Tuesday, 7 December 2010

When Breastfeeding Goes Beyond the Call of Duty

Don't get me wrong.  I adore the fact that I am able to still feed my glorious little boy.  Nothing beats the fact that I am still able to provide him with vital nutrients direct from my body.  The closeness I experience still overwhelms me.

However, right now I'm feeling that this Attachment Parenting lark is a game for Masochists.  Surely, what I am experiencing is beyond the call of duty.  I truly deserve a medal for enduring this afront to my human rights. European Conventions should be held regarding this violation.

The torture to which I am referring to...breastfeeding in this weather.

Here I am in my snuggly jumper, all cosy and warm.  Along comes my sleepy boy looking for his comfort food of choice.  Pulling up the aforementioned jumper exposes flesh that really does not want to be exposed to the chill air.  Then, here comes the real sting in the tail...a pair of freezing cold little baby hands creep up under the ruched up jumper, searching out new areas of flesh to touch with their icy fingers. There is no escape, no position that can be adopted.  Until a temperature equilibrium is reached, whereby the heat from my body moves by means of conduction to warm his extremities, I feel like someone has slipped an ice cube down my top.  But unlike that childish one off prank, this is occurring several times daily.

Roll on the warmer weather, or weaning, or both!


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