More on Nipples

I am not trying to beat a dead horse here, but once you start breastfeeding nipples seem to dominate your thoughts. As I was showering today, I couldn't help but thinking about my exploits of "toughening 'em up" prior to the babe's arrival.

Even though Dr. Sear's recommends against it, after hearing many, many, many mamas share their painful nipples stories I decided to try to get ready. Approximately twice, I stood in the warm shower and tried to prepare. I would grab the berry at the tip top of my breast and pull, tug, twist until it hurt. It didn't take long. Really, just 30 seconds. I would wince and fear the future. I wasn't ready.

Spence came and the wisdom of 'toughen 'em up' seemed to be so wise. Spence would try to latch on and it would feel like he was stabbing me with a knife over and over again. I no longer wondered why many women give up on breastfeeding. I knew. How could this little toothless wonder be able to inflict such tear-causing pain? Other mamas told stories about how you could smear on wool-juice to alleviate the pain. Lie. Some advised that the pain would halt once the kiddo was "latched." Lie. I just thanked my lucky stars that I was born with flat nipples (again the private/public line is meaningless here) and could use a nipple shield or as my friend named "the party hat."

And now? Nothing. No pain. He feels like a soft scrunching. Consider my nipples sufficiently tough.

Nipples

In the world of online bulletin boards, this entry would be marked with a warning for TMI.

Be warned.

Feel free to skip this one.

Wednesdays are my marathon days. I bulked up on classes, so I go straight from discussing Theory (very important, don't ask) to meditating on how we teach writing. In between these, there is a brief window of time...40 minutes to be exact. That is when Team Snyder jumps into action. A carefully choreographed dance that requires a pass off from Bubbeh to Dave....then a quick fox trot down to Dinkytown to meet up with the nipples....for a 40 minute milk-o-rama.

He looks like a fresh spring pig as he laps up his milk. Spence refuses a bottle. He'll shake his head in disgust at the nipple fashioned from plastic. So, he is left to wait. Sometimes he wants to tank up for more than the alloted time. Like today.

Which led to me exposing my left nipple to my Teaching Writing class. Spence continued his milk-fest. As he is prone to do as he finishes up his meal, Spence takes in the scenery as he sips. Pulling off the breast, smiling at the world, then grabbing another gulp to wet his whistle. Which leaves a mama's nipple hanging out for her other doctoral candidates to see.

It's funny how motherhood changes things. Like my modesty. Nipple exposure? I'm a beaded Mardi Gras lady. Every day. Multiple times. No need for one of those fashionable "Hooter-Hiders." Apparently, I let them both hang out.