Adoptive mothers who breastfeed, or consider it, often seem quite surprised by the reactions of adult adoptees like me who see this as a violation.
I see it as adding insult to injury, myself. Imagine you’re an infant minding your own business in, say, Ethiopia when suddenly you are uprooted from everything you know and flown around the world. Everything looks and smells and sounds and moves differently from what you’re used to. The light, the air–everything is different. No matter your age, on some level you grok pretty quickly that it’s you who is expected to adjust to all this, that nothing you perceive will be changing for your benefit, that you had best adapt ASAP.
Then one of these huge white funny-smelling people shoves a tit in your face and croons “I’M your mommy NOW, Jacob” when your name is Dawit and you know perfectly well who your mother is and what she sounds and smells and looks like.
Seriously, it’s like something out of a horror movie. The only way to make it worse for the kid would be if the a’mom wore clown make-up for every feeding.
We’re going to raise a generation of children who cry when they see milk, I know we are.