There is an ongoing tussle for mothers and mothers-to-be, and it’s one with no easy solution. On one hand, we want to be realistic with ourselves and with each other: pregnancy and parenthood are not the rainbow-hued daydreams we likely once believed they would be. But we also know that going around spewing out foreboding warnings (‘Just You Wait!’) is probably the most unhelpful and annoying thing you can do.

It leaves us in a bit of a pickle, doesn’t it? How do we talk about motherhood and all of its facets without being overly optimistic or pessimistic?

The question comes to mind particularly when we talk about breastfeeding, one of the first acts of motherhood that comes so naturally to some and yet is such a challenge for others. Maybe one thing we can do is acknowledge and respect that challenge, while still making space for positivity and success, and the joy that it can bring for some. 

With this in mind, we invited nine women to share with us the story of how motherhood and breastfeeding changed their relationship with their boobs. Here is what they told us. 

“I’d been a yo-yo dieter since I was a young teen, lured by the promise of a quick fix for my body hang-ups. I would try a new dieting fad or craze and stick to it for two or three weeks before ‘falling off the wagon’. 

“When I became pregnant at 23, I had such bad sickness that I could hardly eat. I decided that the little bit of food I did manage to keep down should at least be healthy. I was growing a small person now, after all! When my son arrived, breastfeeding became an extension of that – I was still helping him to grow, but this time I was doing it with my boobs. I ended up breastfeeding my son for two-and-a-half years; looking back I can see we had a relatively easy journey. 

“Breastfeeding made me view my body and my boobs in a way that I never had before; it gave me a newfound respect for it all. I love my breasts, even with stretch marks on them, and if I’m lucky enough to have more children in the future, I will absolutely try to breastfeed them too. 

“That being said, I think that whatever way a mother feeds her baby is wonderful, and we all need to support each other’s stories. So here’s a raised glass to every mum that breastfed, everyone that didn’t, and to all of us, collectively, whose kids still catch every bug at nursery regardless.” 

“I had a really lovely first experience of breastfeeding after my daughter was born – she latched so perfectly, but every single feed after that was so challenging and demoralising. It was months until I realised that maybe that first feed was so dreamy because I was high as a kite from birth drugs. 

“Coupled with the sleep deprivation it felt like torture; she would latch really easily, but it was agony for me. I was told by a midwife not to accept a painful latch, so I would unlatch and latch her over and over, but it was excruciating and could sometimes take half an hour to find a way I could bear. The whole time she would be screaming in hunger, and I would be crying. 

“This went on for about a week, until one feed where my nipples were bleeding so much that when I pulled her away there was blood on her face. With my partner’s full support, that was our last feed. I decided that the benefits of breastfeeding were simply not worth the cost to my mental health, but I continued pumping every few hours until she was six months. There was a huge formula shortage in the US, and because I had an oversupply, I didn’t feel like I should be taking formula away from mums who didn’t have any milk at all. 

“Looking back now, I don’t really feel sadness; my body was able to create my daughter and my boobs were able to nourish her thanks to pumping, but I feel like no one really talks about these challenges, and we really should.” 

“I was a pretty young first-time mum, having my first daughter just before my 20th birthday. I didn’t have very much self-esteem in my teens and used my breasts to get what I thought was positive attention. 

“When my baby was born I breastfed for four months. While my body returned to its earlier shape and size, my boobs didn’t, and that came as a big shock. I remember one day looking at how empty they felt, at how loose the skin had become, and crying to my mum that they would never be the same again. That was really hard for me to accept for a while. I even did all these exercises to try and strengthen the muscles behind them, to make them feel a bit more toned. It took me a long time to accept my new boobs. 

“But then, 14 years after my first daughter, I had my second, and I knew right away that I wanted to breastfeed. Nineteen months on and we’re still going strong! 

“My attitude towards my breasts is so different this time around. It definitely helps that I’m no longer using them to get attention, but so has the acceptance that has come with time and age. My boobs are different now, and they’ll be different again after we finish breastfeeding, and that will be a new normal that I have to sit with and be comfortable with. 

“Women’s bodies change constantly, whether you have children or not. Coming to terms with that took time, but it was so worth it.” 

“I’ve always been pretty indifferent towards my boobs. I was signed up for a text service at university that sent reminders to check for lumps, but aside from that they pretty much just got ignored. 

“The main change for me once I began breastfeeding was that I actually began to have a relationship with my breasts. Towards the end of my first pregnancy, I began hand-expressing colostrum. It gave me my first tangible experience of doing something in the role of a ‘mum’ and it was honestly just the best. Since then, and once she was born, they’ve given me a truly beautiful, connection-filled way of providing for my daughter.

“I think something that really helped was putting zero pressure on myself to breastfeed; I had friends who’d struggled and continue to punish themselves over it years later, and I was adamant I wouldn’t put that pressure on myself. Luckily, my midwife was wonderful, read me perfectly and didn’t push it at all, which gave me space to decide that I’d give it a go. That low-pressure, low-expectation scenario worked so well, and I adore the connection it gives us. 

“I feel like I actually understand my boobs now too; if she signals to feed I grab both of my boobs and can tell which is ready for her; just like Karen in Mean Girls predicting the weather!”

“Before my pregnancy, my boobs had always been the butt of the joke, if you’ll forgive the pun. They were one of my biggest insecurities; ‘too small’ and ‘not womanly’ were words others told me, and I told myself. 

