Breast is best. Yeah yeah yeah, we get it. We believe you. But please don’t call breastfeeding “magical,” and please stop smiling like that.
A mother’s milk may very well be the “perfect food” but the process sure ain’t perfect so let’s not pretend it is. Is it nice to be able to nurture the fruit of your loins with the nectar of your nips? Of course it’s nice. It’s convenient, even. But it is NOT magical. Unless curling your toes while your vampire baby sucks your nipples four inches down into his throat is magical. Om no.
And then there’s the pressure. I don’t mean the pressure to breastfeed (although there is that, big time.) I mean THE PRESSURE. The ratio of force to the area over which that force is distributed. There is a volcano ready to erupt and that volcano is your tits.
The day Max was born, they told me he could suck away on the ol’ chesticles but my milk wouldn’t likely “come in” until the following day. They did NOT mean that a nurse would bring me a milkshake. They meant that I would develop a huge, rock-hard uniboob that needed to be relieved or someone would lose an eye – if not by my projectile milk than by my fist. Milk would literally shoot across the room in multiple directions like a sprinkler skitzing out on the lawn.
One way or another, you MUST get the milk out of you. If the baby is not hungry when you’re ready to feed, someone is getting a mouthful of sweater-meat and you don’t care who it is. Doctor, nurse, husband, janitor, hospital pastor: I don’t care who you are, just get over here and suck on these globes for the love of god.
This rarely happens, of course, because your baby is a voracious glutton. From the moment Max came out, he was sucking: the world’s newest little perv, looking for the nearest nipple. The day we brought him home from the hospital, we caught him trying to suck the shit out of the car-seat. The Bobbsey Twins were in for it.
His savage sucking relieved the pressure. But don’t get me wrong: it did NOT feel good; it hurt like a bitch. But it was the only way to restore some normalcy to my tender torpedoes. I bit my lip and kept my eye on the prize: 30 glorious minutes of feeling relatively normal. (Let’s leave my hemorrhoids and vaginal scar tissue out of this.)
And then the weird sensation of the milk replenishing itself inside me would begin. Just in case I forgot for a second that I was a freakin’ COW. I could actually feel the milk travelling through my ducts, from some tiny little milk factory deep inside me run by the doozers from Fraggle Rock.
This is a delicate balance between my bongos and my baby. A reciprocity that must go on, 24-7, with no escape except death. We are attached at the tit forever. It will never, ever end. IT CAN’T END. If he decides he’s had enough of the girls, I’m screwed. I will have to steal another baby. I will have to pull a Selma Hayek. I will have to slap my lady-lumps into a sandwich press. I will have to sneak into Central Dairies after hours and hook my teats up to the milking machine. When you and your babe are apart, something MUST take his place. Anything. Anyone.
Max was about four months old when I spent the first night ever away from him. Andrew and I went to a wedding about an hour out of town. Conveniently it was at a hotel, so we booked a room, pumped the milk, bought the wine, and left Max with my mom. It was time for this new mama to par-tay.
Of course, there’s no switch on the fun-bags to turn off the milk production, so I’d have to pump at intervals to alleviate the pressure. I packed my trusty breast pump and a couple hundred breast pads and off we went.
An hour or so into the wedding reception, I was practically mooing. Busting at the seams. It was time to express myself and not in the way Madonna intended. I went up to my room to pump and dump. But the bloody batteries in the pump were dead and I hadn’t brought the plug-in. KILL ME NOW. Okay wait, don’t panic. I got some new batteries from the front desk. Crisis averted.
But the pump still wouldn’t work. FUCK YOU, DURACELL. I had had it with this pumping thing anyway. Max could fill his belly in ten minutes flat but I’d pump for a half-hour to get a half-ounce of milk. (I eventually posted an ad online and sold the bastard pump to a guy named Tony.)
Okay. Plan B: manual expression in a hot bath. In other words, milking myself with my own hands, like I’m the farmer AND the cow all in one. The hot bath helps, don’t ask me why. I had tried this in the bathtub before out of sheer curiosity and I knew it wasn’t an overly effective method, but I had no choice now. It was either do it myself or wander off into the woods to find a baby beaver to latch on, buck teeth and all. I’d leave the wedding every hour or so, run upstairs to our room, whip off my dress, toss my soggy breast pads in the garbage, and jump in a scalding bath to milk myself. Just a shot glass full, but beggars with bursting bazookas can’t be choosers. Then I’d jump out of the tub, throw my dress back on, insert two fresh breast pads, and go back downstairs to the wedding. Until I just couldn’t take it anymore. Again.
