academic and editor with a degree in political science and women's studies who now works as a pregnancy, birth and postpartum servant and is training to become a breastfeeding counsellor. She is also a full-time mother to one homeborn, cloth bummed, co-sleeping, babyworn, breastfed, unschooled child who she (and her male partner) are hoping to raise feminist.

To understand the context of this post, which MotFftF places as a PS, it's important to know that fcuk, and slogans playing on fcuk, come from a clothing company, ostensibly as an acronym for French Connection United Kingdom. A series of shirts with lines such as "fcuk fashion" and "hot as fcuk" were released. In this context, the message on the shirt in question goes from an inexplicably misspelled anti-patriarchalism to a fairly clever subversion of a patriarchal clothing line.

Regardless of whether you think placing almost-swear words on an illiterate child is appropriate, or something you yourself would do, this piece is a welcome start to the Primer as the story of the way one feminist family deals with the fallout of raising a child overtly and explicitly anti-patriarchy.

FCUKing The Patriarchy

When Harri was born she received a t-shirt from one of her Aunts, which was bought for Harriet with her mother and father's sense of humour and political leanings in mind. It doesn't get worn out much since a woman in her 60s verbally abused Harriet's Mama in a room full of people, saying "do you want people to think of fucking when they think of your baby girl? Because that's what they will think! You shouldn't be allowed to use your child to promote your political message."

Mama packed the shirt away for a few months, shaken by her public shaming (though it should be noted that before and after the shaming the other women who were present in that room had come to Harriet's Mum to tell her how much they loved and appreciated the shirt). When asked what she thought about the shirt a dear family friend, who we shall call Grace, said "FCUK that woman and her opinion. It's just her opinion! And it is MY opinion that every man, woman and child should have a shirt like that and wear it everywhere!"

Mama stumbled across a slogan today that inspired her to put the shirt back on Harri. It said "Children. Have them. Love them. Radicalize them!" Damn straight. Honestly, in a culture where little boys have "chick magnet" and "lock up your daughters" on their tees and little girls are dressed to look like slutty adults, with toddlers able to get g-strings and bikinis in their size, a little fcuking of the patriarchy can only be a good thing!

We understand the objection to pushing political opinions onto our children that are not their own. But ultimately we see little difference between dressing Harriet in a shirt that promotes bringing an end to male dominance and a shirt that promotes breastfeeding; they both espouse positive ideas that are good for the health of all people (they're just not popular in a capitalist patriarchy).

As Harri grows and forms her own opinions about these issues it will be entirely her choice whether or not she wants to wear clothing with politically motivated messages on them and we have always been honest with her about meanings (from the myth of Santa to the importance of breastfeeding and the problems with patriarchy - which she already experiences first hand as a woman-in-training in this society). For now she seems fine with it:

PS I also love that this shirt is a spoof of the FCUK fashion brand (French Connection United Kingdom) because fashion plays such an important part in upholding patriarchy.

...now what does that mean in the real world?

This is a follow up to my post The personal and the political, and a response to this question from reader Rachel on Two things I do believe and several things I don't:

...she said she and her husband chose to do [crying it out], he is involved in bedtime and it was a decision they both made.

They don't fit what you've described.

So how would you respond in a similar situation?

Much like Rachel, I both wouldn't want to criticize their choice, but also would feel quite uncomfortable tacitly supporting a practice I feel to be unnecessary and unkind, at best, and borderline abusive, at worst. In truth, I, like her, would be unlikely to say anything.

In fact, I've been in situations similar. My brother and sister-in-law did the "graduated extinction" form of CIO with both of their children: once I was on the phone with my brother, hearing my niece cry in the background and my SIL periodically go in to "reassure" her. At that time, I did try to say something, along the lines of "Sometimes babies just need help getting to sleep." He took this to mean an endorsement of the practice I was trying to gently speak against. I got off the phone shortly after that, and we haven't talked about parenting and children's sleep since then.

Why didn't I say anything more? In part because he's my brother, and I love him, and I want to be able to continue to have him in my life for decades to come. But also because I think advocacy of parenting practices works on the individual level before the other party has made a decision, or when they are unsatisfied with the decision, or are reflecting on a past decision when looking forward to a new one. They must, in some way, be open to and interested in new information, or a new perspective, about the topic. I don't find it useful to try to get someone to regret a decision that is over and done with, about which there is nothing can be done to change it, or that is currently being done and about which they are likely to be highly defensive.

I think we also must recognize that no matter what information we share with someone, some people are going to make decisions we disagree with. This is hard to deal with when it is a subject we are passionate about, and especially when it affects the health and well-being of children as crying it, unnecessary formula use, and so on do. Here, I find it helpful to remember a few things:

• Human beings are remarkably resilient creatures. We can endure, even in infancy, a profound array of actually abusive practices, and still, often, grow up in to reasonably sane, worthwhile, beautiful persons. While not good for us, we can usually survive and even thrive under sub-standard conditions of the sort lactivists and attachment parenting types speak against: most babies are not going to be killed by unnecessary formula; most babies are not going to fail to thrive or develop attachment pathologies from being abandoned to cry. Odds are, they're still going to be fine. "My parents did X, and I turned out alright" is a lousy excuse for not doing better, but it's a good mantra to save my sanity, and reducing my stress and anxiety is good for my own child.


• I cannot single-handedly counter the kyriarchy. Every parent receives a thousand messages a day from their society, usually messages overtly or covertly promoting kyriarchal values, including messages saying biology is inferior to science, women's bodies are broken or dangerous, healthy interdependence is pathological dependence, and so on. While I can influence, I might only be a drop the proverbial bucket of information that a parent receives about breastfeeding and infant sleep, and the rest are likely lies and fallacies promoted by the kyriarchy. There is only so much I can do, and while what I do is important and necessary and valuable, it is not up to me alone to change the world or change another's mind.


• When an individual does manage to defy her cultural expectations -- by breastfeeding full term, by meeting her children's nighttime needs without leaving them to cry, by raising her child to be anti-sexist and anti-racist -- by all means I should give her the credit, but when she does not, I find it far more useful to give the culture the blame. I say this both because women and parents exist within the kyriarchy, and have their choices influenced and constricted thereby, and because I don't have any desire to add the stress of blaming her to my own life and to our relationship. In other words, I take the long view because it makes my life easier.

So in all, my philosophy doesn't make me look much different in action (in this situation) than any other parent. I get extremely uncomfortable, I try to avoid conflict, and I expend far too much mental energy worrying it over after the fact. I try to speak against the practices I believe harmful when I can -- when I believe it to be potentially helpful, and not dangerous to my person or my sanity -- and I try to let it go when I can't.

Other women, other parents, are not my enemy, no matter how much I may disagree with them. Whether or not it's true, as long as we continue to live under kyriarchy, I am going to continue to believe that parents would not be abandoning their children to cry at night in a sane society, with proper social support and accurate information. I am going to continue to believe that all women capable of it would choose to exclusively breastfeed, and to nurse full-term, in a society that welcomed and promoted it. I will always continue to speak truth as I see it on subjects such as CIO, whether it's well-received or not, and I will always do my best to be a positive influence in individuals' lives, but I refuse to do the kyriarchy's work of attacking them when they do "wrong".



The first guest post to the Womanist/Feminist Parenting Primer goes up tomorrow! Be sure to submit your own stories for future posts in the series.

Neither monsters nor martyrs be: lessons on motherhood from my menstrual cycle

Thanks to the science of charting, I knew enough to pull on my red undies this morning, and toss a couple pads in my bag before heading out for a day on the town. Sure enough, my flow showed as predicted, and I was pleased to be prepared, even if for once I was hoping to be wrong.

