These days, with a wife turned yummy-mummy, he finally has ripe melons to enjoy. And after years of slim pickings, you'd think he'd be grateful. The sad truth is that my husband is just not a melon guy. Or perhaps there's more to it...perhaps it has a little something to do with Daddy's 'toyshop' re-launching itself as a milk bar.
Which brings me back to when the trouble all began... At last, our little miracle had arrived- the start of a brand new life...my life as a cow that is. Within hours of the birth my once perky little B-cups had morphed into full-blown udders. A week later, I was even smelling like a cow. (Yip, nothing quite tops the scent of sour milk!)
As I set about feeding our little man, I couldn't help be amused by my husband's reaction. 'You know I used to have to take you out for a good meal and a bottle of wine to see those things', he'd mutter, 'now there you are, just whipping them out all day long!’ Was that a hint of jealousy I detected?
It occurred to me my breasts had become a source of fascination: and for all the wrong reasons.
'What does it feel like?' he would ask, ' doesn't it feel a bit, well... weird?'
Exasperated, I assured him having a suckling infant glued to your boob, was streets apart from any bedroom pleasure. Not that there was much of that these days...
With my bleary-eyed night feeds taking their toll, romance was scarce. So one evening, I decided to broach the subject while baby suckled. Midway through my monologue on getting the spark back, a horrified look came over my husband's face: a mix between disgust and sheer amazement. 'What is it?' I asked. 'You...er...you're leaking!' he mumbled.
I wasn't JUST leaking. There was a fountain squirting out of my boob, as if someone had just turned the sprinklers on. Talk about a let down reflex!
'Sorry Babe!,' I mumbled, 'but at least I wasn't like Alice. Didn't you hear? She squirted her hubby in the eye in the heat of the moment!'
No-go Daddy zone
Not surprisingly, my mammaries have since been a no-go zone for Daddy- and when I'm not 'being milked', it's my faithful breast pump that sees all the action. The day I brought one of those home, was the day that marked the real end to the honeymoon.
It's one thing getting used to each other's toilet sounds but let's just say him helping me get this ruddy pump working, was probably the low point of our relationship.The conversation went a little something like this: 'Baby, it's not sucking my boob hard enough. There's no milk coming out.' To which my husband replied, 'well, honey, what do you expect me to do about that?'
After much switch-adjusting and suction-checking on my loyal mate's behalf, a small trickle of milk left me feeling triumphant. A short lived sort of triumph, after spying my cringeing hubby, hiding his eyes behind his hands. 'I think I'm going to water the garden', he declared.
It's a lonely business being a cow. And not the most sexy way of life either. What's more, I doubt he'll ever look at my old 'strawberries' in the same way again.
How has breastfeeding affect your romantic relationship?