me n' Gumby

Lets go ahead and have a disclaimer right from the get go here.  Ready? Set. Go!

If you are one of those people who get freaked out at the thought of breast feeding in general (WTF are you doing reading my blog anyway) or don't like to depart from the happy, comfy, granola crunchy BS version of breast feeding where it never hurts or is awkward at all, read no further.  If you are, like, my dad, or someone who doesn't want to read something that is specifically about my boobs, you should also stop here.

That should cover us.  Its a little TMI, but I don't know of any honest breast feeding sources that don't crap hearts and rainbows and focus on anything other than the bondy happiness breast feeding is to vent my spleen here.  As stated in my last post or two about breast feeding I think it is all those happy unicorn things, but it is more.  So much more.

I have given up any hope or false belief I own my boobs.  He took them.  The ones I have now are not mine for all intents and purposes, nor are they the ones I had before.  I fear that in giving my child all the valuable wonderful (crapping hearts and rainbows) goodness that breast milk undeniably gives him I have also forfeited any hope of having human boobs again.

I have Gumby boobs.  At least Thing 2 thinks so.  He seems to think he can simultaneously eat and do some kind of Linda-Blair-head-turning sort of thing.

At least they aren't green.

Oh, and the baby is learning that my shirt is some sort of barrier between him and that which he loves most dearly.  Not me, just his food source.

So we can definitely add "my boobs" to the list of things my kids stole from me.  File it right after "my dignity" and just before "my peace of mind."

me + atari joystick = injured lab assistant

So I was reading this article detailing a study that found that lactating women, in a nutshell, are more aggressive than their non-lactating counterparts.

The study took a group of lactating moms, formula feeding moms, and non moms and ultimately their level of aggression was determined by how long and loudly they punished an opponent who behaved rudely to them with a blast of a sound.

Now I admit I had to stop reading there because I was laughing too hard and the words were coming out of focus. I wasn't laughing at the study, more the mental picture:

Me sitting in a crisp lab environment. Every surface is so white I look downright tan.

In front of me is sits a plain white table. On that table rests an Atari joystick (not sure why I picture that but I do).

I am told to teach my opponent, whom I just beat in a game, a lesson. My opponent has been a rude little twerp to me.

The room is dead quiet, I appear composed. I take a deep breath.

I suddenly jump on the table and screaming like a mad woman squeeze that button and throw the lever at full throttle blasting my counterpart with a deafeningly loud noise for about 3 minutes all while laughing like a mad woman.

At this point I wipe the tears from my eyes, control the laughter and wishful thinking that I could have been contacted to take part in this uber fun study, and I continue reading.

They ultimately determined that the lactators blasted twice as long and as loud as the none milky ones.

Had another giggle bought there because I was surprised that the article didn't end with "but the study was prematurely canceled when one participant attempted to beat the innocent research assistant about the head and neck with an Atari controller."

Aaaand getting me back on topic again, it got me thinking. Not only do I appear to have a teensy bit of repressed aggression, but given the thoughts I have previously shared with you regarding the full contact sport nature of breast feeding I am wondering why it is that no-one has made this connection before. Why they needed to spend, I am sure, a truck load of money to tell them what logic should have spelled out for free.

Think about it: You take a woman who's boobs inflate with fluid seemingly at random, she has to worry about leaking through all of her clothes, working on very little and interrupted sleep, has a baby that will alternately bite her like vampire while clawing her throat then smile the most angelic smile so that she cannot get angry with him/her, deny her free access to alcohol ... then put her in a lab with a person who is supposed to act rudely to her then give her the choice of how to punish them? Seriously, they didn't have any deaths as a result of this study?!

I think something got swept under the rug.

boobie milk and breast cancer

Okay so remember a while back how I posted that Thelma and Louise were going to be part of a world record? The Big Latch on was fun and I seriously have been working the whole "world record attempting boobs" thing for weeks now.

But it was getting to be old news.

So now my boobs (and my milk) are going to contribute toward research that may someday lead to a more effective indication of a woman's personal breast cancer risk!

What, you say? How is this possible? Well I saw a thingie on facebook that said they need (1) women who are currently nursing and (2) have either had or will have a breast biopsy.

Um, check and check! Who'da ever thought having my ta-tas cut into previously would make me smile and say "hey, I can help!" Long story short, and sans medical mumbo jumbo, there may be cells in breast milk that could possess markers that are indicative of a woman's potential risk to develop cancer. By gathering info from women who have had or will have biopsies in the near future and following them to see if they are ever diagnosed with breast cancer the researchers at University of Massachusetts Amherst feel they might be able to identify how to spot the alarm bells. But they need boobie milk.

