LD has spent one and a half years on this earth. For 18 months, he has turned our lives upside down in the most wonderful and joy-filled ways. And also in ways that make me want to drop-kick him across the room like a footy.

And then there’s the breastfeeding, previously of the joy-filled category and now residing almost permanently in drop-kicking territory.

I was determined to breastfeed my son. The advantages seemed obvious. But I was concerned that a) I would be physically unable to do so or b) that I wouldn’t enjoy it. Both a and b turned out to be non-issues and so began what, for a good, long time, was a lovely, amazingly easy breastfeeding relationship. Great! I felt great. Actually, I was probably even a bit smug. Look at me, giving my child the very best start to life - and it’s a breeze! I am clearly a goddess with magical breasts of infinite goodness. And so, being a big believer in the concept of instant (or shortly thereafter) karma, it should surprise me not a bit to find myself here with a child who will release his leech-like suction from my nipple only with the promise of tasting his first beer in sixteen-odd years. Damn tits! You just had to be magical, didn’t you? Just look what your unrestrained beauty has done! So smug goddess, how d’ya like them apples?

Family and friends who were passive aggressive in letting me know that they thought I should breastfeed long term are now equally passive aggressive when they ask, “So have you stopped breastfeeding yet?” Apparently, whatever long term is, my 18 month old and I have passed it. And I’m not immune to what other people think. For instance, I never feed in public anymore. There’s the whole not wanting to induce vomiting in the general public but also because breastfeeding a toddler is akin to breastfeeding a monkey (for the record, that comment was formed purely on assumption, I have NEVER breastfed an actual monkey) – child swings from breast to breast, exposed mother thinks “If only I was on the back of a Harley Davidson right now” and the whole thing is ugly beyond belief….  

I knew I was always going to feed LD until 12 months but beyond that, I had my doubts about long term feeding. I think this was borne of a scarring experience Bren and I had when I was newly pregnant. We went to a couple’s home for lunch and were entertained by their lovely 21 month old, Blossom. She was a golden-haired little sprite….until she wanted the boob. Having never met the woman before, it’s fair to say we felt awkward when Blossom would unbutton her mother’s shirt and proceed to suckle at one nipple as she rolled the other between her fingers. In the space of two hours, Blossom must have gone in for the suck and tweak at least 10 times. She also ate a huge lunch and drank water and juice. So clearly she wasn’t hungry or thirsty. Boob had become a sport and mum had just resigned herself to it, often leaving her shirt open, tits akimbo. I swore NEVER, NEVER, NEVER.

But here we are, Luca is three months shy of being “far too old to still be breastfeeding” so what the hell is going on? It’s the reason for all your kids bad habits…..pure and simple “can’t be arsed”-ness. You’re tired, worn down and the bad habit is actually the easiest way, so bugger it – they eat hot chips, watch TV for 3 hours straight, juggle knives, ya know, normal stuff. But seriously, I’m one step away from staging an intervention on my little boobaholic. What will it take for me to get tough and reclaim my cans? In a word, vanity. Breastfeeding is NOT good for the breasts. Already, LDs preference for one breast over the other has left my once sweet and evenly proportioned fun bags distinctly lopsided. I have one power boob and a sad little atrophied one. It’s seriously gag-making (and don’t even dream about trying to figure out which is which. If I catch you staring just that little bit too long at my chest, there will be repercussions). A woman in her thirties with breasts as firm as mine? Well, you just don’t see something like that too often and now, that particular glory, all but gone. I don’t even have a funny metaphor to describe the non-firmness. It’s just sad. A damn shame and a total waste of a fine pair of 10DD knockers. I’m not tall and willowy, razor cheek-boned or exceptionally clever but fuck it, I had great tits!

And coupled with my vanity, the final nail in the breastfeeding coffin (eww, creepy). Having been denied the boob all but once first thing in the morning each day, LD now contents himself with copping a feel. Just like Blossom before him, it seems there’s nothing quite so comforting as tweaking a nipple when the mood strikes. I don’t know where to start with what bothers me most about this behaviour but let’s start with the fact that anyone with such poorly neglected nails (and I would know since I’m the lazy bitch who doesn’t cut them) has no business feeling around inside a bra. But no, my personal favourite, I think, is the nipple stretch. I think the record could hover around 3.6 cms. Now listen kid, I’ve done my bit. I fed you up good and proper with my finest blend. But here’s a quick lesson in breast aesthetics. Fulsome, ripe, buxom. Perky, firm, handful. All these are good in a breast. Notice the absence of the word “long”. Never in the history of the world has it been uttered, “I just wish my/her boobs were longer”. My breasts are not elastic bands so take your fiendish little hand off my Brad Pitts and give it a new home down the front of your pants like any self-respecting boy would do.

So what has motherhood taught me today? Smug breastfeeders should say ta ta to their tatas.