The other day I saw somebody on the internet defending the concept that regardless of circumstance, every instance of breastfeeding is a sacred time of bonding between a mother and her child.
I'm telling you with confidence that I don't feel remotely guilty for disagreeing wholeheartedly. The look you see in my eye here should not be mistaken for an accidental fleeting look of annoyance; Margot was running around the backyard wreaking havoc, grabbing all our very unripe tomatoes off the vines, whining and yelling at me for not giving her more raspberries after she'd eaten every last one, and climbing all over me like I was a jungle gym with a pulse.
She needed a boob, and I had one. Win-win, but with a strong dose of COME ON.