#breast milk

[foldingfittedsheets]

Does anyone want to hear how I ended up using soap made of my betrothed's exes breast milk?

[opabinia-fan]

my brother made me draw this

[shiftythrifting]

goodwill finds priced at $1.99

[emiliano-77]

[fltwoodsmonster]

hey hold on a sec

I just realized both op and the commenter are insane trad christains so im deleting my reblog (because im not platforming their shit -- this is ALSO why im censoring their URLs I’m not going to give them traffic) and instead reposing it with the following links/information:

1) The WHO still actively hosts a guide on how to create safe milk substitutes when access to breastmilk/milk substitutes are unavailable on the Institutional Repository for Information Sharing (iris). The guide is called “Infant Feeding in Emergencies: A Guide for Mothers”. Relevant information starts on page 38.

2) Here is a link to the archived guide WITH THE CAUTION that I was not able to find out why its no longer provided by the WHO or iris. It could be that the information is out of date. I am only sharing it because I think the visuals may be helpful for people who have trouble reading written directions. Consult the above link first, then refer to this guide only if you need clarification on how to perform certain actions. Link to archive.

3) The language in that second comment throws up so may red flags. I cropped it to only the information needed to understand the context of this post because I find it immensely suspect. The repeated allusions to 2020 for no apparent reason (but I can guess why, as an infection disease scientist) come across as loaded or dog-whistely. I would advise against sharing the OP for that reason. But because the information being provided is important and not well known, I’m making this alternative post for people to reblog. 

4) The implication that the WHO is censoring information based on a 404 page is a really flimsy and extreme conclusion to jump to. The “Infant Feeding in Emergencies” guide I linked above also goes to a 404 page on the WHO’s main website - but again, can be accessed through iris instead. So no, the information on how to feed infants in a food crisis is not being censored by the WHO.

5) A more likely cause for the guide disappearing is that the link broke and they didn’t fix it. If you look at the original URL it indicates the guide was posted in a subcategory on the WHO’s website about International Crises, specifically in the Middle East. If you try to type in a shortened versions of that URL (specifically https://www.who.int/hac/crises/ or the slightly modified http://www.who.int/hac/crises/en/) you’ll see that the subdomain that was present with relevant info breaks around 2020. In fact, while testing this hypothesis, I came across this information page in a November 2021 version of the URL https://www.who.int/home/cms-decommissioning (which I was redirected to automatically from http://www.who.int/hac/crises/en/):

There is no nefarious conspiracy theory. The link simply broke - as many many many many links do on the internet. The second commenters reply is proven bunk by a little bit of fact checking.

sorry for the long post, but I think the information on infant nutrition substitutes is genuinely useful, lifesaving info -- but i’m not going to give more people with dangerous ideological views spouting nonsense a platform.

update (5/20/22):

I had hope this was a given, but I want to be explicitly clear.

Using an at-home formula substitute should be a last resort. Contact your infant’s physician or a pediatrician before attempting to make your own milk substitute.

I am also going to leave a link to the Academy of Breastfeeding Medicine’s statement on breast milk substitute shortages.

Do not blindly follow internet posts in regards to the health of yourself or your children. I wanted to share this post simply because I, myself, did not even know it was possible to make milk substitutes and thought it was useful to be aware of in an time when access to substitutes is unprecedentedly difficult.

[gravid-transluna]

Two Birthdays: Part Two

words: 1148

content: lactation, milking, birth denial, fpreg

They exited the restroom together and for the next hour, Noemi mingled near the pool bar, a drink in hand, and endured the powerful, relentless contractions. Mari stood beside her, and the first time another contraction struck she saw Noemi double over, muscles banding her belly, legs widening instinctively.

“Oh,” she whispered. “OH. I’m pushinnng-hnnngh.”

“No, you’re not,” Mari hissed back. “You can do this.” She placed a covert hand on Noemi’s curved back, massaging it gently, already accustomed to touching Noemi’s exposed, laboring body.

Noemi straightened, and painstakingly closed her legs as much as she could, attempting to hold her baby firm in her canal. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her grunts diminished into effortful pants.

“That’s it, Ms. Noemi,” Mari said. “I don’t think anybody noticed.”

“Good,” Noemi moaned under her breath. “Good. I’m feeling like pushing all the time now, even when the contraction’s gone. There’s so much pressure, right between my legs.”

