For all of my adult life up until June, my breasts have had a single meaning and function and it wasn’t to suckle a baby. It’s taken some getting used to: having a vulnerable, hungry creature rely on them for sustenance. Eventually I’ve gotten comfortable with the suck-suck-suck-pause of baby’s rhythmic and eager eating.

Okay, now picture this: you’re lying on your side

When Theo was born, my breasts would not be ready to feed him for another week or so. Because I had gestational diabetes, my labor was induced on my due date, and to make things worse I had to undergo a C-section. Whatever triggers milk let-down was not ready yet. There was a mere drop or two of colostrum on day three. So the nurses recommended that I “top off” the baby with formula.

I named this site The Pookster after one of baby Theo’s many, many nicknames. His father and I come up with new ones all the time (and some have even been retired by now.) Here’s a partial list:

• Sparrow
• Zhook Zhook (zhook means bug in Russian, however it’s spelled)
• Little Man
• Pook
• Pookateer
• The Pookster
• Apookadookster
• Poi Poi
• Bab-wahr