Mostly, I'm fine with cycling and menstruating. The way my genitals change over the course of the month -- dormant, dry, raised and closed, through wet, open, swollen and fertile and back again -- never ceases to fascinate me. I like my cloth pads, enjoy making them and using them. I'm in no way ashamed of menstruation, or the cyclical nature of my hormones and their affect on my mood and being; I believe I carry none of the patriarchal conceptions of menstrual or cervical fluids as dirty or disgusting.

But sometimes, I just get tired of it. Especially with 9-10 day luteal phases (standard being 12-16), meaning even fewer opportunities for deliciously natural PIV sex (that being, let me be frank, my prime motivator for charting), and 26-28 day cycles of which 6-7 days are spent bleeding, even menstruation-enthusiast me gets weary of the more-than-monthly bleed, and the associated irritations, discomforts, and duties. It doesn't matter how much we love something, everything complex has its downsides, its annoyances, its downright drags: menstruation, breastfeeding, baby-care, school, blogging; everything.

I was thinking of this just this afternoon, bloody pad between my legs and crying toddler in my arms. We had been in downtown Portland most of the day, chasing him around Powell's City of Books between making sure he didn't kill himself in his enthusiasm for the MAX trains. He was ready for a nap, and I was beyond ready for him to nap, and could have used a quiet lie down myself. When he woke up when we tried to transfer him from the car to the bed, after three minutes' nap, he was cranky and I was crankier.

I love my child with all my heart. I love spending time with him. Although finally getting to the point where I'd jump at the chance to have an evening away with my beloved, and having been in school for nearly a year because I started needing outside pursuits again, I'm perfectly happy spending nearly his every waking moment together. But I need some down time now and then.

That's not exactly a revolutionary confession; at the moment, it seems, there's a whole industry based on the "bad mom" who revels in revealing all the sordid sides of parenting. This is in direct reaction to the previous "good mom", who never admitted anything was less than perfect.

I've never been happy with or identified with either of these stereotypes, because both of these are false constructs of the patriarchy, both serve its goals: the "perfect mom" by raising women who parent up on unreachable pedestals, inhuman, with all us mere mortals able to be treated as rubbish when we inevitably fail to achieve those heights; the "bad mom" by disregarding the blissful moments of parenting, and reducing its rewarding toil to fodder for fecal jokes, deriding those of us who would take seriously this stage of our and our children's lives.

The "perfect mom" would have me write off, suppress, any frustrations around being always on call. The "bad mom" would have me mix a martini and let him squawl, or book a cruise to the Caribbean and abandon him with relatives. Problem is, I don't hit the bottle, my momma taught me not to bottle it up, and if I'm going to a tropical beach I can't imagine leaving him behind.

The thing about the kyriarchy is it dehumanizes us: either we don't admit to having periods, or believe they're dirty and work to do away with them. Either we adore our perfect angels, or we barely tolerate the little snots. Either we are martyrs or we are monsters. I'm not going to pop a pill to stop cycling, I'm not going to drug my kid or let him cry-it-out to nap: I can admit I'd like a break, admit and examine my ambivalence, without being a martyr, without being a monster. The kyriarchy is going to try to shove me in to one of those little limiting boxes, but I say no.

When my child wakes up barely after falling asleep, I take a deep breath (let out a few cries of my own), and figure out a way to survive. When my period shows up without having a chance to take advantage of my unmessy infertile phase, I take a deep breath (mutter a few choice curses), and resolve to plan better next month.

Sure, I'd love a break. But this is life: and on the whole, I wouldn't have it any other way.

A Carnival to read and a Primer to name

Over at Mothers for Women's Lib, the Second Carnival of Feminist Parenting is up. There are some great articles up, including the call for submissions for the Feminist Parenting Primer by yours truly.

Some featured posts:

Stephanie Rosado presents Motherhood = Feminism = Activism posted at Mothering in the Margins.

Scott presents On Gendered Interests in Children posted at A Canadian Lefty in Occupied Land.

Kenzie presents Babies and the Cultural Performance of Femininity posted at Birthcycle.

