I always assumed that I would try to breastfeed my baby. I wasn’t opposed to formula, but I knew that breastmilk was healthier and cheaper, so I figured I would give it a whirl. Besides, the classes and books and lactation consultants seemed to give me a pretty good idea of what to expect, and added on to the long list of benefits. My child would be smarter, healthier, skinnier, more athletic, prettier, more popular, and more likely to find the cure for cancer than her formula-fed peers. It made me wonder why anyone would choose not to breastfeed.
Then my child arrived, and the reality of being responsible for nourishing this adorable parasite set in. Within a week, I discovered some additional “benefits” of breastfeeding. Always eager to help others, I decided to share these reasons for those preparing to choose this same path:
1) You want to experience another definition of “sore”. I played plenty of sports as a kid and have been a runner since high school, so I was familiar with being sore. You know, the dull ache that can be eased by a nice soak in a hot tub or some relaxing yoga poses. So when the books and classes mentioned sore nipples, I wasn’t afraid.
I didn’t realize they meant a different kind of sore.
In breastfeeding, the word “sore” refers to a sharp, agonizing pain that makes you scream and cry and say words you would never say normally, let alone so close to the innocent ears of your child, as you sit in a chair and feel like the victim of a horror or Tarantino movie and dream fondly of the hours of labor that now seem like a trip to a spa. At one point while nursing during a marathon session of The Tudors, I watched as they put some poor women on the rack, and all I could think was, “I feel you.”
2) You enjoy having your baby ogle you like a creepy old guy in a bar. The transformation is astonishing. One minute my infant would resemble a cherub, sleeping peacefully in her crib, an occasional smile on her lips. Then it would happen. The time would come for the next feeding, and my baby would start to thrash her head around desperately, searching for my boobs.
Then she would hear me. Or see me. And stare right at my chest until I felt uncomfortable and exposed and vulnerable. And I would have to force an awkward smile and have a conversation with someone speaking absolute gibberish as they asked for another drink.
3) You’re curious to see what 3 a.m. looks like sober and under-caffeinated. It’s a strange place. It’s like a preview of the apocalypse. Especially when you listen to the baby books and keep it dark and quiet so that the baby understands the difference between day and night, leaving you with nothing to do but stare at your baby lest your mind begin to dwell on scenes from Paranormal Activity. (Video monitors are not helpful in this case.)
4) While intently studying your angel, you are amused by the weird little turtle face they make when preparing to latch. Okay, this one is actually kind of cute…
5) While further studying your angel, you realize that when they actually latch, they latch on like a piranha and begin to suck as if you’ve starved them for days, rather than possibly half an hour. This one is significantly less cute. Especially when they like to move their heads around as if they’re tearing the flesh off of a fallen gazelle…or the aquatic equivalent of a gazelle, I suppose. And you are that aquatic gazelle.
6) Crying together is a great way to bond. Misery loves company, right? So what better way to help your vulnerable infant adjust to the traumas of life beyond the womb than by joining right in with some tears of your own? Of course, yours are tears of pain and frustration, while the baby’s are tears of…well, you’re not quite sure what, which is part of the reason you’re both crying in a dark room at 3 a.m. But you’re pretty sure/afraid it’s because the baby wants to continue wreaking havoc on your already damaged boobs.
7) You enjoy having conversations about the state of your nipples. I am, in general, a private person. But something about breastfeeding tears down that wall, especially after about two weeks of no sleep. I still feel uncomfortable about it, but find myself not only being asked (by other women, of course) how the breastfeeding is going, but responding somewhat truthfully that I feel like the victim of a medieval torture device. The fact that I’m writing something to be shared publicly is astonishing to my former self who long ago perfected the art of changing from regular bra to sports bra like a goddamn magician.
8) You love not being able to move for an extended period of time. Some people don’t mind being immobile for sixteen or so hours a day (like my husband). On normal days it’s not bad. But sometimes, when you’ve gone through a whole season of a show on Netflix and have taken several Buzzfeed quizzes and are parched but have an empty water bottle, standing starts to sound kind of nice.
9) You enjoy limiting your already limited wardrobe even further. Those few weeks (or months) between delivery and fitting perfectly back into pre-pregnancy clothes are awkward. Your maternity clothes are huge (plus you’re sick of them) but your old clothes either don’t fit or emphasize the new baby body in ways that probably wouldn’t impress any tabloid magazines. So already you’re limited to yoga pants and some baggy T-shirts. But you also have to make sure the baggy T-shirts aren’t white and leave room for easy access. And if you have to go to a place where baggy shirts are not acceptable (like work), you have to make sure your boob is accessible (or you have a bottle) and that any potential leaks are adequately disguised.
10) You enjoy the challenge of seeing how much you can get done in a three, two, or even one hour time frame. During the day my daughter generally eats every two hours exactly. So once she finishes, I know exactly how much time I have left to burp her/ help develop her motor skills/read to her to develop her language skills/ change her/ change her again/change her whole outfit because of a diaper explosion/throw in laundry for her because that was the last clean outfit/ brush my teeth or (possibly) shower or change into clean clothes myself/narrate everything I’m doing to keep her stimulated/ help her calm down to nap once she gets over-stimulated/ find food and water for myself so I can continue feeding her/ attack the pile of dishes or dust on the furniture/ figure out why she’s crying…oh, right, she’s hungry again. Let the cycle begin!