Boobs have featured heavily in the media this week but this isn’t about that. This is a much more personal matter between you and I, and I think it’s time I addressed the issue.
We’ve had a good run with much glory, but I know you’re feeling really sensitive right now.
I know you’ve done it really tough for the last 2 months. You’ve been plagued with infections and bleeding sore bits, but I just want to take a moment to explain to you why I have not given up on you and your ability to continue to feed.
We had a pretty smooth old ride with D Man, huh? We were an awesome team. There was barely a blip in our feeding and you were seriously producing prodigious amounts of the good gear. His fat cheeks and my leaked upon shirts at awkward moments were testament to how well we worked together.
I was proud of you.
In a totally different way to which I’d been proud of you before (trussed up, poked out, hello boys kinda pride), but this was a gentle pride, that you were awesome at your job.
I knew then that the other kind of pride probably wouldn’t feature so strongly anymore, as instead of proudly pointing to the sun you kind of hung of your head a bit and bobbed about like day old, melting Jello, but that’s cool. They make cracking scaffolding these days and, with a little help we can lift and separate like the old days. You have excelled at the one true job you have…..we lose sight of your true calling in the fun bag fracas.
Many people, my doctor included, gently suggested that this issue we’ve struggled with for the last couple months was perhaps an indication that it was time to stop, to let you go into retirement, but I just want to let you know why I was so doggedly insistent to fix things, so we could just go back to the way we were.
You see, dear ladies of my chest, deep in my heart I think this will be your last tour of duty, and I don’t want it to end on bad note. I don’t want to hang up our feeding bras until we’re ready, until we ween on our own terms because we’re ready to set our little one free…..one more little inch of letting our baby go.
I know she’d be fine. Of course I know that. She scoffs her meals like it’s a pie eating contest, and her thighs could body double for the Michelin Man. She’s ready to stop if need be, but I’m not.
Not because of some stupid infection.
So, that’s why I persevered, and I totally understand why someone wouldn’t. It was shit.
And it made me blue, it made me cry……but we got through it, and now you’re better, mostly……and I can go back to being lazy and not sterilising and pumping or organising everything before leaving the house, because you’re already packed.
And you’re feeling ok.
Welcome back. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be calling on you for, but I’m happy we can decide together. You guys, Kiki and I…..all four of us.
PS I breastfeed everywhere I go. I do not cover up, never have. Can’t be arsed.
I’ve fed in restaurants, on planes, at the beach, on trains, in carparks, parks and cafes. In cities, in the country, in Vietnam, in Germany, in Holland, in Bali, in Singapore…..in fact, anywhere I go…….I will not argue my right to do so, because it’s ridiculous.
PPS This letter is to my bosom. It does not imply for one single second that whatever happened with your bosom is anything less than perfect for you and your girls.
Viva la Bosom Buddies.
Hooking up with the lovely Jess over at EssentiallyJess for IBOT……