Elisha Webster Emerson presents Would you Like Sex with That Burger? posted at My Inconvenient Body.

Be sure to check it out, and support womanist/feminist blogging parents. And do submit posts for upcoming carnivals!

Speaking of begging for submissions, I'll be posting the first guest entry to what is currently being called the Womanist/Feminist Parenting Primer later this week, but I'm not sure that's the name I want to keep using. It's accurate, sure, but if you have any catchier (or sillier!) suggestions, post a comment. And whatever it's called, write something for it!

The personal and the political

What do I mean when I say “...getting sucked into attacks and defenses of individual "choices" is not only missing the point, it is supporting the patriarchy”?

It is certainly understandable when faced with the task of changing one's whole culture all in one go to feel overwhelmed, as reader Rachel bemoans: “I think that's what I find daunting about your posts--you address the larger cultural, societal issues that I feel are out of my control. … But my whole culture. That seems impossible.”

And as Jeremy Adam Smith points out over at Daddy Dialectic, there is a trap on the other side, for those who believe “only after the revolution can our piddling interpersonal relationships be lastingly altered” to use this as an excuse to “neglect their family responsibilities, especially the guys.” After all, if equality in individual lives is impossible to achieve, no point trying, right?

Neither of those are what I'm hoping to advocate.

When Rachel says “I can control (as much as anyone I think) what goes on in my family”, she is right. When Jeremy asserts “how vital and immediate it is for heterosexual couples to [establish] a domestic division of labor that makes both parties happy”, he is right. It is only ever in ourselves, for ourselves, that we can choose. It is only ever our own actions and choices over which we have direct, though not complete, control. And it is so vitally important that in our own, personal lives that we work to implement our ideals and values.

That is the personal.

As for the political: we are social creatures. Society is only and simply the gestalt of thousands and millions of individuals. And that makes us – each individual – powerful, for we are society, and each of us has the potential to influence all the dozens and hundreds and thousands of persons in our lives, and through them dozens and hundreds and thousands more.

The personal is political, and the political is personal. Decisions are made by the ones who show up, the ones who speak out, the ones who write letters and raise funds and cast votes and serve dinners and volunteer at clinics; sexism and racism and other facets of the kyriarchy are eliminated by those who demand better, of ourselves and of our kith and kin and coworkers. It is by making connections at the individual level – with your family, your friends, your blog readers, your neighbours, your shops' owners, your company's executives, your government representatives – that we can enact political, societal change.

What does not work, however, and what I speak out against, is the attempt to control those around us, especially through shaming. There may be a fine line between offering influence and attempting control, but it is an important one, and when we are speaking of mothers, who are already a highly persecuted class, already so put-upon and guilt-ridden, maintaining that distinction is even more imperative.

I do not say this because I believe women are fragile, dainty things who cannot take criticism: to the contrary, I am continually amazed by just how much we can take and take on and still do all the work that keeps our families and societies running. But our burdens are already so over-heavy that I decline to add what may be the proverbial straw to any woman's back.

Further, each of us lives in the society we all create, and that society is kyriarchal, actively antagonistic to us living joyful, unconstrained, interdependent, fully human lives. Each of us has our choices constrained if not outright dictated by the circumstances and intersections of our lives – each of which combinations is unique, but all similar for making us less than fully able to live as we would in a saner society.

How, then, can we help change society without hurting our sister sufferers? We can encourage; we must not order. We can offer a shoulder; we must not sit in judgment. We can support; we must not shame. We can influence those around us by example, by sharing our stories, by offering information and support; but they must be open to it. We cannot attempt to control those around us through browbeating or shame or force – or we can, but it is a violation of our values as well as almost inevitably ineffective.

