An open letter to Ms. Polizzi, AKA the “Snooki”

Dear Ms. Snooki:

I have never seen your television show, which I understand paints a picture of certain Jersey locales and characters. I have read about your pregnancy and your embracing of your new role as mother.

I’ll admit when I saw your quote in Us magazine in reference to breastfeeding I wanted to reassure you that there’s nothing to be frightened of: "I'm just scared. My friend did and she said it was so painful…but I definitely want to pump because it's the best nutrients for the baby."

While it’s true that some new mothers experience some pain, many mothers have no problems at all. I would urge you to not take just one opinion into consideration.

And regarding pumping, I can definitely say there were times when all I felt like was a walking milk machine. If I remember correctly, there may even have been times when I walked through the house singing: Choo, choo! Here comes the milk train! Pulling into station! Toot! Toot!

And while some people may take offense at your statement: "It's kind of like you're a cow and you're just milking," I have to admit pumping really is like that when you kind of strip the whole act of any beautifying.

It’s hard to really feel all adoring and loving as you hook a plastic suction cup to your aching, hard, milk-filled breasts and slide the plastic pieces up and down until your arms ache.

And that’s not even to mention the leaking milk that comes out just about any time you hear a crying baby or the pain of clogged milk ducts that can turn into infections.

But all of this fun stuff is almost behind me as my oldest baby is 20-moths-old and only nursing once in a while and my milk supply is greatly diminished. Of course, now my breasts do sag a bit and have an entirely deflated, pancakey look to them, but…wait.

There are also the amazing experiences I had with my three children. The closeness and the intimacy that were created through those years of providing of my body for their nourishment and comfort.

The sweet moments of looking down at the fuzzy little head cradled in the nest of the inside of my elbow. The visions of sweet napping dreams while my baby’s lips continued to suckle in sleep long after my breast had fallen away from their grasp. The warmth and precious feeling of their weight pressed against me in absolute trust and love—even before they understand the meaning of words. The sweet smell of the sweaty cheek buried against my body. The quick and complete cessation of their worried cried when they thankfully find themselves tucked against me.

Home again. Safe again. Folded into my body. One again for just a little bit longer.