I finally drank breast milk
to my dismay it was delicious. it is no wonder that babies love it. but why do i hate the idea of it?
Ever since Karina began producing milk, she has been lobbying me to try it. Every time she offers, I refuse. I tell her I am not interested in trying it because it is unnatural. It is unnatural because I am an adult, and adults do not drink breast milk. They drink oat milk. And before that, almond milk. And before that, soy milk. And before that, cow's milk. Breast milk is for babies. Though, apparently in China, it is also for The Rich.
Dear reader, I have always had a phobia of the insides (of a body). I hate blood, organs, bones, and muscle tissue. I like the protective exterior layer that keeps everything tightly and neatly packed inside. It is called skin. It's not so much that I like skin, but rather that I find it bearable.
I have never tasted my own cum. Not because I find it disgusting—I am aware that many people enjoy cum—but because it comes from the insides. And like the deep, dark bottom of the sea, the insides are creepy.
When a doctor talks to me about my insides, I tell them to hurry up and get to the point. I do not need to or want to know how or why my body works the way it does. I just like to know that it is working. The heart is ticking fine. The blood is flowing in the right direction. The aches and pains are normal wear and tear. Everything is alright. Nothing is wrong. See you next year!
I believe this feeling…that the Grim Reaper is looking for me…stems from an acute sense of mortality that latched onto me after my father's death in 2007 when I was 20 years old.
In other words:
I, for one, would prefer not to think about it.
I would rather ignore the fact that, like a car, my body has a battery and at some point, the battery will die. And then I will die. People will come to my funeral and talk about how wonderful I was, and when they leave, I will be forgotten forever.
On Sunday morning, coincidentally my first Father’s Day as a father, I poured myself a small cup of fresh mother's milk. It was freshly pumped, recently mined from inside of Karina’s body. So fresh, I worried it would taste like a human.
After a moment of hesitation, I took a sip. Then, after another moment, I threw it back like a shot of vodka. It was surprisingly good. Of all the kinds of milk I have had the privilege of tasting, it reminded me most of macadamia nut milk. It tasted as if it were sweetened with a dollop of honey. The consistency was more watery than I expected, which was good because I find creamy mouthfeels unpleasant.
My child drinks (eats?) breast milk for every meal. I see her growing right before my eyes. She gets bigger, healthier, and stronger each day. The breast milk is working; it is literally a nectar from the Gods. Karina’s body is a miracle, a true house of God. It can produce a womb for physical life, deliver physical life, and sustain and nurture physical life until that physical life is ready to sustain life on its own. A man is more likely to take life than to give it. My body is a garbage can — a place to put poison, both literal and metaphorical.
I would drink breast milk again, but I won’t. The problem for me is not the taste or the smell; those are tolerable and fine. The problem is the cognitive dissonance of knowing where it comes from—the inside of a human body. The insides are what make the body function, and when the body stops functioning, I die.
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One Random Fact:
Priority Records, the record company that released The California Raisins album, also put out the first N.W.A. album. [Wikipedia]
One New Song:
One New Thing is a weekly column where I explore new experiences. Having just become a father, I realized that if my daughter is discovering new things, I should join her in the adventure.
First Ramy now Kareem. Egyptians are wild lmao