Falling into the boobie trap

I got into my car and sank back into the seat.
‘That was awkward,’ I thought.
It was seven years ago and I’d just run into an ex-boyfriend.
“So what’s been happening with you?” he’d asked, clearly the only person in Hobart who didn’t know I’d become a single mother.
“I’ve had a baby actually,” I said, waiting for the inevitable questions.
And on they came…
“So you got married then?”
“No.”
“Oh, well you know what I mean, shacked up with someone?”
“Not exactly…”
As I sat in the car re-living the uncomfortable conversation, I remembered how often he’d glanced at my chest.
‘Obviously still has a bit of a thing for me,’ I thought, looking down at my bigger bosom.
But all I saw were two perfectly symmetrical round and expanding wet patches, one on each boob.
Yep, I’d paraded a massive milk leak around town.
It reminded me of a time when I was a teenager, visiting my cousin and his baby for the first time.
I remember the mortification on his wife’s face when the same thing happened to her.
Now I understood.
Of course this is one of the only let downs (if you’ll pardon the pun) about breastfeeding.
And this time around, it hasn’t been an issue at all.
Actually, if it wasn’t for Li’l Fatty’s ever expanding tum-tum, I’d wonder if I had any milk in there at all.
We all know the advantages of breastfeeding – nutritious, cheap, bonding, yada yada.
But for me, one of the biggest pros is weight loss.
Weight loss for me and weight gain for my babies.
“You obviously have really high fat milk,” the nurse said at Li’l Fatty’s most recent weigh-in.
That bodes well for both of us because it seems to mean that literally every chocolate biscuit I eat is processed until it’s small enough to squeeze out my nipple and straight into Li’l Fat’s open mouth.
However, there does come a time when you’ve got to wean.
For me, it was when Master Seven would suck, stop, look around, suck, bite, stop, look around, suck, look at me, smile, suck, bite, stop, look at the telly… and on it went.
(For the record, he wasn’t seven-years-old at the time – it was just before he turned one.)
Like Li’l Fatty, as a baby Master Seven sucked me down to my pre-pregnancy weight fairly quickly.
But, after weaning him, I got a rude shock when every calorie again began counting and I started putting the weight back on.
He’d been my own little personal trainer, my laxative, my overactive thyroid.
He’d meant I could eat what I wanted secure in the knowledge it was a moment on the lips and never on the hips.
With that in mind, I’m seriously considering breastfeeding Li’l Fatty until my wedding day.
It’s a year away and by then he may run up the aisle screaming for it.
And Learner Dad might get distracted by the two wet patches on my wedding gown.
But it is nutritious, cheap and bonding after all.
I am such a selfless person.

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