Dom i porodica

Još nije prestala da doji sina od dve godine i ne namerava sve dok može

Beki Vijera je 42-godišnja majka iz San Franciska koja voli javno da ističe kako svog dvogodišnjeg sina i dalje doji, i to će činiti sve dok bude mogla.
07.07.2018. - 11:00h

This is what I call warrior pose. I could look at this photo and see different things. The toddler who is still breastfeeding. The thighs that never returned to their former glory after his birth. The unmade bed and the laundry that probably won’t be folded. Wet hair that won’t be dried and a slew of other things that will go neglected. But I don’t see that. I see a warrior. I see a mom. I had a day. Not great. Not the worst I’ve had, either. It was what I call a “mom’s day.” My heart swelled and I got my butt kicked. All in the same hour. I wanted to crawl into bed and pout when it was finally over. But why? I wasn’t defeated. I handled the day like a boss. A mom boss. We had tantrums. Defiance. He fed me a rock he pulled out of a plant (I thought it was a Cheerio from his snack cup; luckily I realized before I bit down). I had to use baker’s twine to tie the dishwasher to a cabinet to stop him from opening it. He didn’t nap. Two diaper blowouts. One nipple bite. And he spent an hour on my boob after I got out of the shower. Ugly crying when I pulled him off. So I relented. Because he needed it. I carried him around the house like this. My nipples sting. I kept hoping he’d wean on his own, now I’m stumped on what to do. I’m so tired of nursing yet I love that we still nurse. I’ll save that decision for another day. I had to cancel coffee with my editor. I didn’t think I should be in my underwear with a toddler attached to my breast out in public. After the second diaper blowout he had a bath. We sang and danced, read books. A drastic difference from the squealing, red-faced succubus who I was sure was trying to kill me a few hours early. I made him dinner. We put him to bed, he actually asked to sleep. I bent over (and felt my age in my back) and picked up toys, so many small pieces. Cleaned the kitchen, washed dishes. Finally remembered to eat for the first time today. And I’ll do it all again tomorrow. With a smile on my face and a strength I never knew I had. How was your day? No matter what happened, you survived. You’re a warrior, too. Don’t forget that. #warriormom #aginglikeapresident

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Iako se smatra herojem, jer pored kuvanja i brige oko domaćinstva, savršeno brine i o svome sinu, ali su njenu odluku o produženom dojenju mnogi okarakterisali kao bizarnu.

Svakodnevno na Instagramu objavljuje fotografije na kojima se vidi kako istovremeno usisava i doji dete, ili to čini dok je u toaletu.

Beki priznaje da često oseća pritisak okoline, ali da za tim ipak ne haje i ponosna je što kao uzorna majka i domaćica sve postiže.

"Mnoge mame su mi napominjale da se bebe doje do godinu dana i da je ono što ja činim pogrešno“, priznaje Beki i dodaje:

"Kada sam prvi put dojila, osećala sam se nelagodno. Izgledalo je kao da sam mu ugurala bradavicu u usta i da je on koristi poput mehanizma rezanja olovke“.

Njenom sinu Arčeru je dijagnostifikovan sindrom kiselog refluksa, odnosno gorušica, zbog čega su lekari sumnjali da će dojenje samo pogoršati stanje.

Međutim, Arčer je sada dobro i više ne pati od gorušice, a Beki je i dalje nastavila da ga doji.

For some time I’ve felt like, as a proud woman & mom, I’m supposed to love the shape of my body. Embrace the wiggles and dimples. Teach my child self-love by example. Guess what? I do love my body — just not the way it looks right now. And I’m still able to respect the hell out of it. Am I breaking “mom code” here? I feel like I’m supposed to post a slo-mo video of myself running on the beach, and draw hearts around the jiggling cellulite on my thighs... saying how “I earned this,” to show how empowered I am. That’s not me. I’m nothing, if not honest. I did earn it. The sagging breasts. The midsection that sometimes shakes like Jell-O. Hell yes, I earned it. That’s the result of a lot of love, tears and joy. Doesn’t mean I have to like it. Not loving my body’s look does NOT mean I have body image issues, or that I’m embarrassed. Because I don’t and I’m not. It just means that I’m finally being honest. I wear this shape with pride. I don’t hide myself (obviously... look at this photo). I don’t beat myself up. But do I wish I had smaller thighs, a flatter stomach and less wiggle in my upper arms? You bet your ass I do! None of that, however, takes away from the fact that I’m in awe of what it did, and continues to do. I grew my child and kept him safe. Fed him. And continue to do so, nearly two years after he was born. The female body is amazing. MY BODY is amazing. Look, I’m not complaining. I’m just expressing what I feel when I look in the mirror. I don’t talk about this around my son. And I really don’t even dwell on it. I think it’s okay. Healthy — for me, at least — to be honest about this. I love and respect my body. But I don’t love the way it looks right now. No, I’m not ready to dive into an intensive diet and exercise routine. That’s not what I’m saying. I’ll find my way back to a flatter midsection eventually. Probably never completely flat — after all, I’ll be 43 next month. I just feel like I can respect the shape I’m in and not be totally content. I’ll never look like I’m 21 again. I don’t want to. But being honest with myself is a good start.

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Izvor: superzena.b92.net / Daily Mail

Foto za thumb: Thinkstock