Posts Tagged ‘weaning’

After seven straight years of back-to-back pregnancy and breastfeeding, I’m finally getting rid of my maternity and nursing bras. 

And for those more Frugal Types who are no doubt thinking “Surely you could get a few more years wear out of them”, I’d like to present you with an arty shot I took of my two “skin” coloured ones (which these days would only match my skin tone if, say, I had been struck down by the Black Plague) as taken through the hole in one of my black ones, which has been sprouting small white elastic hairs for about a year now like an old lady’s chin. 


Signed and framed prints available.

And so with the departure of these dear friends, a rather large vacancy has opened up in my wardrobe – and with it, the excuse to do something I have not done in years: to gaze upon my reflection under the unforgiving lights in the fitting room of the David Jones lingerie department. And my, what a sight I am to behold! All helped, no less, by some slip of a girl in the next cubicle saying to the shop assistant: “Yeah, the 10B fits just fine but I think I’ll have to go the size 8 in the g-string”. For the record, the last time I wore a g-string, Eiffel 65 was still in the charts and it only made me feel like I was giving myself a day-long wedgie. 

ANYWAY, people who know me well will know how hopelessly sentimental I can be and how I like to imbue objects and actions with capital S Symbolism. So with the metaphoric burning of these bras, I’ve been feeling I’m just one step further away from those child-bearing years I started lamenting in my recent post “The First Official Sleep-over“.

Gone now are those days (and nights) where the Mystery Guest inside my burgeoning belly  kicked and squirmed and even punched my husband in the head (Fact.) and when my stomach quite frankly looked its best (recently I tried on a dress and actually thought “If I was pregnant I could carry it off”).

No more shall I have those tell-tale wet spots on my shirt that announced “It’s dinner time!” and have little eyes look up at me so intently and solemnly while the Very Serious Business of breast-feeding was in progress – until, of course, I made a silly noise or tickled the feeder’s feet, in which case those eyes turned all merry and the milk ran out the corners of a smiling mouth.

And never again will I sit night after night in that feeding chair holding a baby and wondering how I managed to make something so utterly and divinely beautiful or why the hell this Thing never seems to want to sleep. Or both.

And so this is goodbye. Goodbye, goodbye to the crazy, beautiful, exhausting intensity of it all…

Recently, when I was watching my cousin L-Beer holding the little hands of her 10 month old daughter (the beautiful Baby C) and walk around and around the house, all with her back just slightly hunched over in that special way that all spinal-health experts advise against, I saw how far along I had come that parenting road. My children can walk around and even climb large unstable structures by themselves (without any help, thank you mum), they can now feed themselves (mostly), they are better at telling me when they feel sick or sad or angry or even bored (mostly bored), and I can even have a brief shower while alone in the house with them (with the door open, of course).

I know that there are many (many!) new dangers and delights on that road ahead: my son’s first forays into Saturday morning sports, navigating those Hannah-Montana and Bratz-infested waters, being able to have a shower or go to the toilet with the door closed and much much (much!) more… But here it is: that mummy-intensive time, when I was their entire world and they were mine, is over. 

So goodbye old friends. Thanks for the mammaries…


They never let me down during my let-down.

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