From Smashing Pumpkins to Winnie-the-Pooh
By Mike Brenchley
Guelph Ontario Canada
From: NEW BEGINNINGS, Vol. 15 No. 1, January - February 1998, p. 18-19
The other day, a friend
of mine made a face and said, "You're not going to tell me about breastfeeding,
are you?"
The truth of the matter is,
I was. I had forgotten that some people are inexplicably sensitive about
the topic. In my elation over becoming a father for the first time,
I forgot that, in our "enlightened" society, a significant number of
people still see the simple, natural act of breastfeeding as something
vulgar that should be hidden away and not discussed.
But my friend had asked me
what fatherhood was like and I was trying to tell him. I told him how
it was an overwhelming mixture of elation, anxiety, wonderment, and
fatigue. And yet, at the same time, how it caused everything to seem
clearer and brighter; senses seemed heightened and sights, sounds, and
smells seemed more intense. I told him how our priorities had changed
and life took on new meaning. I was just starting to explain how the
simplest things seemed so perfect, for instance when my wife is giving
our little bundle a drink and ...
I suppose I should have known
better. My friend is a few years younger than I am. His "downtown" single
lifestyle is light-years apart from my suburban, married one. Although
our days at work are similar, his evenings are taken up with dates,
parties, night life, and movies. Mine are now filled with diapers, bathtime,
and stories. He listens to Smashing Pumpkins. I listen to the theme
from Winnie-the-Pooh. I should have guessed that he would have no comprehension
of the astonishing feelings invoked by watching your child receiving
nourishment from his mother.
I guess I can't really blame
him though. I honestly never expected these feelings to be so strong.
Sometimes I wonder if I am the only father who feels so moved by the
experience; everything I have ever read about breastfeeding was written
from the point of view of the mother and none of the other fathers I
know have mentioned it. Certainly the pure, instinctive feelings shared
between the mother and child during breastfeeding are totally unique.
I can only imagine those feelings - at least until science devises a
way for me to take part.
But there are other, more
subtle, yet strangely wonderful feelings which I have when I watch my
wife feeding our son. During those warm afternoons when the sunlight
slants through the bedroom window and the three of us lie sleepily on
the bed together, there is an overwhelming sense that everything is
good in the world. My wife and I lie facing each other with our son
between us asleep. When he awakes, he seems to know instinctively where
to find what he is looking for. We have heard and read about those people
who have had the misfortune of not being able to breastfeed. Luckily
for us, our son was blessed with a strong sucking instinct and my wife
was blessed with the necessary attributes to easily provide what he
wants. When he latches on, he seems to enter a state of ecstasy; he
becomes completely relaxed, his eyes close part way and his entire being
is focused on the task (and obvious pleasure) of drinking. Then the
only sound in the room is his soft breathing, regularly interrupted
by an almost inaudible "glug" when he swallows another mouthful of warm
milk. During these peaceful times, all of the problems of the world
fall away. Time stands still and I feel as though I could stay and watch
forever. There is no better feeling than to know that right here in
this room, my son is receiving everything he could possibly need in
his new life.
One night, my wife expressed
some milk while I watched TV upstairs. We were to be away during the
weekend and the milk would be stored in the freezer to be used by my
wife's mother while babysitting. When she finished, my wife called me
in and handed me a small plastic bag half full of the pure white liquid.
I took it from her cautiously, so as not to spill any of the precious
contents. As I held the bag in the palm of my hand, I was suddenly overcome
by the magical sensation of its warmth and weight. Here was a mere three
or four ounces of liquid, yet it was life for my son. What on earth
could be more pure, more natural, more wholesome?
My love for my newborn son
sprang from my heart the moment he was born and seems to grow stronger
every day. But my love and respect for my wife is growing stronger,
too. Every day I seem to learn more about her; I see her strength of
character, her patience, her instinctive and deep-rooted love for our
son. And I see her natural ability to feed him, providing him, in this
one simple act, nourishment, comfort, warmth, and love. I always imagined
she would be a wonderful mother; now I know for sure.
Yes, my downtown friend is
a long way away from looking at life the same way I do. Sometimes he
asks me if I ever long to return to a lifestyle similar to his. I tell
him that, having experienced all of the wonders and joys of a brand
new life and everything that surrounds it, I wouldn't trade places with
him for the world. And I'll take Winnie-the-Pooh over Smashing Pumpkins
any day.
Page last edited Sun Oct 14 09:30:53 UTC 2007.
