If my nipples could talk right now, they would probably say “go suck yourself!”
And I really can’t blame them. It’s been nearly a year and a half now that Camila is sucking her holy nectar from them. My boobs have never been out and about this much before and they are looking pretty tired. And so am I.
On Christmas day I had the very much anticipated Christmas family skype call. This year it fell during the sorbet & Panettone stage of the sacred meal. In the little square at the bottom right hand side of the screen, I could see the picture of me nursing Camila whilst talking to my niece. When my dad approached the screen and saw me breastfeeding, rolled his eyes and said “oh my God, here we go again!”
I was with my dad on this one as I thought to myself “exactly, how can I still be doing this??”
Prior to Fintan’s departure, we did manage to successfully wean Camila at night, and we even managed to do so during the day for a couple of weeks just before he left. Weaning is a mami-papi team work. When Camila got fussy because she wanted to nurse, papi would intervene to distract her or take her away. With him not around the situation becomes an issue. When she sees me she sees a boob. Two in fact. There’s no distracting her, there’s nothing to calm her hysterical cries. For peace and sanity’s sake I gave in and we are back on breastfeeding.
Moreover, lately, Camila’s hand begun to roam free and connect nonchalantly with the other breast whilst she is nursing. Sometimes she just presses on the whole tit like it was a buzzer of a tv quiz show, sometimes she focuses on the nipple and mimics the turning-up-the-volume-of-the-radio-dial move, other times she goes for the full-on pinch or the ring-the-doorbell action. There is no way of making her stop doing that. Her slow maneuver has a stalker quality, relentless and very annoying.
And then there is the dress code logistics that goes with breastfeeding. I must wear t-shirts with suitable opening at the front, wide enough to let the girls out with ease. 90% of my tops are unsuitable for this and let’s forget the dresses!
And the wet patches. And the occasional bites. And the outrageous self service at the most awkward of times. And her extravagant nursing poses, like downward dog being her favourite.
I read back on my first post on breastfeeding, full of amazement on what a lovely experience it is, and now I roll my eyes at all that soppy wonderfulness. These days I’m more like: Camila, eat up your broccoli, I want my body back!
And I mean it…