Oh my son, let me tell you a tale of yore,

When my nipples were chapped and my back was quite sore.

This is a story of love and of woe,

And of why we stopped nursing a few months ago.

My friends breastfed children of two, three, and four.

They nursed in their Ergos while browsing the store.

Oh, the bond! The attachment! The love that they gave!

The nutrition I’d pass on! The money I’d save!

“We’ll breastfeed, at least for a year,” I would say,

But my plans changed not long after you came my way.

The books I had read needed major redactions.

What “nursing high”?! I got only contractions!

We fed you so often, so early, so late.

You suckled and slurped, but you did not gain weight.

So we woke you up every two hours at night,

But your tongue was tied up and your latch not quite right.

You squirmed and you writhed, and you gave little pinches.

The pounds you gained did not keep up with the inches.

The lactation cookies did not seem to matter.

Your body stayed thin – only Mommy got fatter!

I talked to your doctor and spoke with your Poppy,

I put down my foot and I hung up my Boppy.

The year we had planned before your grand arrival

Was shortened a bit for Mom’s mental survival.

In retrospect maybe I could have tried harder,

But Mom’s fragile sanity’s nothing to martyr.

Alas, little man, we did not nurse for long,

But I’m proud my sweet boy’s growing healthy and strong!

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