I am not ready to wean Cormac, who is sixteen months old, but I have to admit to experiencing on occasion the breastfeeding equivalent to ‘lie back and think of England’. While still rare, there are now some days when I just don’t want to be touched by a toddler. I am, in these instances, humouring him.
I might be quite happy to sexualise my breasts again. It is an extraordinary reversal from the experience one has during the early months of breastfeeding. Because during those first months with your baby you can find your fully grown partner sadly lacking in sparkly baby newness and basically an affront to the senses. Whereas right now I could fetishize the roughness of adult skin, such is its appeal to me. I am finding the independence of the adult partner entirely endearing, in fact, his casual indifference to me is positively bewitching.
In the early days all I could think of was milk, milk, milk — and that my breasts could finally shake and jiggle like I always wished they could.
Then as the months wore on, they were just food. Though it might have been the continual, platonic exposure of my breasts to my immediate family. Even though my husband still “appreciated” them.
Now that Eryn has kicked him out and he’s sleeping in the spare bed, I find myself catching glimpses of my breasts in the bedroom mirror while feeding and thinking, “that’s hot.”
Too bad he’s in the spare bed. 😛 funny, that.
Thank you woodturtle for the frank comment – really fascinated to hear how others experience the second (and third and whatever) years of breastfeeding.
It took me two years post breastfeeding to be even interested in anything beyond appreciative looks, and in the early months not even that. I weaned at 18 months (my choice) because I was sick of being on 24/7. Mind you my youngest is still a very cuddly tactile little person and whenever she sneaks into our bed always has to have a hand on my tummy or a leg thrown over my hip.
Thanks BlueMilk, I can relate to these sentiments even though both of my breastfeeding efforts were shorter than I had planned for.
Dot dropped off the breast at 11 months, after I had struggled to get her interested in the bottle so I could do a bit of work. Once she took the bottle she lost interest in breastfeeding, which was a bit sad but ok too. She is an affectionate person now at 3.5yrs but was a very independent babe.
Ernie was a milk fiend, feeding every 2 hours, born 10 pounds – a hungry beast. I became quite depressed during my pregnancy with him, and the prevailing gauze magicked away his first year, I can hardly remember it at all. As much as I love the kid I do recall feeling swamped by baby flesh and very much like a host creature, especially since breast feeding wasn’t the quiet-sit-in-the-chair-until-it’s-finished business I had with the first, on account of a confused two year old girl who was wondering why her mum was hardly ever available.
He began biting around 8 months, I tried many suggestions to get him to stop, but nothing worked. Think breastfeeding a Tasmanian Devil. I took a month to slowly wean him from the breast and onto the bottle and he didn’t mind too much, so long as there was plenty of milk and cuddles. I do think Ernie got sick more as a baby, but that was even while I was breast feeding. I do feel wistful for that first year with both my kids, because I wasn’t very good at being in the moment. If I could do it again I would try to flap around less, forget about trying to seem like I was ‘coping’ and just laze around with my babies… memorizing them.
Oh my God, I know exactly what you mean! This is why I weaned both mine at fifteen months. “I am not your milk vending machine, bitey toddling person. Go eat an olive or something.”
Beautifully put.
No matter how long you plan to feed, there comes that moment when it starts to make your skin crawl (assuming you do it long enough to get to that moment), whether it’s at 3 weeks, 6 months, a year and a half, three years or whenever.
I also love the expression of that dynamic between people – not interested? all of a sudden you’re so much more appealing…. look at me, look at me, look at me…..
Oh my goodness how I did laugh at your line: “I have to admit to experiencing on occasion the breastfeeding equivalent of ‘lie back and think of England’.” so funny because it’s so true, can definitely relate!
We’re at what….31 months now? Something like that! 22 weeks of which have been during pregnancy, and pregnancy has definitely introduced more “think of england” moments, mainly because I am sharing my womb with someone 24/7, sharing my boobs on top of that can feel like overkill, just everyone back off and give me some personal space!
I suggested to a fellow full-term breastfeeding friend that when we’re done having babies and breastfeeding them we should have a big piss-up to celebrate our freedom, I mentioned it in the presence of my partner who said “that’ll be a cheap piss-up” LOL very true…feels like by that stage I will have been breastfeeding/drunk-free for 20 years *le sigh*
As for the sexual side of things…it comes and goes in waves. Sometime the boobies want all the attention and other times they’ll kill ya if you even try to look at them. Half the fun for my partner is trying to figure out what he is and isn’t allowed to do this time ;P
Next Friday it will be twenty-four months breastfeeding. Not even pregnant yet, but already have my copy of Adventures in Tandem Nursing, because I imagine that that’s where this is all headed. I’m okay with that. In fact, mostly it’s lovely. But then there are times when I feel like the buffet table at the all-you-can-eat Chinese restaurant. Sexualize my breasts? That was another lifetime, on another planet. Maybe I’ll get back there someday.
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