*Disclaimer: this post is predominantly about breastfeeding. So if you aren't down with a frank discussion about my boobs, how about clicking on over to this post and discussing my leg hair instead?
Have you ever flipped through a National Geographic magazine, or watched a documentary about some sort of tribe, and looked at the women's boobs? Having gone a lifetime without the support of bras, plus nursing multiple babies for extended periods of time, makes their boobs a little - okay, a lot - long. Like, tie-them-up-so-your-knees-don't-knock-against-them-when-you-walk long.
But me? I've been wearing a bra since before I had anything to put in one. So why is it that now, when I take my bra off at the end of the day, it's like I've been storing two rolled-up fire hoses in it? My boobs don't bounce any more. They flop. There's no cleavage any more, but rather a disappointing flat space. Like if you put two pancakes really far apart on the same plate. Now, I never claimed to have a gorgeous set of ta-tas even in their heyday; they've never been what you'd call voluptuous (more like ski-slopey, really) but this is ridiculous.
And I blame it on one thing. Not unsupportive bras, and not even breastfeeding (at least not directly) ... I blame it on Coby and his penchant for what I call "acrobatic nursing."
Coby is sixteen months old now, and still wants to nurse several times a day. For the record, this surprises even me; I never, ever thought I would still be breastfeeding at this point. I have had every problem in the book (mastitis, thrush, low milk supply, and most notably, DMER ), which is why I didn't get very far nursing either Colin or Cameron. But Coby has always been particularly attached to the boob, so we soldiered on and got through all the obstacles, and now it's actually the pleasant experience it's supposed to be.
Well, sometimes. When Coby isn't trying to turn my boob into Stretch Armstrong.
I can actually do everything pictured here. With my breasts.
You see, the older he gets, the more curious he is. You know how toddlers are: they never just wanna sit. They want to climb, look, explore. Although Coby wants to do all these things while he nurses. Which means he'll latch on normally at first, snuggled into my arms ... and then he'll raise his head. And then he'll try to stand up. And then he'll go around the corner to fetch a toy. With my boob clamped firmly into his mouth. And I'm all, "Dude, it's not Silly Putty."
Okay, so I'm exaggerating, but not by much. I swear "the girls" have gotten stretched out enough in the last few months to be suitably used as a yardstick. Tangerines in tube socks, people.
At least if I'm ever caught outside in cold weather, I can use them as earmuffs. And a hat. At the same time.