2011 - Talk Birth

1. http://talkbirth.files.wordpress.com/2011/07/listening.jpg
Nursing Johnny Depp (2011-08-03 11:15)
While planning posts for World Breastfeeding Week, I realized that I’ve never posted the essay for which
I am most ”famous” on my own blog! ”Nursing Johnny Depp” originally appeared in [1]Literary Mama in
2009 and an excerpt was used in the 2010 edition of The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding in the section about
nursing toddlers.
Nursing Johnny Depp
by Molly Remer
As I put his head to my breast, I feel a distinct thrill of the forbidden.”Na-na, Jack Sparrow, Mama,” my
two-year-old son said, and I put the action figure to my chest without much thought.
As I look down at that tangled mop of dark hair and braided beard, and touch the slightly sneering lips to
my nipple, I suddenly feel a bit dirty. Illicit. Inappropriate. As if perhaps I shouldn’t tell my husband what
I’ve been doing in my spare time. In nursing that plastic Johnny Depp, I’ve crossed a line that maybe a
good girl wouldn’t cross. Or, at least, I’ve surely violated some social norm or standard of propriety.
Previously an equal opportunity nurser, from that point on I begin to place more limits on what I am
willing to nurse. Yes, to the tree frog. No, to the pink rubber rat. Yes, to the hungry-looking little piglet.
No, to the Shrek Pez dispenser. I’m teaching my son about limits, I think: Body boundaries, personal
space, self-respect, common decency. These are good concepts to master. Or, as I reject nursing a large red
monster with a mouthful of sharp-looking teeth, am I teaching him to discriminate on the basis of personal
appearance? To withhold love and to be stingy with affection? Or, perhaps more simply, that grimy, but
appealing men are more worthy of attention than large blue stag beetles?
Sitting on the living room floor, my little son rocks back and forth with two small toys singing,
”Rock, baby. Rock, baby...” I look closer and see that Obi-Wan Kenobi is tenderly cradling Yoda in his
arms.
At dinner, eating grapes, my boy picks out a large grape and a very small grape. He is delighted
with the small grape, ”baby grape! Baby grape!” He holds up the large one and announces, ”Mama grape.”
He sets them on the table and carefully pushes the small grape towards the large one until they are touching.
”Dat baby grape have na-nas!” he reports with obvious satisfaction. Later, he eats them both.
Skin contact is a requirement of nursing the inanimate. I used to try to get away with putting the
toys to my breast on the outside of my shirt, but that was unacceptably less-than-genuine.
”Dat frog crying, Mama!” he implores. Later, he asks, ”Where my frog go?” and I realize it is still
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