The Joys of Breastfeeding

This is not a post about why I breastfeed. You can read the infinitesimal literature that points the benefits of breastfeeding. I want to tell you about why I enjoy the experience. The experience of attaching a small suck monkey to my boob and expressing milk, sometimes on an hourly basis. I have been hearing lately from friends, even my hairdresser that they are fearful that they may not be able to breastfeed. I think this is a legitimate concern. However. I think that we do women a great disservice by planting a fear that this may not be possible, or that it is full of pain and hassle, when, it is my belief that with proper instruction - patient instruction that encourages rather than discourages - that most women will succeed if breastfeeding is their goal. I know that there are many reasons why this is not possible for women and I am sensitive to these. But for those who want to breastfeed, I think we should continue to encourage as much as it is possible, and leave Nancy Negative at the door.

I have to say, I really love the experience of it all and, admittedly, it came pretty easily. I was lactating like a leaky double-spouted showerhead months before giving birth, though, oh, was that TMI? Needless to say, my supply has been plentiful (see also: Human Fire Hydrant). What was not easy was contending with the revolving door of boob inspectors that the hospital sends your way in recovery. The lactation consultants are not scary, but I found them to be a little aggressive (read: They have no scruples about wrapping a bare fist around your boob and ramming it into the mouth of a newborn's pie hole to secure a firm latch). I was not prepared for this and I don't think there is any modest way to do so, so, moving on....

The bond that I formed with my daughter through breastfeeding is both great and problematic. Great in that it is undeniable - we have this trust, we have this special time reserved for us throughout the day. Problematic in that it's just us, unless I pump, and, presently, she does not trust nor prefer anyone as much as Mama.

While it is hard to wake up for 2am feedings after just falling asleep at midnight, I have to confess that I actually look forward to this latenight bonding time with Baby Girl. She's very warm and cute and marsupial-like at this hour, and it's just the sweetest -- oh, did I lose the male reader already?

It also saves a lot of scrilla on formula, a lot of having to warm up bottles on those nights when the kitchen floor feels like the frozen Tundra, and a lot of time to forget other things from the diaper bag other than the ba-ba. I just wanted to share my experience as an added testimony to the plethora of information that already exists on breastfeeding, and as a counterpoint to the popular message of "It's hard, it hurts."

Night Out

This little mama took herself out for her first movie date the other night. It was a warm night when I headed out to see some movie about pinning large flowers and garish birds on your person. I'm pretty sure there was a more intricate plotline, but it was mainly about accessories. Prior to that, though, I worked up such an appetite finding parking (would've taken the T, but don't like to walk back from the station alone lest I mistake the rustling paper bag for a rabid raccoon and pee my pants), and since I was an hour and a half early for the movie, you know, because parking is just that tight sometimes, I took a walk-about outside the theatre. Did you know it was National Go on an Ice Cream Date Night? I certainly missed that memo, and yet, despite the fact that I'm trying to spend all of my non-paycheck at Whole Paycheck in an attempt to become vegan these days, the subliminal persuasion from all of these hot twentysomething couples cozying up on dark benches where the girl is going all blah blah blippity blah about her roommates who always leave the dishes in the sink and the guy is all thinking, I wonder if the Celtics are ahead, I broke right down and ate some coffee oreo ice cream. And it? Was delicious. I came home from my Mama Movie Date Night with Self to these bumpkins:

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY, LOVEY LOVERPANTS!!!

Lying is Cheap but Her Smile is Nice

I've been living a lie. I confess, I have not been portraying this life very honestly. And with all the hype about Mommy Lit, you'd think I'd be incented to speak the truth. But as I review recent posts about motherhood, about tending to the suck monkey's needs in general, I realize there are a lot of posed pictures. There are a lot of opportunities where I don't tell you that a lot of our days are spent staring at the stainless steel appliances, wondering if they're going to move. I'm still having a blast, I still find Baby Girl to be a charming individual, but maybe I could afford to take the rose-colored curtains off the LCD monitor and give you a more savory slice of life here. ***

Like, sometimes? Her onesie doesn't match her pinafore. And she drools a lot. And she has poor posture. And her legs are straight up stuffed sausages.

Other times, she's pleased to be a reader. Upside down.

Yet, other times, she's busy giving the book the stink eye.

At times, yes, she can be irritable.

Still other times, she's just plain falling apart.

And let's be honest, sometimes every woman is the Pissed Off Posterchild....