Why Does My Baby Kick My Face Mid-Breastfeed? I’m Starting To Think It’s Personal
Yesterday at 3:17 pm, I was wedged into my usual lumpy spot on the couch, iced coffee gone warm next to me, hole in the toe of my favorite fuzzy sock, half-scrolling through a friend’s vacation photos waiting for my 4-month-old to finish eating. One minute she was quiet, soft little fist curled near my shoulder, the next I felt a chubby little foot plant itself square under my chin, and the other start pummeling my left bicep. My phone slipped out of my hand and tumbled into that never-never crack between the couch and the coffee table, and I just sat there, jaw pressed into baby foot, thinking, We didn’t sign up for this.
When she was newborn, she didn’t do this. She just lay there, all limp and warm, like a little loaf of bread that peed a lot, content to just eat and fall asleep. Then she turned 12 weeks, found her legs, and suddenly every breastfeeding session turned into a tiny, very personal kickboxing match. I asked my mom about it last week when she was over, and she cackled and said I did the exact same thing to her when I was a baby. So this is genetic, apparently. A family curse of baby face-kicking. Great.
Last Tuesday, my best friend came over to bring me chocolate chip cookies and catch up, and I was breastfeeding on the couch while we talked. We were mid-conversation about her terrible new boss, when baby reared back and kicked me square in the nose. Not a little tap, a full-force, whole-leg kick that made my eyes water. I snort-laughed so hard I almost dropped her, and my friend goes, “Aww, that’s so cute, she’s just playing!” And I smiled and nodded, but inside I was thinking, It’s cute when it’s your nose that’s still tingling 10 minutes later. Everyone always talks about how magical breastfeeding is, how special the bond is, and it is! Most days, anyway. But no one tells you about the part where your own child is using your face as a punching bag before noon.
I’ve started paying attention to when she does it, just to see if I can spot a pattern. It’s never when she’s hungry, interestingly enough. If she’s ravenous, she’s laser focused, no time for kicking. It’s always when she’s about three-quarters full, got enough milk to take the edge off, and now she’s got energy to burn. And she specifically aims for my face. I’ve tried moving back, I’ve tried shifting her position, I’ve tried propping a throw pillow between her legs and my chest. She just kicks the pillow onto the floor, adjusts her angle, and goes right back for my jaw. The only half-way trick I’ve stumbled on is keeping that lumpy stuffed cat my cousin got her propped next to the couch. When she starts getting kicky, I tuck the cat between her feet and me. Half the time it works. Half the time she kicks the cat across the room and grins like she’s won a prize.
I was up at 2am last weekend, feeding her, when I got bored and started scrolling random parenting posts, because what else are you gonna do when you’re up at 2am? Everyone on there has a reason for it, right? One woman said it’s gas, another said it’s oversupply, another said it means your baby hates your latch and you need to adjust immediately. I’ve checked all that. Our latch is fine, the doctor said her weight is perfect, I burp her mid-session, she farts like a full grown man after that, she’s still happy and smiling after. So there’s no secret fix. It’s not a sign something’s wrong. She just likes kicking my face. That’s it. My baby is a tiny chaotic gremlin with a personal grudge against my cheekbone.
I went to that new mom breastfeeding group at the library last week, you know, the one where they give out free granola bars and have extra nursing pads you can grab if you leak through yours? I was sitting in a circle of 6 other moms, all of us quietly feeding our babies, when she got kicky. I was trying to subtly block her feet with my hand, and she kicked my hand out of the way and got me right in the teeth. I made this weird involuntary grunting noise, and all the moms turned to look. I laughed and said “she’s got a heck of a kick” and one mom across the circle leaned in and goes “oh mine does that too. I have a purple bruise on my ribs from three days ago. No one believes me when I say a 3-month-old did that.” It was such a relief, honestly. No one posts this stuff. You scroll Instagram and see all these soft, glowing breastfeeding photos, babies sleeping peacefully on mom’s chest, sun through the curtains, none of them have a red mark on their jaw from a baby foot to the face.
Sometimes I get so annoyed I want to sigh really loud and set her down for a minute, but I don’t, because I don’t want to startle her. Other times, when I’m not already exhausted and my head doesn’t hurt, I look at her little scrunched toes pressed against my skin, and I get that silly little ache in my chest, the one that comes from loving something so much it hurts. But that doesn’t mean I like the kicking. You can be happy to be her mom and still annoyed that she keeps using your chin as a footrest. That’s allowed, right?
Today, I fed her on the porch after her nap, the sun was warm on my legs, and she got kicky within five minutes, just like clockwork. She got my cheek, I flinched a little, and she giggled like it was the funniest joke in the world. I still haven’t gotten my phone out of the couch crack from yesterday. My jaw’s a little sore, my coffee’s gone cold again, and I still don’t have a good answer for why she does this. I know one day soon she’ll stop breastfeeding, she’ll be running around the yard chasing the neighbor’s cat, she won’t even remember kicking my face. I’ll probably forget what it feels like, too, most days. Right now, though, I’m just sitting here, with a faint bruise forming on my bicep, and a baby who thinks my face is the best target in the whole house. It’s annoying. It’s ours. I just wish she’d aim for the couch once in a while.
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