Breastfeeding is not political for me. It's not a statement. It's not a battle that I'm fighting in the mythic mommy wars. I don't even have to tell myself it will cure cancer and make my baby brilliant. I just do it because Eden needs to eat and I need to feed her.
I need to get my body back from all of these other people and their opinions about what exactly it should be doing and how it should be looking at any given moment. It is mine, and we are on an adventure.
Vain? I had thought that vanity was the evil queen in Snow White, gazing into her mirror, desperate to be the most beautiful in the land. Vanity, I knew, was always feminine. It was always about beauty.
I've learned to close myself off. Not from being friendly or having lunch or having long talks or lounging on the couch with a woman I care about. Not from having friends -- I find I have many of them now. But from believing innately in them.
Standing in my parents' bathroom after Thanksgiving, I made a quick promise to myself that I would only eat carrot sticks and watery gruel for the next several years. Then I went downstairs and ate a cider donut and asked the kitchen at large, "Has anyone seen the rest of the stuffing?"
Every time a female character is described as having the "perfect nose," I know exactly what it will look like: the opposite of mine. It will be delicate and small and fine. It will never be bulky and arched and bold. It will never dominate her face. Of course not. That would be ridiculous.