Breastfeeding: This is GRAPHIC!

OK, Burb couldn't make this picture bigger (total incompetence!) and I was going to provide a link to a larger image but even THAT was too cumbersome and the address was splitting and going all over this sacred space so screw it, man! if you want to see a bigger picture, Google Image "breastfeeding" and there you go. Of course, we're all going to get zapped by the Corporate Master Internet Tonton Macoutes, but oh well, it was a nice ride and you got a lot of free pens.

So this is Lucy Lawless. New Zealand megastar. Public service heroine. Faux-lesbian icon. Tres chic office worker. Nerd masturbation fodder. Breastfeeder.

The spirit is there, and I appreciate it. Breastfeeders Unite! Take Back the Bite!

In all seriousness, breastfeeding is still just so weird to some people, and there are still laws preventing women from doing it in public, and so those of us who feel that breasts are there for a slightly more natural purpose than being squished by $50 bras into a gelatinous mass for the viewing pleasure of those super-special, "I-go-for-the-wings" Hooters patrons have to stick together and make posters of ourselves breastfeeding . . . with heels on. Our impossibly long legs properly crossed. On the EDGE of a chair.

Mmm-hmm.

My breasts are calling to me, daring me to tell the truth! Seriously, they are. Excuse me while I go pump.

Aaahhh . . . better! This here is the First Truth of Breastfeeding: Full boobs bad. Empty boobs good! (My apologies to George Orwell.)

I must admit to not knowing much about breastfeeding before I became a breastfeeder. Was there milk in there all the time? Did big-breasted women make more milk (real question: Would my babies starve?) After I started, I discovered a whole new world of feminine mysteries. Mysteries like waking up a few days after giving birth and finding large, smooth, plastic-y Barbie boobs where your old boobs used to be! Sure, they were pretty--big, round, and firm. But they were what the medical community calls "engorged". This is not good. There will not be an "Engorged Boob Barbie" anytime soon.

The feeling is peculiar. Sorta like what I imagine a bad boob job feels like. In a regular breast, there's some malleability. You can take hold of a breast and move it around a bit--if you squeeze it, it conforms to that shape. And the nipple can move, too. In an engorged breast . . . well, first of all, don't touch! Ouchy. Second, you can't cup it and squeeze it because all the little alveoli are filled with milk and it feels like some ill-mannered child has managed to place a full water balloon inside your breast and it's hanging there, heavily. Third, when breasts are filled like this, the nipple can't be compressed. This means that the baby, whose gums are needed to press down on the sinuses behind the areola and get that milk out! now! can't even really press--it's like trying to latch onto a bowling ball. With your gums.

It can be frustrating.

Still, engorgement can be remedied. Women are trees; we can bend (and read breastfeeding manuals). But then there are the nipples. Those same manuals will say things like "nipples can get sore at first . . . " Uh-huh. Nipples are sensitive. We all know that. That's why many of us cringe when we imagine a nipple piercing, or nipple clamps, or even nipples that become chafed as a result of wearing a denim shirt. Now imagine nipples that are forced to undergo sustained sucking and gum-gnawing for hours and hours every day! They get red, they get cracked, they even form scabs. And, yet, baby must feed! Eat, eat, eat, eat, eat!!! That will soon seem like all those little bastards do! They cry; you cringe, knowing that yep, it's gonna hurt. In fact, dear reader, at first it hurts so bad that at times I would actually cry out "YOooooW!" and once I even grabbed a pillow and threw my leg up in the air at the same time! But I didn't drop baby! (Hooray for Lulu!)

Once, while reading a more truthful manual, I was comforted to learn that yes, you can feed baby even if your nipples are bleeding. The blood is OK for baby! My Lord, what we do to avoid buying formula.

Before the La Leche League comes storming in here to take me to Breastfeeder Jail (complete with lactation rooms, no doubt), I will say that engorgement and nipple trauma and all that other stuff, well, it doesn't have to be that way. There are plenty of lactation resources available. Most of the trouble comes from 1. being anal and trying to put baby on a schedule. Nix that idea. and 2. improper latch-on. The latter is well-known to me. Breastfeeding is definitely a learned skill, and baby can't just grab on and go. Lips have to be splayed out ("like a fish") and the mouth should cover as much of the areola as possible (they breathe through the sides of their nostrils--don't worry, baby IS alive!) and if baby isn't optimally plugged in then break the suction by sticking a finger in the side of her mouth and between her razor-sharp gums--DON'T PULL HER OFF--and try, try again.

After awhile, mommy and baby work it out. In fact, the whole relationship gets very cool and psychic. Many times my milk will "let down" (move from the alveoli into the sinuses) just BEFORE the baby starts to fuss. For me, letting down is a slightly uncomfortable, tingly feeling, akin to a limb waking up after being "asleep". At work, I've called the house when my milk let down just to see if Marky was crying/hungry and sure enough! When mommy and baby are together as nature intended, the breasts provide just the right amount of milk for baby--no engorgement, no problems. The baby latches on "naturally", eats, and looks just so darn cute as he drifts off to sleep, belly full of warm, fatty milk. This I will remember--fondly.

That's one of the best things about breastfeeding--bonding. But it's not always the picture that Gerber puts out in the world. Sure, there are many times when mommy and baby smile at each other, make lots of eye contact, coo, and all that crap. But let me tell you about last night.

Yesterday afternoon at work was so busy and deadline-y that I didn't get a chance to pump! I usually pump twice while at work; yesterday I could not. By the time I got home, I had two full, hard breasts and only one baby mouth to help me. While Mark latched on to the larger bowling ball, I was trying to finagle the breast pump funnel onto the other. I was just like Lucy Lawless! I was still in my business clothes! The comparison ends there. I was sitting IN the chair, mostly holding baby with one arm while trying to fit my other breast--one-handed--into a plastic contraption and adjust the intensity of the vacuum-pumping action so as not to sacrifice my nipple to The Machine. Shirt raised above my breasts, bra pulled below, milk spurting, hair askew . . . I did not look like Lucy. I was bonding with baby if you count cussing at the breast pump to be meaningful mommy/baby time. And then I made Stevie drop what he was doing to hand me the remote ("put it RIGHT in my hand, pleeeease.") so I could quickly decide that I didn't want to watch TV because nothing is on and Stevie is too short to reach the DVD shelf. I gritted my teeth and rode it out. If Mark ever gives me any crap, I will send him straight to this post. While my cold lingers for weeks, he is full of top-notch immune-boosters!

So what about pumping? For those of us who must work outside the home and want to continue breastfeeding and don't have a servant to deliver our babies into our arms twice a day, pumping is necessary. Otherwise, your boobs (an ill term, seeing as how they're actually very smart) will think "no baby suckling, no milk needed", dry up, and that's all, little folks. Just know this about pumping: If someone ever walked in the "comfort room" and saw me, sans shirt and shoes, lounging on the pleather chaise holding two funnel-topped bottles to my breasts, nipples being pulled and released, pulled and released, pulled and released . . . well, I'm no drama queen, but I might actually wither away and die.

Still, we breastfeed on. The good so outweighs the bad. And once you're over the mighty hill at the beginning, just get a box of breast pads to soak up the leaks and keep on truckin'. And though I can't wait to stop (I'll go at least 6 months--my goal is a year), I will miss it when it's all over. I really will.