But on the day my son was born, I produced no milk.
What's more, he seemed to be having trouble being able to even suck, which is a cornerstone skill of survival for an infant mammal.
Harrowing months unfolded where I gradually learned how to produce milk and my son underwent procedures and countless physical and occupational therapy appointments to learn how to suck.
Through it all, I prayed and prayed and prayed to Mother Yasoda, Lord Krishna's mother, to please allow me to nurse my son. I prayed to Mother Mary, Lord Jesus's mother, to please help us. All I wanted was to bond, to fulfill my role as a mother. Wanting to and not being able to fully sustain my child with my own milk and needing to supplement with formula had me in an existential crisis: was I even my son's mother? Of course, that makes absolutely no sense. After all, I carried him for nine months and gave birth to him, and most important of all I was caring for and loving him with all of my being. I kept telling myself that while human milk is certainly liquid gold for my human baby, it is still only a material substance. What matters most as a mother is my love and care.
But still, I wanted that unique connection.
Over the next few months, there were even some periods of time where the puzzle pieces began to fit and we were well on our way to establishing a nursing relationship.
But then the pieces scattered and fell apart. I climbed mountains in my journey to establish a milk supply. I crossed oceans in the journey to help my son suck properly, as there were complications. I climbed higher and higher and swam farther and farther, a kind of desperation stealing over my heart. I practically earned a PhD in infant physical and occupational therapy, tongue ties, and lactation and was in constant contact with every expert and doctor I could talk to. I tried
every
last
thing.
When Arjuna was about four months old and I had turned over every stone I had ever seen on our path, my day of reckoning came. While Arjunas physical issues had resolved he was healthy and happy other aspects of our nursing relationship were simply not moving forward. I prayed and I wept and realized I needed to let go of my dream of nursing my son. I had to grieve the loss of that special bond.
I had already been giving my son special attention when I fed him with a bottle. But I began to pour my soul into the process. I would find his eyes in every session, ensuring he was looking at me with his oceanic and unblinking baby gaze, and I would murmur, "I love you."
A few months passed. One day I was in the rocking chair feeding my son, bathed in soft sunlight. We were listening to a beautiful track called "Govinda," which filled the air with the holy name. We kept gazing into each other's eyes and I kept murmuring, "I love you, Arjuna," and I wept and wept to see that he was receiving my love. That is all that I had ever wanted, actually. I had only ever just wanted to express my love through giving my child milk, sustaining his life and sustaining our connection. In those moments, I realized that Mother Yasoda and Mother Mary did answer my prayers.
After all, I am not truly a mammal, and neither is my son. We are eternal spirit souls, created only to give and receive love.