Another contraction that hour had Noemi leaning heavily on Mari for support, her obtrusive belly pushing into Mari’s own flat tummy, making Mari wonder at the sensation of such a packed, heavy womb. She could feel the steely stretched muscles rippling against her. The skin contact moved heat from Mari’s stomach to between her legs, and again her pussy was beating, quick and warm like a pulse. She worried that she was leaking through her bikini bottom now, dizzied by arousal. Then Noemi moaned in her ear, arms wrapped around her shoulders, and Mari felt a wetness drip down her inner thigh.

“Aye, go get your mom!”

“Should she be drinking in that state?”

Luckily, everyone was too drunk at this point to think much about it.

Contractions were gripping Noemi mercilessly now, with barely any pause or respite, and she was barely holding on every time, fighting her body, her deep primal instinct to bear down against the baby in her canal. Every time Mari anchored her, caressing her hard belly, urging her gently, just hang on a little while longer. The last contraction left Noemi senseless with pain and need, foggy-headed. Her legs were permanently spread now, stance ridiculously wide.

“Oh, dear…” she breathed, and Mari followed her gaze to her front. Two wet spots had formed in her bikini top, nipples standing straight through the fabric.

“Ms. Noemi,” Mari said, summoning her courage. She looked Noemi in the eye. “Let me help you.”

Noemi let herself be led to the restrooms again, barely able to put one foot in front of the other, everything about her so full and aching.

“You don’t need to come in with me,” she said. “I can, ah, expel the milk on my own.”

“Don’t worry, Ms. Noemi,” Mari said. “I promised I’d take care of you.”

Noemi was blushing hard now, appearing almost drunk in her labored state. She allowed Mari to sit her down on the toilet. Mari gently teased the white bikini top from her breasts, and Noemi shivered, curling her toes at just the light brush of fabric against her sensitive nipples. Her dark areolas spread over her breasts, and around them blue veins ran through soft, tan skin. Her nipples jutted stiffly, heavy and laden, beaded at the tips with milk.

Mari set the flat of her hand against one and marveled as more milk beaded at the surface and then began to drip down the swell of Noemi’s breast and onto the long shelf of her belly. Noemi hissed, a sharp intake of air.

“Okay?”

Noemi nodded, unable to speak. Keep going.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this,” Mari said. She sat on Noemi’s lap and clamped her mouth around her nipple, cupping her other breast in her hand. Milk spurted from both breasts in tiny forceful streams. Noemi clapped a hand over her mouth to contain a sharp noise of pleasure and release, her back arching, other hand raised, opening and closing in the air. Mari suckled, feeling Noemi squirm under her, and lowered her free hand between her own legs, strumming her clit. Suddenly Noemi’s belly went hard again and she threw back her head to moan loudly, and Mari couldn’t tell whether from ecstasy or agony or a thrilling mixture of both.

“Oh, oh—Mari, please don’t—don’t stop. Fuck.”

Mari continued to suckle and the hand groping Noemi’s breast slid to her swell instead, tracing her linea nigra. There was no give to the surface, drum-tight, and Mari could feel Noemi’s belly seize violently, driving her baby down in a deep, involuntary push. Noemi’s moan lowered, guttural with sudden pushing, and Mari instantly took her lips away from Noemi’s breast. The milk stream diminished to dribble, her breasts not even close to being drained. Noemi squirmed at the sudden lapse.

“No pushing, remember?” Mari had settled well into a dominant role, playing out her ultimate fantasy, Noemi utterly receptive, responding to her every demand.

She breathed, slowly, and her hard belly relaxed somewhat.

“Good,” Mari said.

Noemi shuddered. “Yes, just—please. Continue.”

Mari smiled and said something she’d always wanted to say to Noemi: “Good girl.” The faint marks in the corners of her mouth, the maturity in her maternal hips, the refined elegance of her fingers—it was all subversive.

“I’ve never—never been called that by anyone,” Noemi panted. “Especially not someone nearly twenty years my junior.”

