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Dear Boobs

Fat Mum Slim /

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Dear Boobs,

I’ve never written you a letter before. Oh, actually, maybe I did when I was in my teens willing you to grow. Maybe I didn’t. I don’t know, but this is actually quite, very much, weird.

But I shall continue…

If I was to write a letter to my whole body, it wouldn’t be very nice. I’d hate on my thighs, and give my belly a hard time, and beg my hair to grow quicker and thicker. I don’t often think nice things about most of my body, but you. You are a different story.

It’s not that I think you’re particularly perky because heck, I do believe you’ll be touching my knees before we’re 60. Imagine us on the dance floor for that party. It gives a whole new meaning to ‘swinging’, doesn’t it?

I want to get serious for a moment though. Before I had kids I thought breastfeeding would be a breeze. Stick ’em on, feed them and we’re done. Wrong. So wrong.

Breastfeeding was hard. I honestly don’t know why I persisted, both times, because it was EPIC. I put way more stress on myself then I needed, but I had faith in you. I knew we could do it. And for some reason, it was important to me. I wanted to feed those babies, and I was determined. Can you tell I’m stubborn?

I remember with Lulu, I was 7 days post-birth, and the lactation consultant had visited and taped tubes to me, so that I could increase my milk supply, yet still feed my daughter. I was THAT determined.

I was also THAT stressed. My little sister came to visit, with her 7 week old, and her boobs functioned perfectly. They fed my niece as needed, no tubes required. I cried so hard. I cried because I was hormonal, and upset that I couldn’t do it, but mostly because I didn’t want to give up.

I believed in you, boobs.

I tore those tubes off and put them in the bin, and I persisted. My little sister made a plan with me, “We give it seven more days, and that’s all. Let’s see what happens. If it doesn’t work, we let it go.”

So I persisted for seven more days, and then seven more after that, and seven more after that, until it was no longer an issue and you guys were firing all cylinders. WE HAD MILK.

Two whole years on, and I knew it was time to give it up, to get my body back. I am crying writing this, because that thing I worked so hard at, and meant so much to me… it still does. Boobs, am I weird? {I think by writing this letter, we’ve established that yes, I am indeed weird. But all the best people are, RIGHT?}.

I fed Lulu for the last time, and it was special to me. The last time, ever. No more babies. Lulu though, she was half eating a vegemite sandwich, while reading a book {which I got whacked in the face with mid-feed, mind you} and feeding. She was the BOSS of the situation. As always.

I went off to a conference and preoccupied myself with things {drinking, having fun, learning} and caught myself many times holding you guys mid-conversation with strangers, because ouch. It hurts to stop breastfeeding.

I’d made my mind up, and felt peaceful about my decision. I knew Lulu was ready. I knew I was ready. But on day two of the conference, the hormones kicked in… and I was a mess. I walked out of the last session and wanted to hot foot it to the car so I could listen to Ed Sheeran and cry. Except I didn’t get to the car. I got three steps out of the session and I lost it. Thank goodness for friends. Trish kindly said to me, “I want to cry too and my boobs don’t even make milk!”

Ah boobs, you’re so talented.

I called my sister on the way home, and burst into tears down the phone line. That same sister who was with me when I struggled. The same sister who helped me back then, even though she had her own newborn to look after and feed.

I walked into the house, with you guys looking much like Pamela Anderson, and I cried a little more. Lulu was just happy to see me. She didn’t care about you anymore either, boobs. She was done.

So boobs, we’re finished. Thank you for feeding both my girls for as long as you did, and thank you for reading this very weird letter, even though you can’t read.

There’s one thing that I didn’t think would happen from giving up breastfeeding, that I’d gain a cuddly daughter who didn’t just want me for one thing. We have so many beautiful cuddles, and it’s just the best thing ever.

Life is good.

Thank you boobs,
Your owner. xx

@Fatmumslim