Well, nursing is going on full swing and I’ve been thrust back in the land of nursing pads (yikes), nursing bras (double yikes), the dreaded pump (which I threatened to throw out the window or down an elevator shaft last time around), and hiking up my shirt all the live-long day.
But, there’s one thing I forgot.
The manual boob weigh.
Do you know what I speak of?
To remember (because let’s face it, mommy brain is not kind) which side I nursed last or to evaluate the fullness state of the girls, I will give them a quick lift with the hands. A spritely heave-ho.
I do this multiple times a day. I can’t stop doing it. It’s like nursing OCD.
I wish I could say I only do this in absolute privacy, like hiding in my closet, under the bed, or in the bathroom with the door barricaded, but alas, no. I do this, unthinking, while walking up the stairs. A covert nudge as I’m sitting down to dinner. In the elevator at Target. EVERYWHERE.
I wonder if other women do this. You know, the ones nursing. Or not. (Whatever you like to do is your own business, just saying.)
A part of me worries that I will be caught red-handed, so to speak, and I might be taken for a pervert or believed to have some sort of weirdo addiction problem. I’ve even considered taking to wearing pins or t-shirts with helpful sayings that might help explain away the awkwardness. These are my top contenders:
“Got milk. No, really.”
“I’m not a pervert. I’m nursing”
“Mom = Boob Tourette’s”
“Those aren’t pasties, they’re nursing pads”
And suggested by my neighbors after seeing how huge baby Emile’s thigh rolls has gotten over the past couple of months:
“America’s Dairyland Queen”
But, while everyone laughs and wonders about that weird chick going to 2nd base on herself all the time, I will have the last laugh. Because I’m a calorie burning machine and can eat ice cream every night and still lose weight! (Not that I’d ever do that, ahem) And also? Me and baby Emile wouldn’t have it any other way.
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