An ode to breastfeeding

I once read in the comments section on facebook, that ‘breasts are for sex and for feeding children.’ This was quickly followed up by guffawing of other commenters “Ahem, breasts are for babies!'

After four years of continuous breastfeeding, I can assure you breasts are most definitely for babies. Everything about their design, the softness, the lumpiness, the silky nipples that are such a joy for babies to grab onto, babies love fondling tags on toys, and nipples on boobs. the squishiness, their warmth, the position on the body so you can hold the child to your breast, lie with them and stroke their little heads. The love hormone oxytocin release stimulating bonding between mother and child, all for babies.

When my milk first came in about two days after giving birth to my daughter I looked like I’d had a boob job. They were so big and round and sat up just so. Now I understood that what my culture agrees to be the perfect breast, is the look of a breast engorged with breast milk, and completely capable of sustaining new life. It made sense, I forgave mankind a little bit that day. I hoped my boobs would stay like that, they didn’t.

My time of breastfeeding is drawing to a close. we have no more babies planned. For over four years my boobs have been at the beck and call of my babies. First one, then both, and then the other one.

Now my son is 2 and a half and the weight of his body and the feel of his latch tell me instinctively that it’s time to wean. My daughter, who is 19 months older, was also 2 and a half when I weaned her. I breastfed them both - as in at the same time tandem style, yes one one each boob, - for almost 12 months. They offer the best of convenience, delicious warm milk on demand, comfort when sad, bonding and togetherness, play and enjoyment. A remedy when hurt. My children both loved their boobies.

Breastfeeding hurt at first. They tell you it doesn’t hurt if the latch is right. Not true, it hurt. It hurt no matter how many times I had my child's latch checked and assured it was fine, no matter how many times I ‘made my boob into a burger and squeezed it in her mouth', breastfeeding hurt. They say that fair skinned red heads feel the most pain when breastfeeding. I’m a fair skinned brunette so perhaps I come in in a second or third on the pain stake. My nipples became sore and cracked and bled. By day 11 feeding was agony but I gritted my teeth. I was determined. I used a nipple shield for every feed for three days out of necessity. I healed, and then it never hurt again.

My milk sustained them and though they both were born rather skinny, they grew chubby very quickly. Fat little rolls over their thighs, up their arms and on their cheeks.Sweet little smiles and shiny eyes, only for mummy.

I love the snuggly closeness, the shared bed convenience. How easy it was to stumble out of bed at that first wake up cry at 5.30 and climb back into bed with them, warm and cosy, feeding away. The beautiful smells of my babies head, their chubby little hands, their innocent sweet eyes taking in all around them, always happy to be on the boob.

They say not to feed to sleep, but feeding to sleep was one of the most relaxing parts of my day, and personally one of my favourite things about breastfeeding. Feeding to sleep absolutely saved me when I was home alone with two babies who needed to nap. A chance to lie down and often snooze with my little one. And in the evenings, guilt free time scrolling my phone amidst the dinner/bedtime routine and then the clean up grind.

My child was safe, happy and warm in my arms with all their needs being met.

With my first baby I tried following a sleep routine to get her in the habit of 12 hour nights by three months old. A 12 hour night didn’t happen until she was way over 18 months. I couldn’t follow the advice, it went agains all my mothering instincts: “let baby feed for 40 minutes, otherwise they’ll be hungry and wake up sooner” My child wouldn’t feed longer than 15 or 20. Don’t feed to sleep, put baby down relaxed but awake, yeah right. Being separated from her boob wasn’t relaxing for my baby or for me. Leaving the child on the boob was much more relaxing for everyone involved.

Even now, removing my toddler from the boob isn’t relaxing. We’ve cut out the snuggly wake up morning feed, and my mornings are much more accomplished because of it. Next we’ll cut out the night feed, and last of all, the midday nap feed. This one is last because I’m not convinced I’ll be able to get my son to sleep in the day without breastfeeding, but we shall see.

As I write this, I’m relieved I still have breastfeeds left to give, because the thought of stopping completely will mark the end of my baby-mummy years, and that’s sad. It’s also beautiful, as now I have gaps in my days to create and accomplish what I could never have done with two under two, or even two under three. Coming out the other side of extreme baby years is like rediscovering who you are all over again. And I still get to cuddle (and sniff) my children every day. There’ll be no risk of my child pulling out my breast in public. And I’ll be keeping the necklines of all my clothes intact.

This was the first major family outing I’d been on since giving birth to John John. We’d been driving for about half an hour and the kids were both losing it. We stopped for a booby break.