I Was Milked

I don't want to constantly blog about breastfeeding, but since it is something that takes up a huge part of my day and I am constantly thinking about it--you will for the next few months, have to read a little bit about it.

Anyway, last week my nipples were burning.

This was not a minor discomfort, this was something else. I decided to call in a lactation specialist to check it out. I had met with a woman when the Lady was first born and called her again. She showed up a half-hour late after pulling into the Market in front of our house and getting involved in a minor fender-bender with a wall in her rental car--because her other car was in the shop getting repaired from another small accident. Not a great driver obviously, but she is pretty knowledgeable about the boobs.

Once you have had children, your modesty kind of goes out the window. I will still turn my back if I am changing in front of my husband, because even though he has seen it all and more, and even though I whip out my boobs like thirty times a day--and not in the good sexy way--I don't need to remind him of my belly flap and stretch marks. However, when it comes to complete strangers, I will apparently, strip down for a Brazilian or just casually expose my breasts to bad drivers.

So, I found myself standing in my living room--while the Lady watched the "Wonder Pets" and the little Lady hung out in her bassinet--being milked by a virtual stranger.

Along with having basically a yeast infection on my nipples--I know--SUPER GROSS, I also have two blocked ducts (or blebs--the technical term), one on each boob. She descried the bleb as basically a blackhead on my breast. Great. Not only do I have acne on my face I have it on my tits.

The lactation specialist was trying to loosen the block by basically "popping" the bleb by scraping it with her fingernail and then trying to get the milk to flow by milking me.

And believe me the milk was flying. Part of me was annoyed because we were wasting so much milk. It was flying across the room, onto the floor and directly on the front of the lactation specialists red suede jacket.

Let's talk a bit about times in your life where you have stopped for a moment and taken in the present situation at hand. When, if ever, did I think that I would be so aware of myself as a mammal? I wondered quite frankly how I had gotten there in that exact moment, leaning against my couch, both boobs out, with the little Lady starting to stir, listening to yet another irritating theme song from a children's show, staining a suede shirt, while being pawed and pinched. How had this happened?

After going through a few paper towels, and not being able to "pop" the blocked duct, I was prescribed some cream for the yeast and something else to dull the nipple pain so that when I tried to pop it myself it wouldn't totally kill.

I also was given a flyer on how to self-express milk. I am thinking of framing it or scrapbooking it as a reminder of this time in my life, when boobs were more functional than fun, where sleep was a precious commodity, where strangers instead of shaking hands, shake boobs, and when I was so fully aware of being a woman and a mother and all the responsibility and craziness that comes with it.