Mary placed the final plate on the dining table and examined the spread she'd made. There was everything a growing boy might need, and more. Probably too much more. Sighing happily, she called for her son, Adam, to come join her.
"Coming!" came his call from his room.
Mary sat herself down and started to spoon mashed potatoes, green beans and a pork chop on to her plate. The smells of her own cooking had her belly aching with hunger, so she dove in without waiting for her son. He'd probably be a few minutes anyways.
After the predicted few minutes, Adam made his appearance, eagerly sitting down and grabbing from dishes around the table. "This is too much, Mom," he said.
"I know, but we can put the leftovers in the fridge. You can take it for lunch tomorrow."
"I don't have a microwave at school, you know that," he replied, spooning mashed potatoes into his mouth.
"Well, we can have it for dinner tomorrow then." Mary paused her eating to watch with immense satisfaction as Adam devoured his plate of food. She made it her life's pursuit to ensure that he was never hungry, never wanting for food to fill his belly, and yet he never seemed to gain weight. He was thin, but muscular, always on the move. She hoped he never got a desk job, because he was sure to balloon up. His father had done so, to the point where he'd died from a heart attack sitting at work.
Once dinner was done, they worked together to clean up the dishes.
"You know, you won't be able to eat like this when you go to college. You better appreciate it now," she told him with a smile.
"I always appreciate your cooking, Mom. I'll make sure to come home regularly to fill up."
"You better."
"Would it really be so bad if I went hungry for a day? I won't die."
"Sssh. You know how I am about that stuff. Even 18-year-old boys need to eat."
Her son rolled his eyes at her, making her laugh. "I know, Mom. Believe me, I know."
"Maybe it's a 'mom' thing, but I can't rest unless I know your belly is full. That's why I always make too much food. Did you know that when I was breastfeeding you, I made so much milk you couldn't drink it all? Your father said I was obsessed with making you fat."
"You are obsessed with making me fat." Adam paused and looked thoughtful for a second. "How could you make too much milk? I thought that was kind of self-regulating..." he said, his face open with curiosity.
"Yeah, it is, but I was so afraid that you'd go hungry if I was away or something, so I pumped extra and froze it just in case. But the frozen milk was never used, and it kept piling up. One day I saw there was a request for milk donors, and so I pulled some of my extra out of the freezer and donated it. When they called a week later to ask if I had any more, I emptied the freezer."
"Wow, good job! You must have helped a lot of babies."
"That's what they told me, so I kept pumping more, and donating more. It got to be too much work to chase after you as a toddler, and pump milk, so I stopped pumping. I felt bad about not being able to donate anymore."
"Well, at least you were able to help for a while, right?" he said, while putting away the last of the dishes.
"True. I also held out hope that your Dad and I might have another baby and I could start donating again, but that never panned out."
A familiar silence filled the room, as mother and son remembered their lost husband and father.
Mary shook her head to clear the fog of memory and said, "In any case, that's all in the past. For now, I just need to make sure my only baby is fed properly."
Adam groaned and laughed simultaneously, throwing his drying towel at her. She caught it and put it away while Adam retired to his room.
A quiet evening of light TV and some reading led to bedtime. Mary headed to her room, passing by Adam's door.
"Good night," she said in passing.
"Hey, Mom, wait," came his answer. He was sitting at his PC. He beckoned her over, so she went to see what he was looking at.
"Look at this. I was sure I'd heard about this before, so I googled it. Did you know that you can induce lactation, even if you're not pregnant? And that it's easier if you've breastfed before? If you wanted, you could start donating again."
The return of the post-dinner topic threw Mary for a loop for a second before she caught up to her son's thinking.
"You think I could produce milk again? In these old things?" Mary gestured to her chest vaguely.
"The website says you're still perfectly capable of it. You don't have to; it was just a thought."
"Thank you for your thoughtfulness," she said, kissing the top of his head. "I'm not sure I want to go back to padded bras and pumps at this stage of my life."
"Okay. Well, good night, then."
"You too, sleep tight." Mary left his room and went to hers, amused at the thought of a 38-year-old woman producing milk.
As she changed for bed, she amended the thought to a '38-year-old woman donating milk to new mothers and babies in need'. That didn't seem so ridiculous. Stopping to check out her breasts in her bedroom mirror, she imagined them heavier, rounder, full of life-giving milk. Aching, leaking, constantly having to be emptied. It was both tempting and daunting. She finished dressing in a nightie and went to bed, the benefits and annoyances of donating milk warring in her head.
Over the next few days, Mary felt like everywhere she went, babies were everywhere. Many of them were quiet, some crying, but each one tugged at her heart strings. She knew that it was just her brain pointing out something she'd been thinking about, but that didn't help. All she could wonder was if they were getting enough milk.
She found herself examining the mother's chests, trying to judge if there was proof of breastfeeding, and only stopped when one mother at the grocery store caught her looking down her shirt. Mary had left the store right away, her face burning.
The next day Mary made an appointment with her doctor to discuss the health implications of induced lactation.
***
"I accept that it's for a good cause, but it seems a bit abrupt. Are you sure there isn't something else going on? I know Adam is leaving for college in less than a year. Is this maybe an attempt to fill an empty nest?"
Ellen Hanford had been Mary's general practitioner for years and was a no-nonsense person. If she said something, it was worth paying attention.
After several seconds of contemplation, Mary said, "I thought about that. It could be a factor. I'm not trying to have another baby, but maybe I'm looking for... I don't know, an outlet for my maternal urges, or something." She laughed, but Ellen didn't.
"Just like midlife crises, an empty nest can be a powerful motivator for people in your situation. I'd suggest giving it a good deal of thought before making any decisions, but otherwise I don't see any reason why you can't do it."
