Mother knows what is best

FOR something supposed to be so effortlessly natural breast-feeding is a complicated matter.

In my case the boobs were immense, the flow Niagaraesque and the baby’s head so tiny it looked as if suffocation might ensue. The sheer mechanics of holding baby’s airways free of the giant descending bosom made driving a stick shift look like a walk in the park.

Then trials and tribulations of the small busted, those with inverted nipples and would-be nursers with milk production problems, have spawned bookshelves of volumes and a breed of experts shepherding new mums through the minefields.

So I salute any woman who perseveres long enough to get the hang of it, while condoling with anyone who found the whole thing sheer torture and threw the (terry) towel in. My personal view is that once a child can chomp its way through a burger and chips while slurping up a strawberry milkshake chaser breastfeeding is redundant.

I wouldn’t, though, dream of joining the nasties who chuck invective at Tamara Ecclestone who is still breast-feeding her almost three-year-old Sophia. Tamara, after all, is used to being able to pay “people” to do most things for her. She can outsource cooking, cleaning and all life’s chores.

Breast-feeding – barring importing a wet nurse – is the one thing she alone can do for Sophia and she wants to go ahead and do it.

And if she wants to be photographed in full flow while attired in Grecian chiffon, made up to the nines and in a luxuriously pastel nursery awash with cuddly toys, I say good luck to her.