We cannot avoid offending those who are determine to be offended, but we can, and we must, watch our own words and actions to avoid allowing the kyriarchy's voice to speak through our throats: that means, in part, declining to partake in the mommy wars in any of its permutations. That means opposing crying-it-out without attacking those who do it. That means defending breastfeeding without insulting those who weren't able to or chose not to. That means promoting natural family living while acknowledging that all of us have a harmful impact on the planet. That means disagreeing and debating and disputing and refuting each other in a way that respects each side's inherent humanity and dignity, because the only real enemy, the only true evil, is the kyriarchy.

So speak out, yes: live your ideals as best you can, and tell your truth as honestly as possible. I cannot say it any better than it has been said before, so forgive me for ending on what is almost cliched; nevertheless I believe it true: “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.” -- Margaret Mead

A feminist parenting primer: share your stories through guest blogging

I'm considering running a series of posts on how we live womanist/feminist parenting; a sort of kaleidoscope primer on the day-to-day living of those of us who fight, oppose, undermine, and dismantle the kyriarchy (or at least try to!) that can help answer the questions "Sure, this all sounds good, but how do you DO this?" or "How can the ideals of feminism and anti-kyriarchy really work in real life?"

This may have some overlap with bluemilk's What does a feminist mother look like?/10 feminist mother questions meme, and the Carnival of Feminist Parenting, but I'm looking for something a little different: an image of your day, or a snapshot of a particular moment, or the tale of a decision you made, or your "feminist family mission statement" and how you try to follow it. Something practical that shows how we really put our ideals into practice. Here are a few of my posts that sort of show what I mean, but I'm really looking for your stories, and your ways of storytelling.

I'm not looking for perfection: sometimes the best opportunities for learning or teaching come when we mess up. And don't worry about it being "good enough" in either feminist content or writing quality -- I'm not going to judge the former, and I can help with the latter. I'm just looking for a picture, big or little, of some way you try to enact womanism/feminism in your life as a parent, and raise the next generation more aware of and less enslaved by kyriarchy/patriarchy.

I'd especially like to get the perspective of parents ("regular", step, adoptive, birth, and to-be or hoping-to-be) who are not male-partnered, white, able-bodied, middle-class, American women -- though even if you are all those things don't let that stop you from submitting.

So what do you think? Sound like a good idea?

Anyone interested, whether you know what to write or not, contact me at raisingmyboychick at gmail dot com.

Please and thank you!


ETA A couple of questions have come up. One, I don't require anyone to identify as a "feminist parent" to participate in this, nor even especially as a "womanist" or "feminist". Identity is up to you. What I am interested in is stories about trying to parent in line with womanist/feminist values, whether identified that way or not: striving for equal coparenting; raising children without limiting gender roles; opposing instances of sexism or racism or other facets of the kyriarchy in your children's lives. Whether you use the words "womanist" or "feminist" or kyriarchy/patriarchy is sort of irrelevant to me (although if you don't, I must admit I'm a little mystified why you'd be reading here!).

The other is that I do want to hear from those who are not-yet-parents: many of us have been opposing the kyriarchy in the parenting realm since we first started whispering the possibility that children might be on the horizon; or even earlier, if we have particularly obnoxious relations. I'd love to hear those stories. And all of us have been children, and had parents or parent stand-ins: perhaps you have a story about being raised by womanists/feminists, or who would never have identified as such but who nevertheless managed to ignite some important proto-feminist spark in you; or, perhaps your parents were Exhibit A in how not to raise children free of kyriarchy -- those could be instructive stories as well.

And if you really just don't have anything to share right now, sit back and enjoy the reading; but I intend for this to be an ever-evolving primer, so don't be surprised if one day you realize there's a story tapping on your shoulder, waiting to be shared. I'll be here.

Go read Daddy Dialectic

How had I not discovered Daddy Dialectic before? You all must go read it. Now. Especially, especially Jeremy Adam Smith's answers to his own modified version of bluemilk's What does a feminist mother look like? questions. I think I'm in love. Platonically, of course.

At the end of the day, your main task is to survive and support your family and raise happy children; how you respond to the things you can’t control reveals a great deal about your character, some of it good and some of it bad. You might discover (have you noticed my retreat to the safety of the second person?) a capacity for sacrifice and care that you never knew was there.

