I know, I know…some of you may be screaming “BLAIR, YOU LAZY ASS.  Another guest blogger?!?!”  But this one?  This one is important.

a)  because it includes a picture of a nipple shield set on fire

b)  because it discusses breastfeeding from a perspective that is completely different than my own (you know, considering I didn’t even try it).

I get flack for not putting the kid to the teat.  That’s no secret – I get it in real life, on the internets, from the old ladies that cluck their tongues when they see me shake up a bottle of formula at a restaurant.  But y’all know where I stand on feeding my child.  & I thought it would be fair & fascinating to let the “other side” weigh in.  & trust me, Diana will have you rolling with laughter with her up-front, honest, no-holds-barred approach to boob education.

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When Blair mentioned having someone do breastfeeding-esque review for her on Twitter – I jumped right on it to see if there was any way she would let me, a newbie blogger, guest post on hers, as she is the queen of mommy bloggers. Even though I was way off on what she was looking for, she was kind enough to take a chance on my writing. I was excited because Blair is the reason I started a blog, and she’s basically the most fantastic mom you can imagine. Even though we are the same age, she is someone I really look up to. How she does it all; work, baby, blog, make time for her (seriously good looking) husband and be obviously great at all of it, is beyond me. Here’s to hoping I do her blog, and her faithful readers, justice:

Breastfeeding. When you think about the images it brings up, most think of a woman tenderly nursing her beautiful baby while they stare into each others eyes – bonding forever. That’s nice. Go ahead and push those images to the side because I’m going to give you the lowdown on the other side of breastfeeding all those books and lactation consultants didn’t tell me.

Before Bella, now 4 months, was born, I was bound and determined to breastfeed. I certainly wasn‘t against formula feeding, but I was staying at home so it seemed like the most practical, economical thing to do. Never mind that I had no idea what I was doing, or that I just skimmed most of the books I was given, I figured women had been doing this for hundreds of years so really, how hard could it be? I knew you didn’t wash your nips with soap, you used lanolin if they cracked, and the pictures showed that somehow your breast would be almost halfway down your kid’s esophagus as they nursed. Although slightly creeped out, I thought I was set.

After she was born, I had a lot of trouble getting her to latch. DH has always called me “gumdrop nipples” and I guess it wasn’t a good thing to be that when it came to having a baby. Enter the nipple shield. I was given one by a helpful nurse. A thin piece of plastic that looked like a flying saucer that attached around my nipple for Bella to have something to latch on to. It seemed to work, and since my poor boobs were becoming more and more sore, it took the edge off. I used it the first day in the hospital, only to have a different nurse on the second day enter the room and look at me in HORROR as I put it on to feed Bella. “What in the world?” she huffed, “Let’s get that baby to latch correctly.” So in her own helpful manner, she proceeded to jam Bella’s head against my breast repeatedly, finally causing both her and I to burst into tears while the nurse looked on in disgust. The last straw was when she banged Bella’s head against the bed rail trying to get her to latch. I told her I’d do it myself after that because I was thisclose to banging her head on it as well. My husband came back from errands after that and I told him through clenched teeth that under no circumstances was that nurse to help me again.

The day we were released, I was told to go home and pump – to draw my nipples out so she could latch easier. I had set up a little pumping station next to a cute antique rocking chair – with water, crackers and the TV, bottles and books. “Nursing Nook” quickly became “Death Chair.” Because pumping kicked in those cramps where your uterus goes down, and no one had bothered to tell me it was like going into labor again. I vividly remember rocking in that chair, hunched over in pain, pump on me, seething in rage as the cramps hit over and over. I felt like killing someone, and poor DH was at a loss. He would kindly ask if he could get me anything or help in anyway, and I would snap, “Get away from me.” My nips constantly looked like I had stood in a blizzard for 5 hours, naked. And then come inside and sandblasted them for fun.

Finally, my nipples cracked, bleeding and chapped, my baby hungry, and everyone worn out, I screamed at DH one night, “For God’s sake, get out the formula and feed her! I give up!” It was then we realized we had no idea how many ounces she would need – and at 2am we weren’t sure who to call. We ended up feeding her some, and then I felt so awful I had to put her back on again and grit my teeth through the pain. I sobbed through each feeding. In the back of my mind I kept thinking, “Someone needs to die for not telling me about this.”

I realize now I definitely had some PPD, but when your Dr. only asks you “Do you feel sad?” you don’t realize you have it. I didn’t feel sad, I felt like murdering someone. Possibly the Dr. Possibly DH. Possibly anyone within arms reach of my Death Chair.

Now hold on – before you soon-to-be nursers completely freak out, it does get better. Eventually. I mean, there are some serious pluses to BF’ing. Like the extra 500 calories a day. Some people use that to lose weight. I use it for dessert both at lunch and dinner. Or for the extra 10 Weight Watchers Points. Then there’s the cost. You can’t beat free.

Also, my boobs are gigantic. Like bigger than my child’s head. I swear, nothing makes you look thinner than a really big ‘ole rack. I fear the time Bella no longer nurses because I know I am going to end up with National Geographic boobs. The kind that you see on TV and you wonder if the woman is smuggling pancakes under the low cut shirt. You know what I’m talking about. How can you go from a C to a E without some pancakage down the road?

I still get nervous nursing in public. Udder Covers don’t do any good if your child chokes and slams their head up without warning. I was at the dealership getting our car worked on in December and this rich old lady kept giving me dirty looks as Bella fed. I ended up in the bathroom stall perched on the end of the toilet praying I wouldn’t fall in. Or drop her in. Imagine having to explain to people your child is soaked and screaming because you just dropped them in the toilet.

Family events were hard for a while- especially with men. I was nursing her in a back bedroom at Christmas only to have a kind, old uncle pop in and cheerily ask if she was sleeping. I answered that I was actually feeding her. His face turned bright red, he turned around so fast he hit the door head on and kept saying, “Oh my, excuse me, I am so sorry.” She was covered, wasn’t like I was going to lift it up and prove it. But I understood that with men, it’s a matter of decency. Even saying the word “nursing” was indecent. Seeing it was akin to catching grandma naked.

I hated that nipple shield. If you can at all go without it – really try. Because it took us 3 ½ months to get her to a point where she wouldn’t need it. It bothered me to have my boobs look like they grew an oxygen tank on them every time I nurse. The sides would fan up and stick to her cheeks. And it was a pain to have to find it and clean it before feedings. Then one day I was at my moms, and I remembered with a shock that of all things, I had forgotten my shield. We had been through this so many times that my mom looked at me with pity and said, “Well, what are you going to do?” I live 30 miles away and my kid was hungry. There wasn’t anything to do but royally piss her off by trying to get her to latch on. It was like making her feed from a basketball, she just couldn’t get it. Amazingly, all of the sudden, after close to 1,000 times of using the shield, she latched. I felt like Pam did from The Office baby episode, only this was really my child.

I stuck with it, and I’m glad I did. Sometimes I let DH feed her from the bottle so he can understand the closeness of a parent feeding their child too – if you’re nursing or formula feeding you know what I mean. I don’t know if I will breastfeed with the next baby, I think that’s a personal choice made by each mom. But there is something about her little hands resting on my breast and patting it as she feeds, in complete contentment. And that picture of a mom gazing into her baby’s eyes? Sometimes it does happen that way. When it does, it’s one of the best times you can imagine. I guess moments like that don’t come easy, or we wouldn‘t appreciate them when they arrive. Now if only I can get her to stop using me as a teether, things would be great.