by Liz Hochman, CD(DONA), LCCE

 

Yes this is a bottle in my hand

My judgement of myself is deeper,

than that glare you just gave me

 

Yes this is a bottle in my hand

and I am weeping every night,

in her bedroom all alone

 

Yes this is a bottle in my hand

but you do not know my story

and I hope you never live it

 

Yes this is a bottle in my hand

my love for her is strong,

and I hope she doesn’t hate me

 

Yes this is a bottle in my hand

because I made a choice a million years ago,

to change the shape of my breasts

 

Yes this is a bottle in my hand

to change the curving of my spine,

as my body listed forward from the weight that I carried

 

Yes this is a bottle in my hand

my breasts with a map of scars,

that tell the tale of choices that I’ve made

 

Yes this is a bottle in my hand

of breastmilk that I drained,

like the pain from my heart

 

Yes this is a bottle in my hand

and I love her so much

that I give her what she needs

 

with a bottle in my hand

 

Editor’s note: This poem was written by a BFAR (breastfeeding after reduction) mama. Breast reductions and other breast or nipple surgeries can have an impact on milk production and overall breastfeeding. For more information and support, please visit bfar.org.