Since it's the holidays, and the myriad ways to resent my family members are closer to the surface...one of the questions my mother's oncologist asked her was how long she breastfed her children. "Well," she said, thinking about it, "That one [me], six weeks, and Nathan, eight months, and the other two, somewhere in between."
Excuse me? I was cut off after six weeks, while my brother, the youngest and the only boy, got to nurse for eight months? Ugh. So typical. Unbelievable.
I brought it up with my mother later, not wanting to seem petty while meeting with the doctor. He's dashing in an English countryside sort of way, and super nice. A 50-year-old child throwing a tantrum because her spoiled brother got something more than she did might not show me in the best light, so I waited.
Turns out I cut myself off at six weeks. Seems my aversion to snuggling and human touch started when I was an infant. My mom said I was an incredibly beautiful baby, though, much better looking than my siblings.* I guess I've always managed to look good**, in spite of being cold and dead inside.
*Mom said the first part, and I assumed the second part, based on pictures.
**I've always looked pretty good EXCEPT for my awkward years from about 8 to 15, when I finally got contacts. And now, a shocking number of photos Bob takes of me are terrible. It's like he tries to make me look like a monster.