The Ann Arbor Art Fair week is almost upon us and while I look forward to it every year since the morning after it ends the previous year, I am not excited to see the breastfeeding promotion signs. After I had Evelynn, nursing was a struggle and I only lasted a few months. For the first month or so, my nipples cracked and bled and I still have scars from the gouges pumping and nursing gave me. I never had a great milk supply and had to wean Evelynn onto a partial formula diet. Yet, the first thing many women asked me was, “You’re breastfeeding, right?” As if it was their business and it was the only acceptable form of feeding my child. Like the picketers outside abortion clinics and planned parenthood—which is also used for contraception and other topics regarding sexual intercourse, though people seem to often forget this while sitting on their horses on guard duty—the judgment is often misplaced and does more harm than good. As the pro-lifers do not motivate the expecting mother to walk away from the building with a sudden urgency to risk her health to have the baby, the mom does not whip out a wand and suddenly present luscious breasts filled with milk. I should not be asked how long I breastfed. And I should not be asked if the bottle I pulled out of a diaper bag or cooler is filled with formula or breast milk. I am the mom. I make the best decisions for my child. But sadly, sometimes, fate and the universe force my hand.

I assure you, most women who don’t breastfeed WANT to be able to breastfeed as it is beneficial for the mom, too. Not only does it help to lose the baby weight faster, but it also has been known to reduce the risk of breast cancer. And lets not forget the knockers and cleavage we suddenly might be blessed with after years of having small boobs—I, for one, liked this once in a lifetime perk I was granted. Walking in a parade, proudly holding that sign to promote breastfeeding is fine, until judgment is rained on those who chose not to or failed—terrible diction, by the way, but I’ll use the judger’s word choice over my own here—to last a year. For the next person who asks me, “Well, did you try pumping next your sleeping baby?” or “Did you eat oatmeal? How about that breast milk tea?” I’d like to present you with my child and the healthy baby she is turning out to be, along with the lack of hospital bills not stacked on my kitchen counter.