MIlk Machine

 I've joined a Mom Bloggers Club (shout out MBC!) and I'm totally overwhelmed trying to figure it out all. I'm not all that tech savvy, and it's a lot to go through and I'm trying to actually read all the blogs.There are a lot. And a lot of them are fan-friggin-tastic. Funny, witty, sweet, wry and just plain fabulous.  And it occurred to me that all of these women, though they are funny and snarky, they support the hell out of each other! 

I love this, and truly hope to be more a part of that community. Especially when in real life sometimes women aren't all that supportive. Nothing polarizes us more than our children  and our opinions on what is right in raising them.

I'm a breast feeding mom. (This blog is all about bodily functions isn't it?) But I never thought I would be. (Stick with me, I've got a point.) Breast feeding always freaked me out. Even the name. Breast feeding. Ick. I still prefer 'nursing' it's a bit more civilized. When Zach and I had been dating about 6 months I knew he was the one, he knew I was the one, our parents knew it, everyone knew it! All that was left was for him to pop the dang question, so we arranged a lovely Christmas trip to NYC with our families so his parents could meet my mom and this whole thing could move forward. We had such grand plans for that trip, but it was ridiculously crowded so there was no frozen hot chocolate at Serendipity or ice skating at Rockefeller's for us. We did get to do the Met, which was awesome. In fact that picture of me talking to the statue just to the right is from that very day! The Egyptian exhibit was especially cool. My mother loves Egypt, growing up we had a whole Egyptian inspired living room. In the fifth grade I did a book report on the Egyptian Book of the Dead (that's not weird at all right?). For some reason it was smack in the middle of the Egyptian exhibit that my mother in law brought up babies. Did I want them? Would I breast feed them? 

MIL: are you going to nurse?

ME:I don't know...it kinda freaks me out, my mom didn't so probably not.

MIL: (steps forward): Stephie you have too. 

ME: (stepping back) I'll think about it, but ya know some people their milk never even comes in!

MIL: (steps forward) It's so good for the baby.

Me: (stepping back) I know but...

MIL: (steps forward) you'll love it, and the bonding with the baby is amazing

etc. etc. etc. until I found myself pinned against a mummy. Honestly, there I was in the middle of the Met smack dab against some ancient Pharaoh's mummy totally panicking while my mother in law (to be) gave me the what for about nursing! I'd also like to remind you that my mother in law is 4'10''. Legally she should be in a booster chair when she is in a car. She's little.

When I got pregnant I was still on the fence about it, but Dub who is infinitely cooler than I am and just a little bit more earthy was all for it. So, by about 20 weeks I was 'thinking about it'. By 30 weeks I was 'gonna give it a try'. By 35 weeks I was determined to make a go of it for at least two weeks. By 37 weeks I was totally doing it...at least until my mother in law came to visit. My darling friend Wendee sent me her very expensive breast pump which gave Dub and I the giggles. I couldn't believe anyone would do that to themselves! It's just so silly! We had no idea.

After my C-section when I finally got to the room and they finally, finally brought me my little one he finalized the decision for me. Little bugger latched right on and hasn't let up since! And I love it. I will cry a river when he weans, and it will be him that weans cause I want to nurse him until it's not icky. 

I've never understood the formula vs breast milk war. Each mommy has to make the right decision for themselves and their baby. Now that Max is nine months old  he isn't quite the nurser he was. Now it's a little sip, sit up, look around maybe talk a little bit, lean back for another little drink. Sit up, look around, lather, rinse, repeat. It's even more difficult to nurse in public since he hates to be covered.  He's at that stage where he wants to do things for himself, and that includes stealing your cup and drinking your water. So I dragged it out, that gorgeous pump and subjected myself to what is surely one of the silliest and possibly most humiliating experiences of motherhood. I pumped. Weird, but the freedom! I can wear non easy access shirts!

So Max and I are at the mall (quell surprise!) and Max is chowing down on his pumped milk in a BPA free bottle and this woman hustles up to me and says "You know he should be getting breast milk. Breast is best."

Uhhh F-you very much lady! I'm standing there, mouth agape trying to decide if I should let her have it or say nothing and she just keeps on going. Now, you've seen my piglet, he's pink and juicy. He's got rolls, his rolls have rolls. He's probably got hidden rolls so it's not like he looked malnourished. She's going on and on and on about breast milk and finally I get it together enough to say "Not that it's any of your business but it IS breast milk!" Max looks at her and smiles that melt-your-heart-smile and hiccups. Without missing a beat she says "You know, if you take a little string off your shirt, it has to be a white one, and you roll it up into a little ball and put it on the soft spot of it's head he'll stop hiccuping." Turns on her heel and walks away. 

Max and I look at each other and he gives me this chuckle, as if to say "Consider the source Mommy."

OK, maybe I didn't really have a point, but it was a weird exchange. 

And I love that pump.