Last night the Hubs and I attended our one and only (thank the Lord) class on how to nurse your baby. If you know me well, you know that there are about a million and one ways I'd rather spend an evening. Alas, we survived the 2.5 hour class and have lived to
Let me apologize right now if this particular post offends anyone. That is not my intent. To each their own. These opinions are my own and I have not received any compensation from the Moms Against Boobs union nor from the various formula companies that grace our grocery store shelves. It's just little ole me and my humble opinion.
I have never had the desire to nurse. Like, never ever. I'm a very modest person and I'm one of the people who squirms a bit when I see women nursing in public. Hooter hider or not, that cape ain't foolin' anyone. I am the proud product of formula and seem to be doing just fine (with a few quirks and flaws here and there). I planned to formula feed as well for many reasons. One reason was that I'll be a working mom and pumping is not my idea of a great time at the office. Reason number two, I want my husband to be able to bond over feedings, while also sharing the workload. Reason three, I like to keep my hooters hidden in public and a thin veil is not what I call hidden. Reason four, it just never appealed to me in any way and I am fine with that.
After completing our "Birth and You" class last month, I slowly started to warm up to some of the benefits of nursing and found myself contemplating a cross-over to the other side. Was I really thinking this? Would I really give this thing a go? In the end, apparently my answer is yes. I shall TRY this and see how it goes. I make no promises to myself, the Hubs, my doctors, Le Leche League peeps, nor to our son. I refuse to be a mom who beats herself up if this does not pan out, BUT for the sake of this little person inside of me whom I love more than life itself (and McGriddles), I shall abandon my past thoughts and try.
Fast forward to last night's class. The awkwardness began when I was called and reminded to bring a baby doll and my husband to the class. 1) I don't own a doll. I'm having a boy. Boys don't have dolls on their registry. 2) Why does the Hubs need to come? I knew right away he was not going to like saving the date for this particular evening, but he went along with it. Every husband in that room looked pained. Poor dudes.
I share with you the "doll" that I learned how to nurse like a boss last night.
That's right, folks, it's my Hubs' cabbage patch doll from the 80's. We rocked that doll with full on army fatigues and a dog tag. I was a little embarrassed about not having a real, toy doll until I saw a girl with a large, stuffed animal tiger in a grocery bag. Suddenly we weren't the weirdoes with the cabbage patch in the class anymore. I'm guessing she's having a boy too. Boy mom, power! We don't need no stinkin' dolls!
The next 2.5 hours were spent watching videos that made me quite uncomfortable and learning the various "holds" for our kiddos, all while the instructor called each latch on experience "beautiful, just beautiful". I can tell you with 100% confidence that I have never seen that many nipples in one sitting. I'm guessing we saw at least 127, thanks to the instructor making us watch each video twice. I died a few times throughout the repeat videos. At one point, the husband seated across from me turned to his wife and mumbled "if she makes us watch that video again, I swear..." Apparently I wasn't alone in my anguish.
My only saving grace came in the form of popcorn. We were given popcorn and fruit during our break since the class took up your whole dinner hour window. I was finally content while eating my popcorn and watching nipples on the big screen when she changed directions. Suddenly she's holding up diapers with faux poop samples to compare formula poo to breast milk poo. Really?! Down the bowl of popcorn went to the table and I pretty much shut down after that. It was just all too much.
I left knowing that I did the right thing in going and that I'll still give this a shot, but I will not be joining Le Leche League anytime soon. Nor will I be bringing one of my baby's photos and onsies to sniff while pumping at work to keep our bond intact as was suggested last night. For me, it's all too much. Maybe I'll become more comfortable with it as time goes on. Maybe you'll find me at a local restaurant sporting my nursing cape, or maybe you won't. I'm okay with however this plays out. Trying is half the battle so I consider this a mommy victory already.
And in the fine words of our new pediatrician, it's totally okay to not be a "breast feed or die, Man" kind of mom. Either way, our son will be fed, loved and bonded with to the max. And his poo shall look equally gross no matter which direction we take. See, I learned something last night after all.