I'm (finally) no longer broody
Posted Tuesday 14th July 2015 By Ericka Waller
So I never thought it would happen, but my milk has finally gone. I can squeeze my right nipple as hard as I like, it’s as dry as the desert. This must mean one thing, I’ve finally stopped being broody. I still admire pregnant women and remember with a fondness, the feeling of my baby moving inside me, but then, from nowhere, I remember, with even more clarity, the horrendous piles I had. I don’t miss them. Nor do I miss heartburn, backache, livid stretchmarks appearing each time I moved, or my insatiable need for cheese.
And when I see a newborn baby, all curled up and mewing, of course I melt. Of course my feet drag me forward, itching to sniff a soft fontanel and admire tiny fingers. But as I am doing so, I remember the pain of delivering a human head out my vagina. I remember the midwife complimenting me on ‘tearing so neatly‘. I remember her then searching for ‘something to work with‘ when she was tasked with stitching me up afterwards.
I also remember ringing the labour ward three days later, genuinely concerned she had sewn up my bumhole.
I remember having no control over the velocity of my milk’s expulsion. People opposite me in cafes would have to mop their foreheads when I whipped a boob out. I was secretly impressed that breasts as small as mine could be so prolific in their milk production, but I’m over it now. They have hung up their hats, in fact they look like a pair of beanies, and that is fine with me.
I do not miss getting up eight times a night to feed. I do not miss trying to fit tiny arms and legs into onesies. I don’t miss changing nappies and I don’t miss being spewed on.
I don’t miss clumpy car seats, buggies that require a degree in engineering to be able to use and changing bags. My bag always had Metanium seeping out the bottom and stank of mouldy bananas. I always forgot to check it had anything I needed in it before leaving the house. I was that mum who always asked if you had a spare nappy.
I was also the mum who could never find her baby’s red book…. *gasp*
I love that my children have finally gotten to an age where they can dress themselves, pour their own cereal and milk, get into the car unaided and even play by themselves for an hour now and again.
I love that I don’t have to discuss/lie about how well my baby is at weaning, pooing, sleeping or teething.
I’m finally done. I can give away the cot, toss out the breast-pump and finally buy some sexy bras. I’m out of the baby days.