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"Adventures in Breastfeeding"
by Mimi Greenwood Knight

I should have known I’d be breast feeding challenged, the first time I nursed. My husband, David, and I graduated cum laude from our Lamaze class. We practiced and rehearsed till we could pant with the best of them. I had a fantasy in my mind of the perfect delivery where David held my hand, dabbed sweat from my forehead and whispered encouraging words in my ear. The midwife crooned, “One more push, Sugar.” which was a breeze since I’d Kegeled 3 hours a day for 7 months. Then out into the delivery room air would emerge a perfect, pink boy or girl who’d take right to my breast, nursing lustily and David would capture the whole thing on video.

Instead I awoke in my eighth month in a puddle of blood. We drove frantically to the hospital where I was knocked out and an emergency C-section ensued. At least that’s what they told me several hours later, when I awoke in a drug induced stupor. But my lactation counselor was there so at least the breast feeding part of my fantasy could come true. My perfect little bundle was a girl and she was a beauty. (The prettiest one in the nursery my mother-in-law informed us and kept dashing back, when a new baby was born, to make sure we maintained our status.) Even though Haley was three weeks early, she was plump and healthy and had the good sense to look like her handsome daddy.

The counselor helped me get her arranged at my breast but neither Haley nor I knew what we were doing and the drugs I’d been given were so strong that I wavered in and out of consciousness, finally conking out, dead to the world. “No problem,” my lactation guru announced. She nestled Haley up to my breast (where I’m told she finally figured out what to do) and told my husband, “Here! Hold this.” Then she left.

I have pictures of Haley’s first breastfeeding experience. They look nothing like the ones in the books. I am passed out, head flopped to one side, spittle drooling from my mouth. David is holding Haley with a befuddled Won’t-someone-help-me look and, sure enough, Haley is nursing. After reading and memorizing all those books on breastfeeding, I have to live with the fact that my husband got to breast feed our baby before I did.

Our third day in the hospital, David ran home for a shower and my sister stayed to take care of Haley and me. I was still pretty drugged and asleep more than I was awake. After one particularly long nap, I awoke to discover the Titty Fairy had paid me a visit. During one seemingly innocent nap, my breasts had quadrupled in size and were exploding out of the top of my nursing gown. I was afraid to move. My sister was dozing in a chair next to Haley’s basinet. All I could do was whisper, “Pssst, Denise, get the camera. Quick, get the CAMERA”. I wasn’t sure if they’d be there, when David got back, (or even if I was awake at all) so I had to get a picture to preserve in our family history; the day Mom had bodacious ta tas.

Little did I know that wasn’t the biggest they’d get. For the next few weeks dressing was a challenge. Even the clothes I’d bought a couple sizes too big had a hard time fitting over my morphed mammaries. But I liked having boobs, even if they did belong to someone else. Haley caught on to nursing and I began to see breastfeeding as the miracle it is. There were still gray areas though. So, when David, Haley and I were invited to visit my sister for the weekend, I jumped at the chance. She’d breastfed four kids and I figured I could pick up some tips. (Plus snag a nap or two, while we were there.) Everything went fine until Saturday evening when we dressed for church.

An overabundance of milk had not been a problem for me so I’d never opened the box of breast pads they’d given me at the hospital and hadn’t thought to toss them in the suitcase. But, when I looked at the sheer, white blouse I’d packed to wear to church, I realized I was taking the chance I might be standing in the pew with two puddles of milk on the front of my blouse for God and everybody to see. There wasn’t time to run to the drug store. So my sister conceived the brilliant idea of cutting two mini pads into little ovals and fitting them inside my nursing bra. She figured a pad is a pad. Right?

My kotex turned breast pads were a lifesaver when, halfway through the service, my breasts decided it was party time. What we hadn’t considered was that the pads were scented. As the breast milk soaked the pads and I smiled at how clever we’d been, unbeknownst to me perfume was covering my breasts. When poor Haley woke to nurse that night, she didn’t recognize that funny taste and so began one of the longest nights of my life. She’d latch on to nurse just long enough to trigger my milk production. Then she’d pull away and cry. My breasts would expand. She’d latch on again, more let down, pull away, BIGGER breasts. Latch, grow, cry. Latch, grow, cry. I didn’t want to wake my sister so I sat there lactating and hurting until dawn. Haley finally wore herself out crying and fell asleep hungry and miserable. Sleeping was not an option for me. By the time my sister woke up, I could barely stand the pain in my breasts. She got me into a hot shower where it looked like I had two whale spouts shooting out of my chest. It was hours before we put two and two together and figure out what we’d done.

Breastfeeding has been as eventful and surprising as the rest of motherhood. There’s only so much you can learn in books and so much more you have to discover for yourself. No author could put into words the way I feel, when I watch my Haley sleep or when she reaches a wobbly hand up to touch my face. No one else could tell me how much more I’d love David when I see how he loves our daughter or the sheer joy of sitting around for hours talking about nothing but her. Like motherhood breastfeeding is one of the most rewarding, exhilarating, exhausting, confusing, amazing, life-giving things I’ve ever done. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.