On breastfeeding.

On breastfeeding.

I’m hoping to breastfeed our little one. Our someday-to-be-adopted-but-I-have-no-idea-when-we-will-be-matched little one.

For some, that’s probably a big surprise. If you’re like me, you didn’t know that adoptive mamas can breastfeed their babies until someone tells you that adoptive mamas can breastfeed their babies.

Isn’t the human body amazing?

Two of my fabulous and inspiring sisters-in-law did. So the idea of inducing lactation wasn’t new to me when we decided to adopt.

I had heard about the helpful antibodies in breastmilk and having some knowledge of attachment struggles, I knew the close bonding time would be a plus. So I was in.

I jumped into my first meeting with a lactation consultant hours before we hopped in the car to move to Atlanta.

I was go, go, go. Work, pack, lactation appointment. Check, check, check.

Until my kind-hearted consultant started asking questions about my infertility. The halting, screeching, deflating sounds go here.

It turns out the type of infertility I have makes inducing lactation more difficult and less likely.

All the drugs and herbs and accupuncture again. For maybe again, less than positive results. Can I even try? Should I?

It’s amazing how quickly the emotions rushed to my face. The hopes I have for this new little one. And the sadness that our journey will be marked by this brokenness.

Our aches can heal, but so often they still leave scars. And just as the hard bits of my story creep back in moments I don’t expect. In tiny appointment rooms with coffee cups shaped like breasts. So will this child’s.

Whether aches for her biological mama. Or struggles over something else entirely.

May I have grace for her hard. And for my own.

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