This is going to be my next book. Seriously. Because it just ain’t that easy. I’m on my seventh week of being a human milk dispenser – at the mercy of a nine pound human who dictates my entire schedule and life. Holy Cow (and yes, I feel like one). I think she would live on my breast if I would let her. And by the looks of my chubby little darlin’ she hasn’t missed many feedings. Especially the ones that come around 2 a.m. (by the way, if she waits until 3 a.m. I can watch Law and Order SVU and if I can’t get back to sleep, then Boston Legal is on at 4 a.m….then oops, it is time to feed again). Needless to say, mama isn’t getting much sleep.
Honestly, I didn’t think I was cut out for breastfeeding – but I wanted to give it a shot. And something that looks so easy and natural…let me tell you – those people on the videos are professionals. They must breastfeed for a living…because that just really isn’t the case.
First of all – it hurts like hell. Yes, having breasts that rival Pamela Anderson is kind of fun (for about the first day) and then the novelty quickly wears off. If your babies are anything like mine – she has a suck more powerful than any Hoover commercial grade vacuum. And if my child is within a ten foot radius of my boobs – her mouth starts viciously attacking anything that is in her way trying to find the mother load. My husband lovingly calls her the “Piranha” or “Zombie Baby” (these pet names won’t be making the baby book).
Then there is the leakage. This is not a myth, people…it really happens. That is why I can’t be away from Little Miss J for more than two hours at a time (and yes, I have heard of a pump, but I have some serious issues with it…I stare at it everyday, but it scares me…).
And since I live in my car schlepping kids all over Tulsa County, it makes it rather inconvenient for Little Miss J to dine in privacy. Thank goodness for my Sis In Law – who lives in midtown (oh…I can only dream) and her home has become my feeding station. Much to my very conservative brother’s chagrin who turns red and runs out the room everytime I whip out the boob. Yes, I know it is his house, but this girl’s gotta eat…and making the drive out to the compound everytime she is hungry would increase our fossil fuel emmisions by the tenfold. Plus would make mama pretty darn cranky. And since childbirth has made my modesty go out the window, probably more people than would care to admit have seen my “girls” at one point or another. (If anyone is planning a visit, please bear that in mind).
But in the words of the country singer Whatshisname (another downfall of baby brain, can’t remember a damn thing) and something my husband always reminds me of – is that one day I’m gonna miss this. And he’s pretty much always right. And I guess so is Whatshisname.