Why I Am Superhuman...



More than a decade ago, I had a miscarriage (one of two). It was one of the most heart-wrenching experiences I have ever experienced. To add to the pain, I would dream very vividly of childbirth in the nights after the baby was lost. Each time, I would dream of drawing the newborn baby up to my breast so I could feed it. As strange as it is, I could feel it...the baby sucking...the milk flowing...

After that, the reality of truly breastfeeding a baby became my biggest desire. When I gave birth to my oldest daughter Lucy, nursing her was what I looked forward to the most.

Now, here I am, having just finished nursing London (my third baby) and I have to tell you a terrible, awful, monstrous secret.........

Ready?

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I do not like breastfeeding.


I know. I know.

I'm terrible, right?

After all, breast is best, right!!!! Or so they say.

For women that breastfeed, there is a lot of pride. And why not? It certainly isn't easy. You would think it would be easy, though. Out running errands and baby starts screaming like it hasn't eaten 120 minutes ago? I mean, 120 minutes sounds a heck of a lot longer than 2 hours. And what is mother to do when she's in the middle of the supermarket somewhere between frozen pizzas and aeresol whipped cream? Why, just pull out the boob and pop it in the screaming baby's mouth. Easy? Totally.

Not.

Also, women that breastfeed save on tons of money that others use to stock up on cans of powdered formula. I mean, you don't have to stop nursing your child after 6 months, 12 months, or even 24 months. You can nurse that baby well after your little pumpkin develops the ability to unbutton your blouse on his own. Think of the money you'll save bypassing chicken nuggets, baby carrots, and squeezable apple sauce pouches! Dude. Those pouches cost a mint!


Lately, there has even been this war on anyone that dares to suggest that women cover up when publicly breastfeeding. In the UK, one woman was even called a tramp for refusing to cover up while breastfeeding. The offended mama was the one to fire the first shot. I'm sure you've seen friends of yours post on social networks of they themselves nursing their baby...a bit of areola clearly on display. It's natural, right? So why should it bother anyone? Breasts are not sexual parts!


Except...try to convince any red-blooded, straight man that he should not be sexually attracted to breasts. It just isn't happening. YOU CANNOT REPROGRAM MEN. Period. And if you're a lady, try to convince me you didn't just stare a little at Gosling's pecks...err, areolas.  Gotcha!

I breastfeed in front of others, don't get me wrong. But I work hard to keep my...milk bottles...covered up by a blanket, nursing apron, a scarf...something, anything...because my boobs are mine and I don't want you looking at them!

But it is a hassle.

 I don't like trying to be modest about it. It isn't easy! I can find a quiet little alcove and tuck the baby under a cover and get her to nurse, but all the while she screams and sputters (like I'm drowning her) and kicks and claws at the cover, doing all she can to expose me in front of the creepy dude staring from across the way. He catches me staring back at him (glaring at him, more than likely) and pretends to text, but I know he's secretly snapping a picture and texting it to his buddy: "Dude! Look at this crazy chick! Just waiting on the blanket to drop! Picture to follow if it does!" (That's actually too many words for one male to text to another, right???)

It. Is. Not. Easy.

And do you know what it feels like to always be wet and leaky? Or hear some strangers baby start screaming bloody murder from waaaaaaaaaay back in the store, only to cause a tidal wave of fresh white milk rushing down into your bra? There's no way to stop that. I mean, if you gotta pee really bad and a bit threatens to come out...kegels save the day.

A kegel cannot save your bra.

Suddenly, everyone in the store knows mama just lactated all over herself. 


Along with constantly digging in the bottom of one's diaper bag for the last two nursing pads you are HOPING are buried down in there, you get the honor of producing a very sour aroma. There have been times when I've pulled a nursing pad from my bra only to have it dripping wet and smelling suspiciously like beer. Beer?! Really!? Is there a sobriety field test for a two month old?

But then I wake up this morning and bring London close to me to feed. I'm so tired...and I lay there, thinking about all the things that I have to accomplish today. Yet, a soft little hand rubs against my skin and I look down...

A staggeringly beautiful set of enormous blue eyes are staring up at me and she smiles while eating, milk dribbling down her cheek and onto the clean sheets.

Suddenly, breastfeeding is something I hope I never forget the beauty of. I might smell bad (like soggy frosted flakes and sometimes...beer). I might be damp and ruin my shirts and change my clothes nearly as much as my baby does...

But...

No one can do what I can do for my perfect little baby.

And THAT...is why I am superhuman.

At least, it's one of the many reasons I am superhuman.   ;)



EDITED:
Last night after I posted this, my dear husband went on a wild goose chase of a shopping trip to find me Mother's Milk tea to help with my milk production. Lesson learned in all of this? Husbands tolerate A LOT for their wives! ;P Also, autocorrect is of the devil:


-Gia

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