by Gigi Marie Montemurro
 On New Year's Eve 1997, I got the idea that it was time to take a pregnancy test. After
four plus signs showed that I indeed was with child, I went into complete shock. At
nineteen and a half years of age I was about to be someone's mother. That was a terrifying
yet strangely pleasing thought, seeing as I was in quite a predicament. Nevertheless, I
phoned my then boyfriend and told him the news.
Mike was not shocked nor was he upset, but I knew he was frightened. At
twenty-one he was gonna be a papa. We knew there had to be drastic changes in our
lives, and we were prepared to make sacrifices. We got engaged, and then married on May
30, 1998 when I was seven months pregnant. It may not sound like a Fairy tale to others,
but it was so exciting for us.
From the get go, I knew I would be nursing my child. All the generations of women in my
family had done so successfully, and I was determined to do the same. I read voraciously
every book that came my way, and told anyone who cared to listen my goals. I knew
breastfeeding was going to be the most awesome experience that I'd ever have.
On August 28, 1998 I delivered a beautiful six pound, nine ounce baby boy. We named him
Tristan Michael Montemurro. I never thought I could be so happy. I was proven wrong when I
took him to my breast just a half an hour after his birth, he hovered on to me like we
had been nursing partners all our lives. What made me even happier was that Mike was so
proud of me, and I knew he was going to support me all the way.
 I think people in general were very skeptical and thought that I would give up right
away when the going got tough. The thought never even crossed my mind. Not even when my
breasts were so engorged that I felt like I was strapping him to the Rockies, and
especially not when my nipples were a sprinkler system and our house smelled like sour
milk. Nope, I was in this for the long haul.
Here I am now, twenty-one years old, still nursing my eleven month old baby. I
immediately know I made the right choice when he wakes to feed in the morning. I hear him
moan and cry on the monitor, and when I bring his lean little body to mine, he pants like
a little puppy. Finally he reaches his goal, and drinks with total satisfaction. He
opens his big, chocolate brown eyes, gives me a huge grin, and proceeds to eat. I am
always overwhelmed by this. I know I'm young, but I think I've proved to many younger
mothers I know that shoving a bottle in their babies mouth is in no way rewarding.
Breastfeeding is nurturing my child with my mind, body and soul. I will continue
to do so until he wants to stop and that's not looking like anytime too soon.
|
Breastfeeding
The
Lighter Side