And I can make boobie milk.

So I signed up and will be getting a milk collection kit, and from the pictures it looks rather Bond-space-age-coolio. I will tell you more about it once I get it.

Breast cancer is something that runs in my family, and as a 6 time 3 Day walker I am totally down for anything I can do to nix cancer from reality.

boobies and world records

My boobs don't get a lot of glory. They are not particularly fabulous, and honestly more of a nuisance to me than anything with my risk for breast cancer, but as a breastfeeding mom I think they deserve some props occasionally (note I said "they deserve props," not "they need propped up"). So I decided that Thelma and Louise should be part of a world record.

There aren't many records the three of us are up to, but if you add in the baby and make it a team of four, we are up to this one:

The Big Latch On is one way to celebrate World Breastfeeding Week and get to be part of a world record. On August 6th at 10:30 AM lots of mothers will be latching their babies on at a variety of locations world wide for at least one minute of breastfeeding, thereby trying for a world record of the most women breastfeeding simultaneously. You must be part of an official location in order to be counted, and lucky me one is walking distance from our house! While I may take a slightly sarcastic approach to breastfeeding in general, it is something that I am proud to promote and believe in the value of greatly.

You don't have to be a breastfeeding mama to help (though clearly it would be creepy if you tried to participate) by spreading the word or checking with an official location to see if they need any help on that day.

Creepy dudes hoping for a free show need not apply. Please.

breastfeeding is a lot like football

Breast feeding seems straight forward, baby meets breast and *POOF* baby eats, right? Wrong! Wrong, wrong, wrong! I breast fed my first child with formula supplementation due to a lack of milk production. I am exclusively breastfeeding my second now, but even having had experience and having done research there were things I wish I had known before I had started with either kiddo.

Forget all the cute cuddly stuff, breast feeding is like a full contact sport.

Breast feeding is about bonding, and don't get me wrong, it is special and beautiful and all of that. But if we are talking frank honesty here, and there are plenty of places to hear about how good breastfeeding is for both you and baby. If we are talking "girlfriend" advice here it is: Breastfeeding is a lot like football.

Yes, I said football. With football you have to practice, wear a uniform, have to utilize specific terminology, and its not always comfy. Breastfeeding is much the same.

One does not initially think of one's boobs as something to practice with. Yet, motherhood has a way of making you see everything differently, especially your body. With breast feeding the first time around I thought it sounded funny when they said I would have to practice and would get the hang of it all. But I did. And much like the sports I played in high school (disclaimer: football was not one of them) I didn't always enjoy practice, but I enjoyed the benefits of it. While breast feeding sounds perfectly natural, the reality is there is nothing about it that came naturally to me. I had to work at it, with both kids. After a couple bumpy weeks I did get the hang of it. While I do not consider myself a pro with it as of yet, I do not have anywhere near the difficulty I once did. In fact, it seems easier to me now than dealing with the nightmarish, smelly mess that formula felt like with kiddo number one.

In the beginning I also had no idea that this was a sport complete with lingo and equipment. Oh, but it is. And in no time, with said practice, you too will be using the lingo ("My colostrum has come in") and using the equipment (the word "pumps" no longer refers to your shoes!). You need pads, because you will not only leak like a cheap faucet in those first few days but any time you ever need to feed baby and have reached maximum storage capacity. You need a cape if you will want to feed where modesty prevents you from whipping the girls out. Feeding pillows are super, and while you may not have a "uniform" per say, you will look at clothes differently whether you buy actual nursing tops and bras or not. It is also critical that you, like the best of athletes, remain well fed and hydrated at all times.

Last, but not least, it is a full contact sport I assure you. My darling, beautiful, innocent little boy is precious as precious can be. I love him more than words can say, but that cute bundle of joy bites hard when he is mad (this is why children are born with no teeth) and will headbutt and scratch me when he is really fussy or overly hungry. Given his ravenous appetite I feel like I spend more time feeding him than anything else, and thus I get a wee bit tender even when he plays nice.

All of this said, I love breast feeding. It is worth it, every last leaky, tender, exhausting bit of it. The good far out ways any discomfort, and I will gladly continue feeding this way and would do the same for any subsequent child/ren I have. I would never talk anyone out of breast feeding, but I think it is important to walk in to it with eyes wide open. It is work, but its work well worth it.