“Mom?!” I said, more out of sheer shock than anything.
“Wesley!” My mom said as she tried to conceal herself, failing miserably — she covered the space of her nipple extended, but the top and bottom halves popped over her arms, nearly concealing them entirely in their doughy folds. “You’re usually asleep this early. You’re always asleep this early!”
I quickly concealed my eyes and looked away as she put her top back on and put the bottle aside.
“Well not always, ha?!” I said. “Now you want to tell me what is going on?” I asked. “Or not, maybe I don’t want to know.”
“No, it’s fine,” she said.
I looked back to find her decent, her red top, pushing her tits up, back covering her chest.
“I’ve actually been helping some local women as a wet-nurse,” she said. “It turns out there’s a lot of women in town who can’t produce milk and don’t trust the alternatives on the market. They’ve started to look to me for assistance. Even when I’m not around they like to have some milk, so I bottle it . . . that’s what you’ve walked in on.”
I was a bit taken aback but not in a bad way. I knew now why my mother had been so happy recently — she’d found a way experience her favorite pastime, her passion for nursing.
“Well,” I said. “That’s . . . great, mom. I don’t really know what to say. I guess I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks, honey.” She was still regaining her composure, the red still fading from her cheeks, when she motioned for me to come forward. “Don’t act like I’m some freak! If you want some cereal, come get some cereal.”
I went into the kitchen and tried to avert eye contact as I pulled down the cereal box and filled a bowl. I reached into the fridge for milk and you can imagine the irony when it became clear there wasn’t any.
“Is there a problem?” My mom asked, after a moment.
I shook my head and laughed a bit, turning to face her. “No milk. Well, no milk for my cereal.”
“I could’ve swore I just bought some,” she said. “Let me look.
She leaned down beside me to inspect the fridge and her breasts nearly came out of her top — one of them mashed into my leg, and I could feel the wet spot at her nipple practically dampen my thigh. I was only in my boxers, and you can only imagine my embarrassment as I felt myself growing a bit hard, overtaken by urges that seemed inappropriate but unavoidable.
“Drats,” she said. “It looks like you’re right.”
I quickly stepped back, shrugging my shoulders. “It’s okay. I’ll just have some eggs later. I think I’m gonna try to get a bit more shut-eye. I’ll let you finish up.”
I tried to quickly make for the hallway, but halfway there my mom called my name.
“Wesley,” she said. “If anything, human milk is more nutrition than cow’s milk. I’d be happy to share. . .”
Once again, I really didn’t know what to say. I knew she was very lax on the subject, given her past and all, but even so this was unordinary. But given how important breastfeeding was to her, as some sort of civic good, and the great mood she had been in recently, I didn’t want to go against her beliefs, or make it seem like I wasn’t supportive.