On the flip side, the dark one, you might also find yourself erupting with petty rage and misdirected resentment, eruptions that frighten you, your child, and your partner. In those scary moments, when our worst emotions take over and drive our ideals and aspirations over a cliff, it is easiest of all for both fathers and mothers to fall back on traditional patterns of dominance and submission.

What does that have to do with feminism? Everything, and nothing.

Pledging allegiance to feminist ideals doesn’t make you a good person or a good parent or a good partner, but it might remind you of the power you have—we always have power, if only over ourselves—and the need to restrain that power or share it with other people. It can also remind fathers of something that I think is crucial: There are alternatives; you do have choices, and your choices matter. You don’t have to be the man your father was; you don't have to be the idiots we see on TV; you can be a new kind of man, and you can help your sons become that kind of man.

That's ten kinds of inspiring, right there. Plus, he knows how to use both colons AND semicolons! What's not to love?

Previously, on Raising My Boychick

Since I never did do a proper introductory post, how about a review instead?

My name is Arwyn, and I am, among other things, a feminist. As it says on the tin,

I'm a walking contradiction: knitting feminist fulltime parent, Wiccan science-minded woowoo massage student, queer-identified male-partnered monogamist, body-loving healthy-eating fat chick, unmedicated sane and stable bipolar. But it feels all-me.

(although more of my free time these days goes to blogging rather than knitting).

I am pro-choice, and anti crying-it-out.

I wear my baby (when he lets me), and so does my partner -- who is known around here as The Man, because he is the proverbial straight white male. We have one child, the eponymous Boychick, who is also probably a straight white male. I breastfeed him, and The Man parents in other ways.

The Man is currently unemployed, I am bipolar, and this sometimes makes for an interesting combination.

I am not a SAHM, and I am not amused. But I am sometimes funny.

I write about independence, attachment parenting, and societal misogyny.

I write about menstruation, and genitals, and sex, and sexuality, and the color of my underwear.

I write about patriarchy and kyriarchy and intersectionalism. I write about the racism and transphobia and sexism and disablism I encounter, both around me and in my own thinking.

I write about trying to raise the Boychick free from limiting gender roles, while teaching him to not be a bad man.

I believe we are not bad moms.

I believe the patriarchy wants us to tell each other we are, and that avoiding that trap can change the world.

And if you're still interested in what I have to say, I believe I'd love to hear from you.

The problem with "the problem with men"

This is how feminists get a reputation for being humorless: we fail to laugh at jokes or quips that serve the kyriarchy. Like the one I heard yesterday, from D, an otherwise dear friend, spouse of my sister-in-all-but-genetics-and-law.

He and The Man were outside with the Boychick and his cousin, watching them run through the sprinklers (well, encouraging them to, anyway: the Boychick was standing at the edges saying it was "too cold!", while his cousin happily ran around getting soaked). D came in, and my sister asked if they had towels out there for them. D's reply was "Of course not: we're men, we don't think that far ahead!"

He didn't understand why I raised an eyebrow and rolled my eyes, and nor did anyone else in the room.

The Man would have gotten it.

The problem with "the problem with men" type "jokes" is that they serve to support the patriarchy-assigned sexist gender-roles. Although directed at men, and not women, and supposedly OK and "not sexist" by being at the expense of men, and not women, by supporting the limiting and dehumanizing gender roles of the patriarchy, they ultimately hurt women. Not to mention being incredibly insulting to men who have worked hard to get past said limiting stereotypes.

These jokes are especially problematical when about the incompetence of men in the domestic sphere, for by casting men as bumbling idiots in the home, it falls on women to pick up the slack there, keeping us tethered to the domestic sphere, leaving the public sphere, with its associated privilege and power, exclusively the domain of men.

So call me a humorless feminist all you like, but I fail to see why I should laugh at tired old sexist tropes that dehumanize and underestimate the capabilities of my best beloveds, many of whom are male, while ultimately reinforcing my own oppression.

It's not that I don't have a sense of humor, it's that I'd much rather laugh at the patriarchy rather than with it, and that requires thinking for yourself instead of regurgitating the partriarchy's old standbys.

You can do it. I believe in you.

On breastfeeding and things we don't talk about

Just in case there was any question, let me state emphatically that I am a breastfeeding supporter, a hard-core breastfeeding advocate, a lactivist (but not a "breastfeeding nazi", please and thank you):

I'm down with child-led weaning. I call nursing for 2+ years "full-term", and anything less than that "abbreviated" or "short" or "premature weaning", and I can't think of anything I would call "extended breastfeeding", except maybe being latched on for 8 hours non-stop.

I think feminists must support breastfeeding, and breastfeeding in public (and pumping, and pumping at work and in public), else they fail at one of the fundamental precepts of feminism.

I believe women have the moral right and must have the legal right to expose however much of their breast they and their child deem necessary, for however long they deem necessary, incidental to the act of breastfeeding, and that a woman has the moral right and must have the legal right to breastfeed or pump anywhere she otherwise has the right to be.

I've nursed my kid in the dark, at the park, in a plane, on a train, in a car, and over a jar (we did EC), and yes, I pull it down and whip it out and no you don't have a right not to see it, though you're more than welcome to avert your gaze.

I've never kept track of how many times the Boychick nursed throughout the day or over the course of a night, because he nursed when he was hungry, or thirsty, or tired, or hurt, or bored, or just because, and all of those are perfectly legitimate reasons to breastfeed in my mind.

When asked when I was going to wean, I say that WHO recommends a minimum of 2 years, but I was pretty sure he'd be done before college. I trust Dettwyler's research showing the natural age of human weaning to be between 2.5-7 years. I told my mom to be prepared for her grandson nursing well into kindergarten, if that's what he wants, and that I would fight to keep nursing for 2 years, with a minimum goal of 2.5

Yes, I am one of those women.

I tell you this, present to you my lactivist credentials so to speak, because when I say that I hate nursing, I want you to have some idea of what it means. So that when I say I hate nursing, and my 28 month old seems to be coming to an end of breastfeeding, you'll maybe get it when I say it makes me cry.

I never know how to describe my problematic feelings about breastfeeding. It isn't the idea of it, obviously. It isn't a matter of getting "touched out": I'm a hugely touchy-feely person, and had no problems having the Boychick on or next to my person most of the day (and on his dad's body the rest of the time). It isn't a matter of dysphoric milk ejection reflex, it's not a history of abuse, and it isn't a chronically painful latch. It's definitely not a matter of being uncomfortable in my own skin, or disliking the animal nature of it. And it's obviously nothing so bad that I was unable to continue, or chose to stop, but it's probably contributing to this (to us) relatively early weaning.

No, it's that for all the lactivist protestations to the contrary, breastfeeding is sexual, at least for me. Whether through biology or socialization (and I'm inclined, as I often am, to say "both"), feeling the child suckling on my breast -- and I should clarify here, it's primarily dry nursing, or comfort nursing, or the lag between the start of nursing and milk ejection, when there's little or no milk being transferred -- often feels sexual to me. And I really don't like it.

I usually use words like "uncomfortable" (because it is), or say it drives me crazy (because it does). I usually don't say I dislike it because it makes my cunt swell and start to throb, because there are all kinds of social stigmas associated with that, above and beyond the usual ignorant bitching about breastfeeding in the first place. Plus, there are people who like that feeling, and not in a pervy "I'm gonna nurse my kids to get my kicks" kind of way (I have met thousands of full-term nursing women, and never, ever have I met one who thought of nursing like that), but just in a happy "hey, this makes my body feel good" kind of way. And I think that's great, and totally normal and healthy. Actually, I'm envious as hell of those women: I'd do anything to have that kind of feeling about the feelings nursing causes.