“Breastfeeding changed that mentality so much, but I’ll happily admit it came as quite a shock at first. I was actually on a ‘babymoon’ with my husband at around eight months pregnant when I began leaking colostrum for the first time. It hit me that my body was doing this primal, animal thing that almost had nothing to do with me, and I was so shaken. I cried as I realised that my body knew what to do without my conscious awareness. The feeling was this mix of awe and fear of what it was capable of, and what it was about to do, and it took some time for those feelings to settle in. 

“When my daughter was born, and once we got over some initial latching issues, breastfeeding was relatively straightforward for me. And not only were my old insecurities around my boobs gone, but they’ve also stayed gone, even after we’ve stopped breastfeeding. My boobs became a natural thing; sometimes magical, sometimes painful, sometimes sexy and sometimes leaking… but no longer something to ever feel ashamed of.” 

“My relationship with my breasts had always been one of ambivalence: there were parts of my body I liked more, and there were parts of my body I disliked more. That all changed when I had my first baby in 2021. I went into hospital on a rainy Thursday knowing I was going to have my baby that day by planned C-section. We took with us a bottle of formula in the hospital bag in case breastfeeding didn’t come ‘naturally’ to me. I scoff at this thought now, because naturally come it did not. 

“In the hazy 24 hours after having major surgery to bring my beautiful daughter into the world, she was latching on and off my nipples pretty much constantly. By the time I got home they were covered in tiny blood blisters where the latch wasn’t good enough – but we were both trying so hard. The first two weeks of motherhood I spent in and out of midwife centres with well-meaning ladies manhandling my breasts into different positions (please google the ‘breast sandwich’ breastfeeding position) to try to get her to latch properly. 

“At that point in time, I hated my breasts; they were tender because they were giant and full, and every time my baby cried I was supposed to help her chomp down on a blistered and bleeding nipple. It was overwhelming and I spent many, many hours crying while trying to get it right. I was fed up with them being touched and just wanted them (my boobs) to disappear.

“With time, practice and lots of patience we finally got there and I did manage to both breast and bottle feed my daughter as an infant.

“Would I say it’s changed my relationship with my boobs? Yes. They’re more than just a part of my body I put into a nice bra every now and then; they were once giving my baby all she needed to live, and I have a lot of respect for that.

“I would say I was pleased to stop breastfeeding when I did (10 months). It was enough for me. I wanted my body back; I wanted my boobs to feel like my own again, and I think both my baby and I were better off for it.”

“I’ve always had a complicated relationship with my boobs; my mum was first diagnosed with breast cancer when she was 43, and she died of it when I was a teenager. As a result, my boobs have always been a source of anxiety for me, particularly as I’ve grown older and gotten closer to the age of her initial diagnosis. 

“But when I had my daughter, at 32, that brought a whole new dimension and a much more positive one. As well as a way to feed her, they became a way of connecting with her, comforting her, even calming us both down in some cases. 

“Breastfeeding gave me a sense of gratitude and respect for my boobs I’d never had before. Looking back, I also used to feel very disconnected from them, which meant sometimes skipping lump checks because I wanted to totally avoid thinking about them. But after I began breastfeeding, I came to feel like they’re a part of me and I have a responsibility to look after them properly, which is overall so much better for my health. 

“I’ve discovered what a positive and wonderful thing breasts can be, and I have breastfeeding to thank for that.” 

“I had my first son, Hudson, in 2014, followed by a girl and a boy in 2020 and 2021. With Hudson and my daughter, Halecia, I breastfed for six months, but with my youngest, Hendrix, I breastfed him for just two weeks, as he was born with various allergies, including dairy. 

“My relationship with my breasts became complicated. I loved that I could feed my children, but hated the look and feel of them. After Hendrix, I decided to have a boob job to increase their size and lift. They had pretty much deflated from feeding and my weight fluctuating so much, but it was a really positive decision. I felt empowered to do what I wanted with my body and put my own wants first, and I have zero regrets. I’m often wearing training bras and crop tops because I love exercising and do so nearly every day; it’s my me-time and it definitely makes me a better mum. I have more patience with the kids and focus on them when I’ve got my workout done. 

“Having a boob job allowed me to take control of my relationship with my breasts and feelings towards them again. To anyone considering doing the same after breastfeeding or having children, if it will improve their self-esteem, I say why the hell not? Women and mothers should never have to go looking for approval from anyone else.” 

“Growing up, I always worried about my boobs, and they never really felt like mine. I knew from an early age when I was being objectified and scrutinised, long before I knew the words for what was happening. I remember walking home aged 12 in school uniform getting beeped at by passing cars and older boys shouting comments at me. I learned that my body was seen by men around me as an object, as something to be looked at. 

“When I had my first child at 35 and began breastfeeding, however, it gave me a whole different relationship and outlook. Suddenly, my body was doing this incredible thing; it was being useful in a really different way. I was nourishing and nurturing my baby. It was like I’d harnessed a power in myself that I’d never had before. My postpartum body, of course, was in constant flux, and there was enough there to feel freaked out about, but I also felt this new sense of wonder. 

“It didn’t matter anymore what my boobs looked like, it was all about their function and what they could do for my baby. I became so proud of what my body could do, rather than what it could do for other people. Breastfeeding allowed me to feel at home in my body in a way that I’d never felt before.”

Milk: An Intimate History Of Breastfeeding is out now.

Images: courtesy of case studies