The power went out in our neighborhood three nights ago. Luckily, I have a battery-operated breast pump that I was able to use. Without it, I would have had the twin problems of a hungry baby and over-full breasts.

The next day, I was trying to express to my friend Bree how ironic it was that a hungry baby and over-full breasts could even be simultaneous problems - normally they would happily unite to their mutual satisfaction. I was telling her how, if Eoin even suspects that I might be thinking about trying to latch him, he starts crying. I shared my theory that the stress of the trying-to-breastfeed days had imprinted him with negative feelings toward my breasts. She commented, "That must have been horrible for you, to have had him cry when you tried to bring him to your breast."

The comment caught me off guard. I walk around all the time wearing my armor of It Is What It Is. I've largely come to feel safe from the hurt of Eoin's refusal to nurse. I've even joked, in a made-up Eoin voice, "I just don't like boobs, Mum!" It is what it is, I may as well try to see some humor in it.

Her comment found the chink in my armor. Her insight jabbed at that tender place where the dream of cradling my suckling baby to my breast, still throbs.

Yeah. It was pretty horrible.