A sneak peek in the rearview

It has been pretty rare during this cancer journey when I've longed for the old me...and by that I mean my pre-cancer body.

I think that my attitude towards life and myself in general have improved since cancer came on the scene. My priorities have taken a shift, I'm kinder to myself and take a lot less for granted. I've adjusted to my situation and am making the best of it. But there are the odd days when I pine for my missing breast, for hair on my head and skin that isn't numb, painful or worn.

Today...I long to run my fingers through hair that is no longer there.

The picture above was taken just a few years ago when Harry was about ten months old. It reminds me of a time when I was completely and utterly comfortable with being me. I loved my body with its beautiful breastfeeding boobs. I was fit, healthy, happy and whole.

I can't deny that today I really miss that version of me.

My aim is to achieve fit, healthy, happy and whole with my 'new post cancer' body. And the only avenue that I can see getting me there is my attitude. I think I'll need to look at old photos like these with fondness but look at new photos of me with pride. My battle scars show how hard I've fought to hang on to life. I can only see that as a beautiful thing.

 

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Babies blissed out on booby juice

I breastfed Harry for 14 months and it was a truly blissful experience. I would spend entire feeds just gazing at my tiny son, in awe that he was mine. I adored it when he became milk drunk at the end of each feed, a contented smile turning up the corners of his beautiful little mouth.

I had a slightly less blissful experience with the Jackman. He latched on the moment he was placed on my chest and it was beautiful. By week two I noticed that he was struggling to attach properly. A quick procedure fixed his tongue tie and feeding was fab for four months. Then the mastitis kicked in... seven bouts of it to be exact. Seven bouts over six months. I probably should have switched him to the bottle much earlier than I did. I probably shouldn't have battled on for as long as I did but the perfectionist in me didn't want to give up. He was my last baby and although I'd had enough of 'ow, bloody ow' mastitis, I was reluctant to cut that breastfeeding bond. In the end Jack self weaned at 10 months anyway...and that was that.

 

 

Still...I am proud that I nourished my two boys, I am proud of my body for its abundant supply of super booby juice which fattened them up in their first year. I am immensely grateful for the bond it created between my babies and I. I am so thankful that I got to breastfeed my kids before the Big C arrived.

 

 

Aren't our bodies amazing! Isn't it incredible that we can create human beings and nourish their gorgeous little bodies with our own!

 

 

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