Mari bent her head again and Noemi’s lips tightened in preparation. She latched back onto her nipple, milk gushing into her mouth, and began to thumb Noemi’s stony pointed navel, her entire belly an erogenous zone at this point, her navel the sensory peak. Noemi nearly shrieked, delirious, and beneath her thighs Mari felt her hips bucking, building not only toward delivery now, but a climax. Mari continued to masturbate herself furiously, working her mouth at the same time, sinking her teeth lightly into Noemi’s breast, just enough to leave light, red marks. Noemi’s thighs began to quake with tremors and Mari’s pussy squeezed tight, clit bared—she gasped against Noemi’s soft chest at the same time that Noemi’s lips parted in a perfect O. Then they both trembled through watery orgasms.

Noemi looked at her with glassy eyes, hazy. She leaned in, lips soft and open and receptive for a kiss—then stopped, delicate features twisting into a grimace, and released a thunderous groan, lifting her bottom off the toilet seat with the force of her pushing. Her eyes went wide. Mari could tell something had changed. She was feeling something, deep inside of herself.

She tried to articulate the sensation. “Guh—the baby, it’s—mmmm, it’s right between—the baby’s in my vagina!”

Mari looked at her. She was desperate, out of control, her face flushed and beaded with sweat, moist short hair clinging to her forehead. Her contracting belly, lower than ever.

Mari leaned forward and rammed a kiss onto her lips, and made her taste her own milk.

[alleyannt]

Do you want to have some taste 👅

[hugetitlover415]

[emiliano-77]

[toobustytohide]

If each of your tits aren’t as big or bigger than your head, can you really say they are big?

[gravid-transluna]

Bread, Milk, and Eggs

words: 1390

content: rapid pregnancy and birth, lactation, birth denial, fpreg

Nadia grabbed a basket on the way into the supermarket. She wouldn’t need a cart. Her list only consisted of three simple things. The basket swung as she combed the aisles, leisurely.

Bread

She picked out a loaf, pausing to read the expiration date before dropping it in the basket.

As it plopped in, she immediately felt a strange sensation. It was almost like a tugging in her navel, a buttery innie. She pressed her lean, dark tummy, firm with athleticism. Not concerned. Just a little curious.

Then the tugging became a pressure, consistent with the bloated sensation she would experience on her period. Nadia frowned. She pressed down on her belly, and, to her surprise, it pressed back.

“The hell—?” She was really frowning now. She realized how she must look to passerby, a college-age girl in a crop top and jean shorts, staring at her stomach.

Probably just gas or something, she thought. She continued down the aisle. When she reached the end, she looked down again, this time gasping audibly. Her belly had a curve to it, bending a little past the waistline of her jean shorts now. Nadia pressed down again, hard. She stopped when she felt nausea well up inside her. Her belly was still mostly muscle, but had a slight softness to it, a give like a firm peach. As she watched, it swelled even more, pushing out slowly to stretch her shorts.

“Holy fuck,” Nadia muttered, suddenly feeling the flesh of her belly contained in the seams of her waistline like it had never been before. She felt extremely uncomfortable, and reached around it to undo the button, fingers fumbling. She gasped, breathing, and her belly expanded even more without the restriction.

Nadia could now spread her fingertips around its underside. She looked almost, she looked—

No. Nah. No fuckin’ way.

Nadia grabbed the bread from the basket and lifted it to her eyes. The expiration date had been nine months from now when she’d picked it out.

Now, it was four.

“I gotta be tripping,” Nadia mumbled.

She laced her fingers over her navel and held firm as the skin filled her hands and pushed against them. She refused to let it grow any more and ruin her trim tummy and athletic figure. Then a pain and pressure shot through her belly, as though something had rose, shoving, up into her sternum. She let go, and her belly rapidly dropped, the skin stretching tightly, itching around her belly, her taut belly muscles being pulled and loosened and smoothed into a round, curving shape. She watched in mounting horror, cupping her mouth as her innie rose and popped outward. Then, a sharp inner jab, distending its tight surface. Nadia gasped. Movements wriggled her belly viscerally. She clutched at her lively swell, unable to deny it any longer.

“Shit, I’m pregnant,” she said.

Dark stretch marks patterned the sheening brown skin. Nadia regretted her crop top, exposing her to the entire supermarket. She glanced around. She only needed a few more things, then she could get to a doctor. She began to speed-walk, realizing that her strut had been hindered to a waddle, heavy belly forcing her to walk with her back curved to support the gravid weight.

Without realizing it, Nadia rested her hand atop the high shelf of her belly as she walked, a natural maternal gesture.