But no, breastfeeding feels sexual, and it feels uncomfortable, and it makes me want to take a cheese grater to my nipples, or cut off my breasts, or crawl out of my skin, or get up and run away and claw my eyes out. And I have resorted to pain as a coping mechanism: biting my hand or pulling my hair or digging nails into my flesh, anything, anything to distract me long enough for him to finish, to calm down, to fall asleep, to get a letdown going, whatever he needs. But I can't always manage it, and it's leading to a downward spiral, where I have less milk, so I can't nurse him as much, so I have less milk, so... And on and on, until he's falling asleep to The Man reading to him and snuggling him in bed, and I'm out in the livingroom crying because I can't be the woman I want to be, can't do the thing I want to do.

I hate breastfeeding, and I hate that I hate it. I hate that, as much as I love the idea of comfort nursing, it is anything but comfortable for me. I hate that the way I want to mother, with breastfeeding a wholly holy joy and there for him whenever he needs or wants it, is not possible for me. I hate that there have been nights both he and I have cried to sleep because I just. couldn't. do it anymore. I hate that it's causing our nursing relationship to come to an end so soon. And I hate, I hate, that talking about it like this will make some people think "then what the hell are you still doing it for?"

I'm "still" doing it because I love it. I love snuggling him close to me while his eyes stutter close and roll back in bliss. I love playing stinky feet and having him try not to laugh so he doesn't delatch. I love the twenty extra minutes I can buy myself in the morning for lounging under the covers and scrolling through Google Reader. I love how he asks to nurse after he gets really hurt because "it makes me better". I love knowing he's getting immunological and nutritional substances he wouldn't get anywhere else. I love everything about breastfeeding -- except, more and more though still not always, the actual physical act.

Our nursing relationship is going to come to an end someday, likely sooner rather than later. This is normal, and natural, and has to happen sometime. And almost everyone I know speaks about weaning with ambivalence, so my experience is hardly unique in that respect. But this -- being a lactivist who often hates the experience of breastfeeding, mourning an early weaning at 28 months -- isn't something I see talked about much, if ever.

There are so many forces telling me not to publish this post: there's the patriarchy saying that nursing a 2yo is disgusting, that having genital sensations during breastfeeding is perverted, that nursing should be perfect and lovely and angelic, not messy and complicated and human. There's lactivism saying I'm just giving fuel to anti-breastfeeders, I shouldn't talk about the bad times, the hard times, that I'm going to scare people off. There's feminism saying I should make it all about the kyriarchy (when the truth is I'm too tired and too hurting to think that big right now), and that this is all so much middle class privileged white woman mommy blogging whining, and I should be using my platform to spotlight those with real problems. The lactivism and feminism sides even have good points.

But ultimately, I'm sharing this because I can't be the only one. I'm not so special or so unique that no one else feels this way. I'm sharing this because women's stories are important: not just our beautiful stories, not just our predictable stories, not just our uncomplicated damn-the-patriarchy moralistic stories, but all of them, messy and complicated and contradictory and nuanced and ugly and difficult and mundane and human and boring and silly. And it is through sharing our stories and connecting with others leading complicated-human-nuanced lives that we become strong.

And I need strength right now. I needed strength when the Boychick was a mewling newborn, who only knew that suckling was comfort and love and safety and peace, and didn't know it was discomfort and ugly and painful and hard for me, and I need strength now that he is recognizing I sometimes grimace and pull away and push him away when he seeks the comfort he knows at my breast, and is preempting that pain for both of us by turning elsewhere for his needs.

We're not meant to do this alone. I don't regret a moment I've spent nursing my child, not even the moments I was crying and hurting myself to cope. But I regret doing it in isolation, with no one to tell me I wasn't alone, I wasn't abnormal, and I wasn't wrong for doing it anyway.

Share your stories. Even your ugly stories, even your hard ones. Someone out there is going through it too, and they need to hear from you. I surely did.