Have you ever had the urge to rip your breast from your chest and throw it as hard as you can against the nearest wall?
THAT is the early days of breast feeding.
When your page 3 model breasts are aching so badly you can’t even look at them.
How dare your husband even think about glancing in their direction because they look so god damn good the same day your milk comes in.
And when your milk is finally in and you leak every time someone’s baby cries in Tesco, the one time you forget the breast pads and only dashed out for bread you end up with soggy patches and pitiful looks.
When you accidentally feed from the same breast twice and they are all lopsided and you spend an hour expressing 6oz of milk only to knock it over before you get the lid on.
Try not to cry over spilt milk then. I dare you.
THOSE are the early days of breastfeeding.
It’s not easy, it hasn’t been easy, but for me but I felt like it was the best I could do for my baby. You long for it to be easier. For things to settle, for the baby to ‘get it’.
I wish you could bottle it up. That smell. Like puppy breath. Each baby is slightly different but instantly takes you back. Like that perfume you wore when you were 14, that reminds you of that boy, with the freckles on his nose as he kissed you for the first time.
Lucy, she’s one now. And still breastfeeds 4x a day. And I am already nostalgic about it, as if she has stopped, like it was years ago. She won’t always be hanging off my nipple. She won’t always rest her hand on my chest as she drinks in the night. Our bellies won’t always breathe in sync as we snuggle and I smell her sweaty little baby head nestled into the crook of my arm.
Now. Now She helps herself. Patting my chest, pulling down my top, or yelling ‘MORE!’ from across the room as she hoofs it across to me on all fours. I thought I’d find it embarrassing, I thought my face would turn pink in public but I’ve grown to love attachment parenting and extended feeding a lot more than I thought I would. I giggle when she can’t wait and is so excited she bounces her bottom on the spot, whispering ‘boooooob’ in her funny little Scottish accent, instantly cuddling in and stroking my arm.
I never thought I would be feeding this long, I haven’t tried to wean her, and I don’t plan too, she finds comfort in snuggling up and latching on. Wriggling round and doing all sorts of hand stands as she feeds. She plays with my hair, poking me in the eye and tries to twist her entire body round when she hears the intro to Peppa Pig.
And I don’t mind, I’m not quite ready to give up yet and I’m pretty glad she isn’t either.