by Kelly Valceanu
 Michael, my first born, had a rocky start. He was taken by
c-section and separated from me for days. When we got home, it got
worse. He would cry for hours, and I would cry right along with him.
My nipples were cracked and bleeding, and we were both in pain. In
desperation, I sought out the women at LLL (La Leche League). We are a
military family, and we were stationed in Italy at the time. It was a
small post, but there was a LLL meeting comprised of five women whom
met regularly.
I
burst into tears and told them my story. They gave me books to read
and helped me figure out my sling that I had bought and tossed into
the closet because I couldn't figure it out. Most importantly, they
helped me get him into a good position so we could begin healing. I
walked for miles in that sling, singing him songs. We would go to
Venice on the weekends and while other mothers were having to carry
their strollers over the many bridges there, Michael and I walked over
them together like we were one.
We nursed everywhere, on trains, in planes, on gondolas, in the
mountains, even on the steps of St. Peter's Cathedral. One evening,
when he was 16 months old, he surprised me. He had just finished
nursing and was in that wonderful, breastmilk-induced, half awake
state and turned to me and said, "I hear the sound of the
mama-milks." Of course he meant my heartbeat. It was then that I
realized that by nursing him and holding him close, I had given him my
heart to carry with him forever, no matter how far away he may travel.
My new son is here now, pressed close to me. He was born in our home.
He nurses, and I know now just how good it all really is.
When asked what "mama-milk" tasted like, Michael said,
"it tastes like candy!"
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Breastfeeding
Reading
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