I'm on the couch, my son sleeping on my bare chest, my tank top splotchy with breast milk that’s leaked and dried. The living room is quiet, filtered with soft afternoon light. A breastfeeding pillow still rests across my lap from his last feed. My breakfast plate sits empty on the side table beside a half-finished cup of coffee and an empty water bottle — I never imagined being this thirsty while breastfeeding...