This went on all night. So much for my relaxing evening. This night was gone tits-up. This wedding was dead to me. And don’t even bother trying to get frisky later, husband. I’m busy SURVIVING over here. Sorry for my lack of romance, but I’m a little occupied with NOT DYING. If I can just make it through the night I will have ALL THE SEX, I swear.
I thought about just leaving. Getting in the car and just driving home. But my husband couldn’t drive because he was, of course, drunk on life with his tiny nipples all tucked into his cute little shirt. And I couldn’t drive either because I literally could not bring my arms up to hold a steering wheel; there was just too much boob in the way. If we had an accident on the highway, my airbags would cushion the impact (YAY) but we’d all drown in breast milk (DAMN).
We were here for the night. But sleeping was impossible. I had to lie flat on my back because lying on my side, with my side-boob touching the bed, was excruciating. Nobody touch me. Nobody breathe on me. If a feather escapes from the down pillow and lands on my chest, I will surely die. I begged for sleep to overtake me so when I opened my eyes again I’d be just one hour from seeing my boy with the mouth.
We drove back to town as early as possible the next morning, my back straight against the seat holding on for dear life. Drive, muthafucka, drive. Oh look, a hitchhiker. And he looks thirsty – pull this fucking milk wagon over! If a cop had stopped us I would have shot him right in the face; my machine guns were locked and loaded.
***
Max is four years old now, and while he does exude a curiosity about mommy’s “tiny pillows” when we’re lying in bed reading a book, he has no idea they were his breakfast, lunch and dinner for nearly a year. I’ll tell him one day when he’s older, when I catch him and his friends with their first White Russians.
So why didn’t I tell this story earlier? I would have told it years ago, but the best part of it was off limits, and I didn’t think the story was worth telling at all without it. But that’s when I still gave a shit about what people think. Since then, I’ve blogged about my broken vagina and written a friggin’ book revealing everything those What to Expect books so conveniently leave out. Guns blazin’, balls out, baby. So now it seems kind of silly to hold back on one of the weirdest moments of my life so far.
I won’t get into the gory details. Let’s just say there was a Plan C. There had to be. Shit was getting primal up in here. I was that guy who got trapped between the rocks for 127 hours and sawed his own arm off. I was one of those rugby players who crashed in the Andes and ate someone’s arse to survive. I was up Tit Creek without a paddle. I was truly and unequivocally desperate in this moment. And desperate times call for desperate measures… RIGHT, HONEY?
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Crystal
June 11, 2013 at 1:02 am (8 years ago)I too have been there! Thanks for this post! You are hilarious! π
Mother Blogger
June 11, 2013 at 1:25 am (8 years ago)Sometimes I just look at my boobs (or what’s left of them) and laugh. Maybe next time I’ll just post a photo of that.
Chris
June 11, 2013 at 1:18 am (8 years ago)Bravo! This story sucks you right in! Very well written, and hilarious. And all too familiar!
Mother Blogger
June 11, 2013 at 1:24 am (8 years ago)I am now imagining you breastfeeding.
Chris
June 12, 2013 at 2:47 am (8 years ago)I breast-knead every now and then.
Mother Blogger
June 12, 2013 at 11:26 pm (8 years ago)It’s the least you can do.
Kelly
June 11, 2013 at 2:39 am (8 years ago)Not very often do I laugh out loud as I read a blog, but yours was laugh out loud funny. Probably because I could commiserate the feelings so well. Nursed three for a year each, and I still remember trying to do a course and spending my class break in a spare classroom with a breast pump! Love your sense of urgency in the story! “Drive muthafucka drive!” hahahahah!
Mother Blogger
June 11, 2013 at 9:56 am (8 years ago)It was a milkbath. (Like a bloodbath, but with milk.)
Andrea Green
June 11, 2013 at 10:33 am (8 years ago)Awesome post, I could relate to every word π Really enjoy reading your blog!
Mother Blogger
June 11, 2013 at 4:39 pm (8 years ago)Thank you! We are in this together. xo
Tasha
June 11, 2013 at 11:50 am (8 years ago)I find that you put a VERY negative spin on breastfeeding…I hope that you didn’t always feel this way about your experience. I am still breastfeeding my 13 month old through relentless thrush, but it is STILL magical. I’m not as negative as you are. It isn’t always easy or enjoyable but your making it out to be disgusting. I feel sorry for you that your outlook is such that you can’t see the beauty in breastfeeding. And not to mention I find this very degrading. (cow, funbags…)?? I’m very sorry you had such a bad experience. I just hope that this article didn’t discourage other new mothers from breastfeeding. (“no escape except death. We are attached at the tit forever. It will never, ever end.”) Sad.
