Apparently, a few weeks ago was World Breastfeeding Week. Since I am a woman in my thirties, my Facebook was abuzz with articles and pictures and posts. So, for my first dive into these blog-infested waters, I will share my personal thank yous when it came to my breastfeeding experience.

Thank you to the nurses who taught the parenting class for giving my husband and me a two hour lecture on the benefits of breastfeeding, but never talking about what to do if that isn’t an option.

Thank you to our pediatrician, who told us not to worry when we called to tell him that our three day old son was distressed and wouldn’t stop crying. Thank you for having us wait a few more days before coming in for our scheduled appointment.

Thank you to the nurses who had put an IV into the foot of a dehydrated and scared six day old baby who had lost 18% of his birth weight.

Thank you to the hospital where my son had to stay for four days and whose bills we are still paying more than a year and a half later.

Thank you to the people who pushed us so far down the rabbit hole that while our son was starving, my husband and I were concerned about nipple confusion.

Thank you to my husband who held my hand through every fruitless pumping and never complained.

Thank you to my breasts who didn’t do jack shit.

Thank you to the people who seemed to think (and say, out loud) that because I have big breasts, I shouldn’t have problems.

Thank you to my parents who sat with me and cried with me when I made the decision to stop pumping. Thank you for taking his feedings that night so I could get my first sleep in two weeks.

Thank you to the people who gave me dirty looks when I bought formula or mixed up a bottle in public.

Thank you to the people who called me selfish. And lazy. And asked if I even really wanted to have kids in the first place.

Thank you to the people who assume I didn’t breastfeed because I work and I enjoy my job.

Thank you to the woman who stopped me in a Kroger and told me that breastfeeding will help me bond with my baby.

Thank you to the people who asked me if I had at least tried breastfeeding.

Thank you to the people who think I somehow missed the talk with my ob/gyn, talk with the pediatrician, lecture from the parenting class instructor, advice from the nurses at the hospital, consultation with the lactation nurse, talks with other mothers, my mother, my mother -in-law, my friends, pregnancy books, parenting books, articles, blogs, posters, commercials, pamphlets, and the back of the freaking formula can and that I am not breastfeeding my child because I am ignorant about “breast is best.”

Thank you to the people who bully breastfeeding mothers and make them feel the need to be vigilant and defensive.

Thank you to organizations like the Le Leche League who wail against the shaming of breastfeeding mothers, but protest a New Zealand anti-smoking ad because it featured a man feeding his daughter with a bottle.

Thank you to the mothers who have the time, money and good fortune to criticize the mothers who don’t.

Thank you to the other mothers and fathers that told me about their own breastfeeding troubles. Who had infected milk ducts. Who didn’t produce enough milk. Who had to go back to work. Who made difficult choices. Who battled depression. Who cried themselves to sleep. Who felt ashamed. Who felt they had failed.

Thank you to my son who is happy and healthy. Who bounds past all of his milestones. Who is in the 93rd percentile for height. Who can count to three. Who knows his eyes, ears, mouth, nose and belly. Who loves bananas and hates tomatoes. Who twirls his hair when he sleeps. Who can find a tissue and shred it to pieces in the blink of an eye. Who gives dramatic kisses and full body hugs. Who is perfect.