thoughts from rocking in the dark and the heat
but I am not trying to sexualize breastfeeding; on the contrary, I think that I may never consider boobs sex characteristics again!
There is, if you are lucky, a lover in your life that gives you looks that border on worshipful. (Every woman should be able to feel a bit of a goddess at times.) The person who, when you open your shirt, looks at your breast with marvel, anticipation or even awe. The appreciative glance filled with wonder at the greatness of you...that is an amazing feeling. The first touch after that look is often electrifying.
But nothing compares to the look from your child.
It is the most filled with wonder at the moment ahead; Annika quivers with anticipation as I open the clip on my nursing bra. Her eyes widen, with a look of "for me?" She reaches out with both hands and takes my breast like a precious chalice, pulling it to her mouth. She pokes and pulls and plucks and kneads as she drinks, eyes searching out mine, then sinking closed again.
As she falls asleep, the sucking slows. Her hand reaches up to ever so gently brush my face, and lighter than a flower petal pass my breast. Then I take her off the nipple, and even asleep she reaches, thrashes...wait, I need that! She calms as I move her to the other side...that's my girl, counting to two! However, as she latches on her hand goes into a death grip on my thumb and breast. She holds tightly until the first let down, and then her whole face and body relaxes. More than nurishment at this point, more than beverage, I think that I am putting out the mental fires of a long and busy day with my milk. Her face on my arm and against my breast is the daily decompress that means her little brain can handle it all.
But again, right before sleeping, a touch a caress more gentle and loving than any partner's touch. My breast's are no longer mine, they are her's, and I will remember the adoration, purely non-sexual, for the rest of my life.
There is, if you are lucky, a lover in your life that gives you looks that border on worshipful. (Every woman should be able to feel a bit of a goddess at times.) The person who, when you open your shirt, looks at your breast with marvel, anticipation or even awe. The appreciative glance filled with wonder at the greatness of you...that is an amazing feeling. The first touch after that look is often electrifying.
But nothing compares to the look from your child.
It is the most filled with wonder at the moment ahead; Annika quivers with anticipation as I open the clip on my nursing bra. Her eyes widen, with a look of "for me?" She reaches out with both hands and takes my breast like a precious chalice, pulling it to her mouth. She pokes and pulls and plucks and kneads as she drinks, eyes searching out mine, then sinking closed again.
As she falls asleep, the sucking slows. Her hand reaches up to ever so gently brush my face, and lighter than a flower petal pass my breast. Then I take her off the nipple, and even asleep she reaches, thrashes...wait, I need that! She calms as I move her to the other side...that's my girl, counting to two! However, as she latches on her hand goes into a death grip on my thumb and breast. She holds tightly until the first let down, and then her whole face and body relaxes. More than nurishment at this point, more than beverage, I think that I am putting out the mental fires of a long and busy day with my milk. Her face on my arm and against my breast is the daily decompress that means her little brain can handle it all.
But again, right before sleeping, a touch a caress more gentle and loving than any partner's touch. My breast's are no longer mine, they are her's, and I will remember the adoration, purely non-sexual, for the rest of my life.