I grew up on a farm in VA.  The first time I saw a woman breastfeed was in a small country church during a Christmas program.  I was probably about 5, and was standing with a small group of other children, facing the congregation.  Sitting in a pew a few rows in front of me was a woman with her winter coat on, and her dress unbuttoned, nursing her baby.  Despite the fact that my own mother didn’t breastfeed my younger brother (or me, for that matter, past a couple of weeks, so the story was), it seemed normal to me.  OTOH, I have absolutely no recollection of what we were singing—even if we were singing!

When I was older, as many farm kids were, I was active in 4-H.  One of the animals that I had was a pig that I named Henrietta, and who was a pet.  When she had her first litter of piglets, I was upset to notice that one was a runt because I knew they usually died.  That little pig was continually being pushed aside by his larger, more active siblings, and over a period of a day or so, he was becoming weaker and less able to “fight for his place at the table."  As an aside, on family farms, if there were milk cows, it was a common practice to get milk from a cow and feed weak, orphaned, or abandoned babies, including calves, lambs, and pigs.

I went to my dad and asked what the little pig needed to make him stronger and help him survive, expecting that he would tell me to get milk from one of the cows and feed the pig.  Much to my surprise, he matter-of-factly said that the piglet needed his mother’s milk.  It seemed logical to me, so I got one of the glass soda pop bottles that we used for feeding, went into the stall where Henrietta was nursing her litter, squatted down and milked her.  She didn’t protest or even seem to notice what I was doing.  After getting a few ounces of milk, I put a nipple on the bottle, sat down, fed the runt, and put him back with his litter mates   The next day, I went to check on the pigs and to my surprise, the runt was nursing along with all the others.  My dad was quite surprised that the pig hadn’t died, and commented about it.  I told him what I had done.  After he got over his shock (and I could tell that what I had done really shook him), he told me that had the pig been frightened or any of them squealed, Henrietta, no matter how much of a pet she seemed, would have likely jumped up to defend her litter, and could easily have maimed or even killed me.  That episode convinced me of the species-specific importance of milk, but I never milked Henrietta again!

I also was part of that first group of IBCLC test-takers in Washington DC, and retired in 2016.

Sara Reuning, retired IBCLC, active LLLL
Bristol, TN


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