My breastfeeding journey, as with anything to do with our reproductive, sexual and feeding life, did not begin when I put my first baby to the breast. It began in the way I was conceived, carried, birthed and fed. I was breastfed for fifteen days. And I was a nursery baby.

Back in 1979, in Brazil, babies were brought to their mothers to feed every three hours, regardless of whether or not they were screaming for their milk and comfort. The staff gave all new-borns sugared water to keep them quiet, all from the same bottle. I came home from hospital with a bad case of thrush, very “clingy” and since breastfeeding did not go well, (is it any wonder?…) the paediatrician suggested I be given formula, so that I could gain weight fast, as I was “so thin”.

This “you are so thin” was something I came to hear constantly throughout my life. As if something was missing in the way I was build, and as if somehow, I did not measure up to some unachievable state of being that by the way, I had no control over. I honestly never understood what that was about.

When I got pregnant and had my babies, I heard the same old things. “You are so thin, let´s see if you´ll be able to breastfeed. I cannot even imagine you pregnant. “

Well, I was the skinny mother who birth round and sturdy babies (what do you mean you had a natural birth with those skinny hips?). And once outside, these babies got bigger and rounder, happily fed from my leaky boobs. I felt so very proud. And breastfed them eagerly and exclusively for as long as possible. Breastfeeding was always an uneventful blessing. It just (literally) flowed. I loved staying hours with the babies on top of me, dozing on and off and feeding on demand, shut off from the busy world.

It´s insane how the stories we are told about our appearance and our bodies so early on shape how we feel throughout our lives. Luckily, my babies came to teach me that my body works, and all boobies can breastfeed.