Milk

She came to the dairy aisle and opened the door, suppressing a sharp breath as her belly rippled and twitched with a flurry of kicks. As soon as she placed a carton of milk in her basket, she was subjected to another set of sensations.

She recoiled.

“Noooo,” Nadia moaned, heedless to glances from passerby. “No, no, not again!”

Sharp points of pressure stabbed through her nipples, and she watched as they stiffened under her crop top, then began to thicken and elongate, inching outward. Her small breasts, she realized, were swelling as well. They sank, full, still not particularly large but swollen now, tender. High before, their undersides now rested on her belly, humiliatingly completely her very pregnant appearance. Nadia cupped them, then gasped; her fat nipples were sensitive, raw. The simple contact had leeched milk from the tips, forming twin wet spots on her tip. She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling them continue to dribble achingly.

My top, Nadia thought. My favorite fucking top.

She had to get out of here, now. Before anyone saw her, leaking milk in the dairy aisle. Before anything… worse could happen.

As if on cue, her belly shook and swayed with powerful, urgent kicks.

Eggs

One more item. Fortunately, it was on the same aisle, near the milk. Nadia scanned quickly, chose a carton at random, not even bothering to check the eggs for cracks as she usually did. Breast milk ran freely down her front now, her top soaked with two spreading wet patches. She threw the carton into her basket and heard a crack.

Nadia cursed. She opened the cartoon and saw that it only contained a single broken egg.

“What the—”

Then her belly surged, a sudden pressure rushing through her, downward. Her knees trembled, weak. She clasped the aisle fridge handle to remain upright as fluid flushed from her vagina, drenching her legs and puddling the floor. Immediately she felt something large, heavy, and round drop between her pelvis. Her belly hung lower. The bones of her hips craned with forceful pressure; they were still narrow and girlish, unable to reach the significant width of expecting mothers in time for her own birth.

Birth.

“No, I—” Nadia stuttered, clutching her belly. “I can’t be—nnnngh.”

An urge to bear down pounded in her head. Nadia fought it, sleek muscled body tensing with resistance. She tried to put her legs together, feeling like the baby would fall between them with her widened stance, and found that she couldn’t anymore. They were permanently spread, hips opened in preparation. She turned and began to waddle as fast as she could to the front of the store, hand pressed over the sodden crotch of her shorts. Running had become a ridiculous notion, nearly impossible. Her knees wavered, threatening collapse. She couldn’t bring her legs together as she pumped them forward, and her belly swung, gravid and obtrusive, as she moved.

Another contraction. Every muscle in her belly clamped down, transforming it into a tight, rigid ball, driving the breath from her.

Don’t push, she thought. Don’t push. Pushing makes it real. Don’t—

She dropped into a deep squat in the middle of the aisle. Gripping the belly between her thighs hard enough to indent the surface, she bore down with a long, uninterrupted groan. Internal muscles thrust her baby through her canal, opening her. Her hips creaked. Her voice cracked, shrill now as she pushed again. The head slid between them, almost dislocating them with its width. She forced her legs even wider instinctually, desperate to make room for the descending head.

“Holy shit, she’s in labor!”

“Someone call 9-1-1!”

The people around her had stopped, unsure. They watched her, some phone cameras now winking down at Nadia in her birthing squat.

Her eyes widened as the contraction abated with the baby’s head resting in her vagina, filling her entire canal with tremendous weight. She could feel herself bulging into her jean shorts. On quivering spread legs she raised herself and hobbled out of the aisle.

“Excuse me, ma’am! You have to pay first!” an employee demanded as she passed the checkout, basket swinging from her arm.

The store alarms rang, and then Nadia was gripped by another contraction.

She buckled, bowing into another squat and pushing long, shoving her baby further into her tented jean shorts. The crown burned and dilated her vagina into a hot, red teardrop, then a drawn circle. Amniotic fluid spilled, spurting into the fabric around the head. Then her progress was suddenly, excruciatingly halted by her shorts. She’d pushed half a head into them and the stretched fabric wouldn’t yield any more space. Nadia bore down, her clenching efforts fruitless now. Her pussy slipped, tense and bloodless around the head. She threw her head back and moaned with the screaming sirens.

It had been three simple things. The fourth? Well, the fourth she’d never expected to be so complicated.