When I was younger, say…in my late teens and early twenties (okay, maybe even my mid twenties*)…I was a bit of a prude. Let’s call it “conservative” for arguments’ sake. Much to my parents’ delight this resulted in my remaining a virgin for a very long time. A little less to their delight, though, is that I tended to over dress myself. Which is to say, I completely covered my figure up even though my folks (MY FOLKS!) thought I should show it off a little more.
I wore baggy corduroy or cargo pants, crew necked shirts (never ever a v-neck), and doc martens. When I dressed up, it’d be in vintage (high necked) dresses from my grandmother….and doc martens. I wanted to look nice but I did not, under any circumstances, want to draw attention to my “attributes”.
And had you suggested that I show my breasts to a complete stranger – or even worse – my dad, well I would have assumed you were on crack.
Then I had a baby.
Admittedly, by this time I was no longer a virgin (I kill me!) and I was wearing v-neck shirts. But up until baby-day I was still pretty shy about showing too much cleavage or undressing in front of most people (with the exception of my husband and probably my mom).
Mere seconds after Boo’s birth, though, there I was…legs still spread wide with a doctor and a resident or two stitching me up…and my hospital gown pulled down for some “skin to skin” contact with Boo Boo. And all I could think was “Whaaaaa….?”
And then before I knew it, there I was in the nursery trying to get little Boo to latch on….topless. In the hospital room still trying to get Boo to latch on…topless. With each and every nurse manipulating, pushing, squeezing and trying to jam my nipple into his little tongue-tied mouth. Later that week at the CLSC breastfeeding clinic….out came my boobs. And then once again with the lactation consultant at home. Then again at St. Mary’s breastfeeding clinic.
Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, had a full view of what I had so desperately tried to cover up for so long.
Including my dad.
The upshot, of course, is that after two-and-a-half weeks of cup feeding, and then three months using a nipple shield, Boo and I are now breastfeeding pros. He can grab and mash my nipples into his own mouth in the pitch black, without any fuss whatsoever.
And me? Well….let’s just say I’m not so worried about a little (or a lot of) cleavage anymore. Especially considering my little man will regularly grab the neck of my shirt and pull it down (seemingly just because) no matter where we are (but usually out in public).
* and my mid thirties. Ahem.0