Some moms just don't get it. They decide not to breast-feed for the worst reasons. One 26-year-old mom recounts her frustration with girlfriends who were whiners when it came to breast-feeding.

What a bunch of whiners. And I don't mean the infants, I mean the mamas.

A couple of friends of mine got pregnant at the same time as me. So we hung out. Which was a big mistake. Terri and Ellen both -- both -- decided after about two months of pregnancy that they would not breast-feed. I alone stood as a champion of La Leche League and told them that my breasts were leased out, as was the rest of me, until my kid had no more physical need for my body parts.

Ellen was adamant right from the start -- she thought it was gross. Terri relented slightly and nursed her little baby boy until he was six weeks old, then put him on formula. Both of these boys, and my nephew too, were gaunt and strangely old-looking until they were over a year old. On the other hand, my baby girl scoffed at the 95th percentile for both height and weight until she was 18 months, when she slimmed out some and now enjoys supermodel proportions. She's never been seriously ill, she has wonderful skin, and she has no food allergies.

OK, maybe genetics and good fortune have something to do with it too, but this is my story and I'm sticking to it.

We talked about this extensively while we were pregnant. Terri didn't want stretch marks, and Ellen just squirmed and said she thought it was "gross." Excuse me? Never mind that's what they're for. She thought it was disgusting. This seemed to me a terrible tempt of Mama Nature's ire. In other words, I worried that she was gonna get it.

Terri? Got stretch marks anyway, the kind topographers dream about in their most inspired fantasies of alien landscapes. And Ellen gained another 15 pounds after the baby, leaving her 55 pounds or so over her original size. I currently weigh in at five pounds less than when I started.

This all may seem harsh or unkind or judgmental … and that's because it is. These are not women who were unable to nurse. They chose not to. Mama Nature gave them perfectly healthy, functioning breasts, and perfectly healthy babies who craved them. She gave them good jobs with eight weeks disability to get the hang of it. She gave them supportive and tender spouses ... oh, wait, no she didn't.

See, Terri's husband retreated to the den to smoke pot until their son was about 18 months old. And Ellen's husband was the one who told her initially that there was anything gross about nursing. I still hold these gals responsible because what the hell were they thinking, listening to a couple of juvenile, non-breast-having, non-baby-gestating men? But evidently this is not so weird of a phenomenon, because the reason I didn't subscribe to the new mama magazines was the preponderance of articles instructing women how to raise their newly infantile husbands.

So here, if you're sitting on the pasture fence, I'll give you my top 10 reasons for being pro-udder:

1. That's what they're for (I think I may have mentioned this).

2. You will never burn your baby's mouth on breast milk.

3. It's a time-saver -- nothing to measure or mix, and the milk comes in this convenient carrying case.

4. You have never seen your breasts so big. I mean really, really large. I mean, they have their own gravitational field.

5. You get to feel superior, just like me, and maybe write an article, and be a peer-group leader, and everyone will love you, especially your baby.

6. It's free.

7. You can eat all the ice cream you want and still lose weight.

8. You get to whip your boobs out in public if you want to.

9. You get 20-minute breaks every few hours when you return to work, because nobody will question you further if you tell them you are going to pump the milk out of your breasts now. Also, everybody will leave you alone later, not wanting to get too close to that conspicuous cooler under your desk, or welding torch, or other job apparatus.

10. It's fun. Now, don't get weird on me for this one. Of course it's fun. Mama Nature made all the species-sustaining things fun, like eating and having sex and having your new infant voraciously gobbling at your breasts. Yahoo!

I'll admit it's a little difficult in some ways. For instance, pumping the milk is inconvenient and sloppy, but it works. Also, you have to wear those musta-been-a-man-who-designed-this, maxi-pad-shaped nursing pads, or you will have dinner-plate-sized wet spots on your cashmere sweater (which of course buttons up the front, trust me on this one). Another thing is that even though it's natural it takes some practice (six weeks), and I know a few women who just got discouraged and quit.

I told a pregnant friend of mine the other day that she is currently the Queen Bee. I mean, the pinnacle member of any species has to be the mommy-in-progress, right? So she should work it, girlfriend, and work it hard. And as long as possible. She's got a great boyfriend, she's got a hip attitude about her metamorphosing body, and huge, huge breasts. She’s like a Botticelli. Grade A.

L. Verde is a 26-year-old single mother of a tragically gorgeous two-and-a-half-year-old daughter, Emma. She recently completed her first novel and also edits the literary zine Pica.