Victory

quality time creating new memories

She speaks in full sentences now. So, I’m sure you can imagine how much easier it’s been to find mutual understanding. There’s still a language barrier as she continues to learn english, and I diligently work to comprehend her pronunciation of words I’ve never heard her say before. Our evolving communication lures us to surrender familiarity, to find novel activities that replace the habitual ones and newfound stuffy personalities to comfort the space created by change. Our collaborative effort fossilizes memories into visual representations that guide us closer to our individuality while maintaining our bond.

To close our breastfeeding journey intentionally, I invited babe to paint my breasts. This is a chest print of my lactating boobs on a wood beam.

A chest print on a piece of chiffon.

Another scan of my lactating chest printed on chiffon with a pin.

The second week of July marked the beginning of a daily countdown until that ceremonial Sunday. As each day brought us closer, her responses grew more and more uncertain, almost dismissive. It sparked uncertainty in me—unsure if she was grasping the concept of no longer having something. The doubt didn’t shift until after we followed through.

The third week of August, though she understands no, she still asks and giggles. She attempts to talk me into it:

I love you, mommy. I love you so much. Those are your boobies. I love those boobies. I love them………mommy? Gimme hug, mommy. Awwwwwww I love you so much *cheesy grin* I’m so happy *finds her favorite nipple poking the inside of my shirt*.

No babe. We don’t do that anymore.

okay.

Let’s sit here and braid your hair.

My hormones cycled through conception, pregnancy, birth, postpartum, and nursing. And then, four weeks later, it’s me—on the other side.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Abby xx