so that's what boobs are for...
As most of you know, I have a difficult relationship with my boobs. That is to say, I hate them. And they don’t like me much either, judging by the literal pain in the neck they are on a daily basis. They’ve always been big, but now they’re positively enormous. And heavy. And leaky. It’s terrible.
However, we have come to a tenuous cease fire, my boobs and I. My furor is muted.
You see, I love breastfeeding. Love it.
It wasn’t always so. In the first few weeks after Max was born, I couldn’t breastfeed him. Oh, there was plenty of milk (I could feed Africa with these things). But he was so small that my boobs overwhelmed him. He was literally the same size as one of my boobs when he was born. Every time I tried to feed him, his little face would be smothered with boob. Every attempt to both hold him in place and prevent him from suffocating would result in both of us crying. So I put aside my feelings of failure (after a good long sob) and starting pumping instead. He quickly became acquainted with the bottle.
Eventually I whipped out the boob again, once he had grown a little. And after a few false starts, we managed to figure out a workable system that doesn’t kill him or make my back hurt. We settled in. We bonded. And I discovered the amazing convenience of having a ready-made soda fountain that’s always full, always the right temperature and always ready to go in the middle of the night without either of us fully waking up.
My husband promptly developed a severe case of boob-envy.
I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to keep it up once I returned to work, what with the constant pumping requirements of being away from baby all day and the related hazards of drying up. But even though it’s a pain, I’m absolutely determined to keep at it because it’s the one activity that really makes up for my extended absences.
I know that breastfeeding isn’t the only way to bond. And I’m sure he wouldn’t be worse for wear if I stopped tomorrow. But it is the one mommy-specific way to spend time with him that no one can duplicate. Skin-to-skin, cuddly, nourishing bonding time, filled with giggles and sighs and nestles and wide-eyed wonder.
Now that my boobs are finally serving their destined purpose, I’m actually loving the experience of having them.
At least until he sprouts teeth.