Mother Blogger
June 11, 2013 at 4:39 pm (8 years ago)I fear your baby has sucked your sense of humour out of you. I plan on breastfeeding my next child, if that day comes. My ability to laugh through the pain and discomfort it is what makes it bearable. It’s about HUMOUR, not magic.
Erin
June 11, 2013 at 6:07 pm (8 years ago)It’s awesome that you can take this person’s response in stride. Everyone has the right to an opinion, but I never can stomach the moms who have to be SO self-riteous and who can’t wait to look down their noses at someone else’s choices. I’d hate to see her response if you’d chosen formula, lol. Your article is funny, and perhaps when Tasha makes it through her magical couple of years of BFing, she’ll be able to take a lighter approach and appreciate it….Thanks for sharing π
Mandie
June 11, 2013 at 11:49 pm (8 years ago)There’s always got to be someone living in a perfect world. With a keyboard. And a latte. And looking for something to do between feeding and, well nothing. Ah if only the “magical” part was as diverse in humor and wit as it is with cracks, itch’s and cabbage leaves! Amazingly written, I relived every moment. And again I was laughing with you, but mostly at myself!!
christine
June 11, 2013 at 6:36 pm (8 years ago)hahaha, my hubby had to help me alleviate the pressure sometimes when i wasn’t near a pump and my baby and breast pads just weren’t cutting it lol.
Mother Blogger
June 12, 2013 at 12:19 am (8 years ago)It’s the least he could do, eh b’y.
Krista
June 11, 2013 at 7:04 pm (8 years ago)Found this via a friend’s facebook link. I can relate to all of it. Laugh out loud funny. I loved breast feeding my two babies, but I must admit I thought there were times when they would be forever attached to me!
Mother Blogger
June 12, 2013 at 12:20 am (8 years ago)Thank you, Krista!
Kelly
June 11, 2013 at 10:03 pm (8 years ago)I think my most memorable moments were:
1. Also at a wedding….I was dancing away, looked down at my dark green shirt and I was completely soaked through! Thank God we were only in Portugal Cove!
2. And you’ll enjoy this one…. Driving from Fogo, behind my Dad and his wife in their fancy van, to Aunt Ivy’s. Emma decides she is starving to death, I can’t pull over or take her out of car seat…. So as I drive, her dad pumps me using the most rudimentary of manual pumps ( I think the Dollarama has a better quality pump for sale) ….. And I pray that my father doesn’t look in rear view mirror!
Good times!
I did like it though, mostly because I was lazy and poor…. So baby just slept with me and drank herself into a drunken stupor, I never had a sleepless night ( that I can remember, might be PTSD though)… And it was free, which was a bonus!
I stopped when she was 6 months, partly because I went back to work, partly because she sat next to me on the bed and pulled down my bra strap. Once she started going to the trough on her own, I was like okay….enough of that!
Mother Blogger
June 12, 2013 at 12:21 am (8 years ago)I figured you’d have a few stories to squirt out of ya, cousin.
Debbie
June 11, 2013 at 11:31 pm (8 years ago)Finally… a truth teller! I love your humor along with the undertone of YOUR reality. I lasted 4 days breast feeding with a newborn who screeched the whole time. I had boobs so large that I looked like I could have fed a small country… but couldn’t produce enough to feed my own baby. I never felt like such a failure. But I will admit it was more about the fear that others would think I was a shitty mom. It is the number one question asked by everyone (even strangers in the mall) “Are you breast feeding?”. The next is “How are they sleeping?”, which my baby was also horrible at!
Everyone’s experience is different. That should be respected. If I am ever asked my opinion on my experience… they get the no holds barred answer. It would have ment a lot to me to hear a “less than magical” tale.
Mother Blogger
June 12, 2013 at 12:23 am (8 years ago)I love this comment, Debbie. What people just don’t understand is the magic (read: bullshit) doesn’t help us at all, because we quickly see through it. It’s the ugly truth that actually sets us free. WOOT.
Jamie
June 12, 2013 at 12:48 am (8 years ago)Wow, just wow! Excellent read, I enjoyed every word!
Magical my butt… There was nothing magical about being at work, confronting a student who had just been in a fight and she looks down and states very calmly, “You’re lactating.” My shirt was soaked. Nor was it magical sneaking off to an office, locking the door, covering windows with brown paper and still having to shove a foot against the door because some idiot with a key always tried to come in. All that while having a pump on each boob. I breastfed four kids, that’s a total of four years of being a chew toy. Teething and breast feeding…
Thank you, for sharing your highly enjoyable and relate-able sense of humor π
Mother Blogger
June 12, 2013 at 12:24 pm (8 years ago)Chew toy… ha ha ha. Excellent. xo
Amanda Warren
June 12, 2013 at 11:19 am (8 years ago)I love this!! I have so been there 3 times!!
