I Am Not My Mother's Milk
Nursing was something I had planned on doing as soon as I found out I was with child. It felt like the more natural, seamless act of love to be used as extended bonding with my firstborn. I never questioned whether I was breastfed because I was always under the impression that I was. As a new mom, I pictured my mother holding me in her arms, staring lovingly into my eyes, locked into our shared embrace- exactly like I was with my son. When I finally did ask, I was sorely shocked to find out that my mom didn't breastfeed me at all.
As a single, Black mother, she was informed upon delivery that formula was better for the growing baby and would be easier for her to handle. My interpretation of that, "Miss, you appear to be a single Black female with limited income and the inability to stay home for the minimum six weeks to nurse your child. Formula is your only option." I don't think in 1984 she had the time or resources to process the nurses' suggestion. Nor did she have the history and knowledge to question and research what other mothers were doing. Coincidentally, some of these statistics surrounding Black mothers are still the same thirty plus years later.
Just a few years ago according to the CDC, "Black women were more likely than were white women to have incomes below 100% of the poverty level (49.3% versus 17.8%), to receive Special Supplemental Nutrition Program for Women, Infants, and Children benefits (78.2% versus 34.1%), and to be unmarried (65.5% versus 23.9%); they also had less education and were younger." My mom would have checked off almost all of those boxes: living below the poverty level, unmarried (my parents were in the process of a divorce), and her highest level of education was high school. The one exception- she was far too prideful to receive supplemental income.
“We no longer have to carry the burdens handed down to us generationally; instead, we must continue to commit to the knowledge and expansion of who we are and who we seek to be as mothers.”
Today, mothers are much more aware of the history and racial divide between Black and White women in general. With just a quick search, we can easily access articles highlighting the disparity in healthcare between the two groups of women.
And so my mother departed from the hospital with the decision to purchase bottles and formula. I still firmly believe there were ways to include both-formula and breastmilk without completely ruling one out. She could have at least tried.
Or maybe for her, the breast pump in itself was a contributing factor to the distaste many women had about nursing. My husband was breastfed. Occasionally, his mother will share stories with me about the handheld, manual pump she used to depress her breasts. Hours of her time at work was spent manually pumping; along with the time she spent scouting a private location in which to pump in. And even once she found herself settled, a colleague would find her because they needed her, and work took its claim. Her nursing experience lasted about six months before she purchased her first container of infant formula. I wish I had a video of her expressive face when I popped my handsfree, silent, wireless breast pump into my nursing bra and continued the conversation. I recognize this as a privilege and luxury, therefore I don't take it for granted. My Elvie comes through with the balancing of a nursing child, a 4-year-old boy, work, and the complexities of everyday life.
Upon deeper reflection concerning my mother, I think about the negativity that was created and passed down generationally about nursing. You see, my mom was not breastfed. With a little bit of questioning, I found that I come from generations of women who chose not to breastfeed. Again, I find myself back at the how and why! It made me start to think about my community from a historical perspective, and I began to realize like always, there is more to the story. Our history with and connection to nursing is much more deep-seated than we can imagine.
The role of the Black woman in American History is a very complicated one, with slavery at the root. From the tearing apart of families, to the beatings, the labor-intensive days, and the overall disparagement and lack of value placed upon Black people- we cannot ignore slavery’s residual effects. It was also during this time the intimacy and beauty of being a Black woman was first stripped down, dehumanized, brutalized, and sexually exploited. To further demean the role of the Black woman, nursing mothers were uprooted from their quarters and forced to breastfeed white children to help with their development and early years of childhood survival. Enter: the Wet Nurse.
A Wet Nurse is a woman who nurses another woman's child to keep them alive and well. Of course, feeding a child in any capacity is an act of love; but not when it's forced upon you at the disposal of your very own child. These white children were not children of deficit or children in need. No, they were children belonging to mothers who did not have a desire to deal with the “messiness” of nursing. The slave mother’s valuable milk that we call "liquid gold" was required and used for the masters baby.
Day after day, it became an act of hate they were forced into begrudgingly. When the white child began to cry, and the slave's breasts began to swell, and the pain set in, she must have felt ‘let down’ in so many ways. She knew that in her slave quarters, her child was feeling the same hunger and crying the same tears. Subsequently, the removal of the Black mother from her own home put Black children at a much higher risk of malnourishment, disease, and in some cases, death. As a result of this internal and external anguish, hostility and resentment must have developed, forcing Black mothers to view breastfeeding in a negative light. Was the pain and ensuing trauma felt by these Wet Nurses indirectly passed down to the next generation of Black mothers? Something I can't help but wonder.
As a mother, I think of the systemic racism placed upon my ancestors in terms of how we care for our children. Because of slavery, rituals, bonding, familial relationships, and the devotion between mother and child was decimated in a multitude of ways. Despite slavery being abolished less than two-hundred years ago, the horrors left behind are still resounding within many Black homes.
As years passed by, the role of the "Wet Nurse" continued to transform. Post slavery, Black women would take up jobs as Wet Nurses to make a living. Decades later America entered World War II and Black women began to infiltrate the workforce, which prohibited them from being at home full time with their children. Breast Pumps (although the invention was there) were not as affordable or readily accessible to Black women, so other supplements were put into place. I've heard and read that sugar water, condensed milk, or water with cornstarch was widely used due to their affordability. These alternatives became the societal norm, embraced by the working mom, and life moved forward.
We now have two factors in the history of Black Women breastfeeding their children- the painful past of being forced to be a Wet Nurse, and the post-slavery demands of needing to help provide financially for the home. By the time my mother was ready to have me, breastfeeding had developed a negative connotation in the Black household and was framed as something 'we just don't do.' Well, enough is enough.
We are now in the age of information. With enough discipline and research, knowledge is easily accessible and right at our fingertips. We can teach ourselves the importance of nursing our children and its long-lasting effects. We are no longer dependent upon doctors and nurses to be our only source of education and support regarding what to do with our bodies postpartum. Yay for the mommy groups we can find with social media! Through adequate searching there are blogs and organizations catered to us! I understand that women of color are still not on an equal playing field with white women; nevertheless, we must continue to be diligent in doing what is best for our legacy. We no longer have to carry the burdens handed down to us generationally; instead, we must continue to commit to the knowledge and expansion of who we are and who we seek to be as mothers.
Let’s now begin to acknowledge and affirm that the Black woman is to be valued, nurtured, and cherished for her vitality and ability to bring forth life. There is something sacred regarding the agency we have to nourish our children for as long as we desire. Take a moment to praise and worship your body for all it can do! Women are powerful and we need to dismantle the stigma of shame that has been placed upon breastfeeding!
I'm glad that the conversations surrounding nursing mothers are beginning to change, and we as Black mothers are taking ownership of our personal stories. One of my heros, Maya Angelou, states, "If you don't like something, change it. If you can't change it, change your attitude." I genuinely believe in the power of manifesting, the power of words, and taking action with my life journey. I am a part of my ancestors' story, but my story does not end with theirs. I have chosen to learn from their experiences, rise above, and be a new example in my family's history.
