|
|
|
| "AMERICA'S FUNNIEST HUMOR"TM
SHOWCASE
|
|
|
August /
September 2006 Contest Results |
Confessions Of A Breastfeeding Failure
By Jerusha Bosarge,
Florida
“Please, Baby.
Please eat.” I droned to her tiny, flailing body. But, it was no use.
What is wrong with me? I thought, beginning to panic myself. No matter
what I tried, my perfect new baby found by breasts absolutely loathsome.
Glancing down at the grotesquely engorged lumps that were recently two
of my best features, I couldn’t blame her.
“That’s it! I don’t care!” I screamed to the worthless, slouching,
absolutely-good-for-nothing-father-of-my-child over shrill screams as I
reached for the formula. As soon as the nipple of the bottle entered her wailing
mouth, silence.
“She’s doing it!” I whispered ecstatically to Joey, my now wonderful,
attentive, supportive, there-for-me-no-matter-what, loving husband.
“She’s eating!”
I was feeding my baby formula, despite my strong feelings that “breast
is best.” It was impossible to know how to feel.
The next morning, despite my own fear at being “milked” by a somewhat
menacing (and noisy) machine, I finally submitted myself to the dreaded
breast pump. I will never forget the moment I first flipped the switch.
The room was quiet. I waited for total silence, and absolute solitude.
This was definitely a time for privacy. My hands shook with nervous
energy as I checked and re-checked the pump settings I had chosen. I
certainly didn’t want to rip my nipple off by turning the suction force
on too high. But, the suck-speed was a much more difficult decision. The
mere thought of a fast suck made me cringe with dread. However, I came
to realize (after hours of reading the pumping manual) that a slow,
lingering suck, if improperly positioned on the breast, could be equally
as painful. I chose a mid-way suck-speed, opted to test my settings on
only one breast first (I was pacing myself), and I assumed the position.
I knew, even before I flipped the switch, that the attempt would fail.
It said so right in the manual. “FOR BEST RESULTS, RELAX BEFORE
EXPRESSING MILK.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” I said to myself. But, there was
nothing I could do. There was no drug in the world that could ever make
me relax at a time like this. I took a deep breath and let it out
slowly. With my right hand gently securing the transparent breast funnel
to the exact center of my breast, I said a quick prayer and flipped the
switch.
sssssSSSSSSHHHHHHHHH bump sssssSSSSSSHHHHHHHHH bump…
“Oh… my… gosh.”
sssssSSSSSSHHHHHHHHH bump sssssSSSSSSHHHHHHHHH bump…
I looked at my horrifically distorting breast. “This can not be real,” I
whispered in the shattered silence of the room. I gawked at the absurd
developments on my chest in horror and amazement. “There is no way that
this can be good for my breast.”
After the initial shock passed, I was able to revert back to inner
monologue. At least it’s working, I thought, as I watched the creamy
white liquid appear again and again from a peak on my now-grotesque
body. I will die if Joey walks in right now.
Fortunately, there was no pain. The physical feeling was curiously
satisfying. There was, however, a great deal of humiliation and
confusion. Using that breast pump was hands-down, the most unnatural
experience I have ever encountered.
So, what’s the point of my humbling story? After relaying parts (rarely
in this much detail) of this story to select friends and family, I was
often chastised for some of my decisions. No, not the ones about
suck-speed. Many people were curious about why I bothered going through
all the trouble of pumping, instead of just continuing to bottle feed.
Although my occasional response to their inquiries involved instructions
on where they could stick their curiosity, my more usual (and much more
gracious) answer was this: my decision to pump was not about me. It was
about setting a standard for my new life as a mother. I knew that if I
allowed myself to take the easy way out of my very first challenge, it
would have – in some strange way – lowered my parenting standard right
at the starting line. That’s it, though a bit oversimplified, I’ll
admit.
Although this “standard theory” may seem overly dramatic to some,
I am okay with it. I am a writer, after all, and drama works for me.
As for the other drama-mamas out there, try to keep a stiff upper-tit.
After all, your baby will not be a baby forever, and soon this will all
be an incredibly weird and embarrassing memory. Until then, keep on
pumping!
http://www.jbosarge.com
.
|
