While I've mostly made peace with breastfeeding, I miss the days my breasts were purely ornamental.
I used to have these little vanilla cupcakes that sat in place on the front of my front and rarely bothered anyone.
And now, now I have these hurty milkbags that don't make enough milk for my boy's voracious appetite, but still have to be contained. I went from wearing pretty, mildly supportive little bras when I wanted to to wearing sturdy nursing ones day and night.
Somehow I was totally unprepared for that. Much like all these other things.
Like, towards the end of my pregnancy, I got these brown patches on my nipples.
What for, I wondered?
And then I discovered: so that they could peel off when I started breastfeeding.
I don't know how it is for other people, but for me, the beginning of breastfeeding was horrendously painful.
The closest thing I can liken it to - although I've never actually done this - would be rubbing your nipples against the sidewalk every couple hours. And if they blister, crack, bleed, or scab, you still have to do it. Even though it hurts like bloodyfuckinghell.
Which kind of goes against everything in your nature.
Hi! These really really hurt. Let me go ahead and stick them in your mouth.
And it turns out that my little boy has a very strong suck. So while most of the issues cleared up, I do still get blisters.
Because every once in a while, he goes ahead and gears up to get off the breast in the following manner: sucks really hard, and then pulls back his head. You'd expect to hear a pop, like the cork coming out of a wine bottle.
I try to catch it, but am rarely successful. He sneaks it in.
We're all snuggled up, and I think we're having a beautiful moment, where he's being nourished and soothed and we're bonding.
Followed by much profanity.
At least we're both true to our natures.