Mother Blogger
June 12, 2013 at 12:24 pm (8 years ago)Send your nipples my condolences.
Carla
June 12, 2013 at 12:09 pm (8 years ago)I know these feelings. I remember when my milk first came in, I went to bed as Carla, and woke up as Pam Anderson. I actually had to lift my boobs as I turned onto my back because they were so heavy. Your post is Hilarious and so very true. Thanks for the laugh!
Mother Blogger
June 12, 2013 at 12:24 pm (8 years ago)Thanks for the comment, Pam!
Wtf
June 12, 2013 at 1:22 pm (8 years ago)I can’t thank you enough for this post. I am so frustrated after 9 months of breastfeeding that I am starting to wean…I am “nursing” a milk blister, a blood blister and several punctures thanks to my little one’s new teeth, I’ve leaked at every family event including skiing at White Hills! Oh btw, when breastmilk freezes it cracks your nips. If one more person advises me to “remember the magic” i am going to scream! Oh and If I had a nickel for every time I was told “jus put a little breastmilk on those and air dry” I’d be rich! Like that ever worked! At least not for me. It is dark humour that has helped me hang on and yes, I will bf my 2.nd but will do so eyes open and I wont buy in to all the hype.
Mother Blogger
June 12, 2013 at 11:25 pm (8 years ago)I am with you all the way, Jodi. I did not know that breast milk cracks your nips when frozen, but I do now!
Jennifer
June 12, 2013 at 6:49 pm (8 years ago)LOVED IT!!
Mother Blogger
June 12, 2013 at 11:25 pm (8 years ago)The blog or breastfeeding? π
Jennifer
June 13, 2013 at 1:21 am (8 years ago)This is the funniest thing I have ever read!! It brings back so many memories when I breast feed my son. He cracked my left side and I cried along wit him every time I had to feed him. My nipple didn’t heal for 8 (yes 8) very long weeks.my husband and i went to a wedding when he was about 3 months old, expect our hotel was an hour away from the wedding! I tell ya as soon as we got back to the room….well I don’t think sex could ever feel that great.
Don’t ever let a doctor tell you barest feeding is a form of birth control..when my son was 5 months (and that’s all I did was barest feed) I got pregnant with our little girl they r 14 and half months apart…oh and we were using condoms lol just my luck!!!!!
Mother Blogger
June 14, 2013 at 12:30 am (8 years ago)god help you. lol.
Selina
June 13, 2013 at 6:32 am (8 years ago)Haha! I loved it and could relate to every word! I am still bfing my 9 month old son, and really appreciate the humor in this. From the day my milk came in, (and which I spiked a fever, muscle aches, a headache, and woke up to a soaked hospital bed and rock hard boobs that neither my fussy son nor pump were able to relieve)… To now … as my son refuses to sleep longer than 3 hour periods unless he has my boob in his mouth (and screams bloody murder if I try to move and god forbid try to get comfortable)… This has not at all been easy or enjoyable. After reading cases about male lactation, I often threaten to purchase a snake bite kit to stimulate my husband’s nipples so he can take on the task for the next one!!
Mother Blogger
June 14, 2013 at 12:29 am (8 years ago)HAHAHA. If you stimulate your husband’s nipples, please send me a picture.
Katie Beaton
June 13, 2013 at 5:08 pm (8 years ago)LOL! Great story, I’ve breastfed all four of my babies for a year plus. There have been so many moments like this, keep up the great writing.
Mother Blogger
June 14, 2013 at 12:28 am (8 years ago)Thanks for the note, Katie!
Kenzie
June 28, 2013 at 12:43 am (8 years ago)I remember these times well. I breast fed both mine until 14 months – in fact got preggers with the second while still giving the first the boobie juice. I recommend others to consider formula without guilt! Love this and can totally relate.
I am really new to the blogging scene- check me out
http://questionableparent.blogspot.ca/2013/05/effortless-perfection.html
Mother Blogger
July 2, 2013 at 5:50 pm (8 years ago)Rice Krispies in yer arse: breakfast of champions. Keep up the good work, mama.
Kim
June 30, 2013 at 8:16 pm (8 years ago)Stumbled across your blog passing time while breast feeding my second boy. So relatable and so hilarious. Literally laughed out loud. This post helped take my mind off the burning pain of latching. I have read it at least 12 times. Thanks!
Mother Blogger
July 2, 2013 at 5:43 pm (8 years ago)So glad to hear it. Latch on to the laughter, sister!