Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house every creature was breastfeeding even the mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care and mama’s nursing bra added a pair.
The babes were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of mom’s bosom kept them well fed. And Mama in her kerchief and I in my cap, had just settled down for a long winter’s nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow gave a luster of midday to objects below. When what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer, with a little old driver so lively and quick, I knew he’d been breastfed and never been sick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, and he whistled and shouted and called them by name: “Now Hearty! Now Healthy! Now Intimate and Caring! On Easy! On Cost free! On Safety and Sharing! To the top of the choices, to first in your class! Now dash away breast milk substitutes which are ever so crass!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, so up to the heights these coursers did bring breastfeeding preference and made it a thing. And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof the prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head and was turning around, down the chimney Saint Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot. A bundle of toys he had flung on his back to distribute to children without colic hack. His eyes - how they twinkled! His dimples - How merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry. His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, aspects all showing he’d breastfed long ago!
The sump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, but he did not smoke it, much to my relief. He had a broad face and a little round tummy like a breastfed babe fresh from his mummy. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, he never tasted substitute from a store shelf. A wink of his eye and a twist of his head soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word but went straight to his hob and filled all the stockings for our breastfeeding mob, and laying a finger up to his lip, whispered, “Close to the heart surely is hip!”
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle and away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But we heard him exclaim ‘ere he drove out of sight: “To breastfeed is best, to start your child right!”