Margot and I are alone today while Daryl's at work, and we had a really lovely morning together before the shit hit the fan and she spent nearly the entirety of lunchtime bawling her face off because her yogurt was all gone. Nevermind, though, because I totally understand. Sometimes I'm known to scream and cry and let boogers and tears run down my face for half an hour when I finish my ice cream. I get it.
We went for a walk through the woods, and talked about bugs and green beans (her choice). And when we got home, I got to nurse her on two separate occasions - both of which came highly out of the ordinary since lately I only seem to breastfeed her before bed and in the middle of the night. But she asked, and I was happy to oblige, because is there anything more lovely than looking down into these eyes? For me, today, there is not.
Do I take too many breastfeeding selfies? Not as far as I'm concerned. But do I wish I cared less what other people thought? Yes. I'm working on it, though. 'Tis my mission with this blog; to overcome my insatiable desire to do what others think is best. Really, though, it's not that I care so much about what other people think as it is that I so fervently don't want to offend anybody. I'm a firstborn; I'm hard-wired to feel this way. I understand this quality within myself as much as I am annoyed by it.
But I am ashamed to admit that Facebook feels particularly scary today, with regard to sharing this post; I don't totally know why. But my circle of followers is far wider, and vastly more conservative than those on my other social media platforms.
A little voice in my head reminds me that this is not my finest effort at normalizing breastfeeding or uncensoring motherhood, but I'm trying to combat it with the knowledge that I'm taking my baby steps every day - and that for the record, they don't feel like baby steps at all. They feel like giant leaps off cliffs.
So... sorrynotsorry I'm flashing you my boob again.