For our WBW blog carnival on “Perspectives: Breastfeeding From Every Angle” we are pleased to host guest posts from various contributors. Today we are honored to share from Wendy T., 39 year old tandem nursing mama to two beautiful boys.
I never loved my breasts. They were never big enough, never pert enough, and my nipples weren’t good enough. I don’t think I really knew what a “good” nipple was supposed to look like, but the few I caught a glance of certainly didn’t look like mine. And of course, mine definitely didn’t look like the ones I saw in magazines. The only thing I liked about them was that they were small enough to allow me to go bra-less on hot days. Oh, yeah, and I didn’t have to wear a really expensive sports bra when I ran.
I was even apologetic about them. Well, I never really said “I’m sorry my breasts aren’t good enough” to anyone, but I did sort of, kind of, try to make sure they weren’t the main attraction for any of my partners. I thought that if I was thin enough, if my legs were toned enough, and if maybe my arms didn’t jiggle, then nobody would notice my breasts…..or lack thereof. And cleavage? I didn’t have any. Not even when I pushed them as far together as I could while leaning forward in an awkward position and looking up into a mirror to see if that might be a good look for me. It wasn’t.
I eventually gave up really even thinking about them. And then I got pregnant. And I got boobs! But then I got a big belly and wide hips and waddled a bit. But I still had boobs. They were awesome. You couldn’t miss them. I had more cleavage than the centerfold in a girly magazine. I even had to make sure I dried underneath them after a shower. Boobs. My husband loved them. Probably would have built a little altar in their honor if I had let him.
And then my first son was born. And he loved them too. He worshiped at their altar. Every hour, on the hour, for an hour….for months. He was a boob man. He talked to them, cooed at them, fondled them. He’s thirty three months old and he still loves them. Still talks to them, but uses big boy words. He has sort of stopped cooing at them, but does gaze lovingly at them. He isn’t allowed to fondle them so much anymore though. Never realized my boobs would be such a big hit that I’d have to write policy for them, create rules, and place limitations on them.
Then my second son was born. He loved them too. He’s not the boob man that his brother was, but he enjoys them nonetheless. The first time they nursed together was when my oldest was 2 years old and my youngest was 2 days old. They held hands and nursed. One was new to the game and one was an old pro. They are still nursing together at thirty three months old and nine months old. They don’t hold hands so much as one pulls hair while the other tries to fend off the hair puller. It’s my favorite time with them and their quietest time with each other.
There was a nurse in our hospital room when my second son was just hours old. She watched him latch on. She turned to my husband and said, “she has perfect breasts”. I do. Absolutely, I do.