This afternoon I was lying in bed with my youngest (2-year-old) as he was going to take a nap. It is already 6 months since I quit breastfeeding, which was not a big problem at all for him, but now and then he asks if he can try them to see if they’re still “working”, or he just wants to touch them. He still has an affective relationship with my breasts, which is not strange, considering that they were his and (his brothers) primary source of nutrition and affection and so much more things for quite a long time.
So he has a look, and he smiles and wholeheartedly exclaims: “Que bonitas”, which translates as “how beautiful”!
Wow, I was taken aback for a moment. Since I’ve stopped breastfeeding, they are not exactly what I would like them to be, at least, that’s what I tell myself. They’re just less…well, less than what I got used to during those breastfeeding years, with marks here and there from the stretching during pregnancy.
However, as my little one expressed his love for them, I was in total awe. And I knew: You’re damn right, little wise man. They’re absolutely beautiful, for what they are, have been and will be.
They are not only beautiful, but also magical! They alone have been responsible for nurturing my sons during their first 6 months of their lives (and beyond).
So this is going to be my new act of love: look at my breasts, and each part of my body with a smile, a lot of respect and the eyes of a two-year-old.