So at some point during World Breastfeeding Week, I went back in the Dooce archives (huge, gartantuan content warning; I AM NOT KIDDING) and read about Leta’s first days in the Armstrong household via Heather’s posts. I knew she would provide me with spiritual nourishment and I was not disappointed:

I decided many years ago that when I eventually had kids I would try my hardest to breastfeed them. I knew it would be something I would have to work at because my sister, whose boobs are far bigger and seemingly more life-giving than mine, had such difficulty trying to breastfeed each of her five kids that the longest she was ever able to feed any of them via the breast was one month. And it wasn’t that she didn’t try very, very hard. It’s just that her milk had the consistency and nourishment of colored water, and her kids were left starving after each feeding. So she switched to formula and now she and all her five healthy children are going straight to hell.

So I want to give public thanks to God for the corporate giants of formula because I prefer what I have to laying flowers by regular appointment on four headstones: