Saturday, April 08, 2006

Lactating, Lamazzing & Lovin' it...

Okay, well that's a really poor attempt at alliteration b/c I'm not really doing any of that right now. But it's in the works...

oh and by the way, Dad, I'd skip this one if I were you...I'll be talking about boobs. Mine, in particular. Go watch some golf or something.

Contact lactation consultant. Check. As I write, there is probably a package in my mailbox containing a DVD sent to me by the lactation consultant on the "how" of feeding the little man once he emerges. It is apparenlty the power point presentation she uses in her own classes and, considering I have friends in high places (my mother in law knows her), this kind woman has taken pity on my poor bed-ridden self and agreed to be own personal breastfeeding sherpa. Once I watch the DVD and have generated my list of questions (1. how badly is this going to hurt--really. That's all I have so far), she is going to come over so she can, and I quote, "get a look at" my nipples.

Oh my. I keep forgetting that the laboring/breasfeeding mother is a veritable peep show of body parts and bodily functions. Yes, she is going to come over and take a look at these things. Quite honestly, at 31 weeks into my pregnancy, I am still flabbergasted by them every time I look in the mirror. WHAT ARE THOSE??!!! I know they aren't MINE. That's not what they looked like in September, or any time in my life BEFORE September. They have grown to such an insane size (just the nipple, not the whole shebang), that if slapped some yellow paint on them, I'm pretty sure a helicopter could use them as a landing space. If the kid can't find these suckers (no pun intended), he's going to need some teeny tiny baby glasses right away.

So that's one thing checked off the list.

Next stop, learning to breathe. Lamaze. We have, since my "to doula or not to doula" post, decided not to doula. Considering some of the horror stories we've heard (the incredible disappearing doula, who never showed up to the birth) and the cost (almost as much as the doctor makes on a delivery) as well as the possibility of a C-section which would render the doula pretty useless to us (now that I"m carrying Mr. Transerve Incredible Hulk), we decided better to keep the money for either booze or marriage counseling later on, after 3 months of sleep deprivation.

So we still had the issue of me being stuck in bed, unable to attend birthing classes, and knowing that epidural or not, I'm going to experience some, shall we say, discomfort during Junior's wild ride down the birth canal. (yes, I like to think of myself as my child's first amusement park ride; someone should be able to enjoy it). People tell me that learning to breathe through this "discomfort" is helpful. I'll believe when I see it. Right now, I"m not to optomistic--I think it's a lie devised to keep the human race going.

I ordered a DVD from some Amazon called "Laugh & Learn About Childbirth: Lamaze and Beyond"...I'm hoping the "beyond" part is either about narcotic pain relief or actually "how to hire someone else to go through this for you".

Anyway, this DVD showed up at my door yesterday and just the cover makes me want to puke. (Please recall I have lost all good humor about this process, am sugar-deprived and wishing for heavy sedation through the rest of my pregnancy). I will explain: Aside from the aforementioned title which makes it sound like the childbirth experience is an episode of Sesame Street, brought to you by the letter L & D, the picture on the cover is of a big old pregnant belly with a finger-painted smiley face on it, complete with outie belly-button nose.

Yes, I'll admit, the first thing I said to husband when we took it out of the package was, "Ooooh, we so have to do that to my belly and take pictures!!!" I think I had a little bit of my graham cracker snack sugar in me at that point and thought it was just too cute.

That's the problem--it IS too cute. What SHOULD really be on the cover of this DVD is a sweaty, flushed, scowling woman, yelling at her husband and throwing ice chips (what the hell are those even for??!!!) at the nurses. That would at least make me feel like this woman isn't about to lie to me for the next 4 and a half hours of my life as she explains the "miracle" of my labor and delivery to me. It would scare the crap out of me, but at least I'd believe her.

I have taken the DVD out of the wrapper (and explained to husband that using plastic wrap as a cat toy is bad b/c it can kill kitty about 12 different ways), but I am still hemming and hawing about putting into the player. If this woman pisses me off with her cheery "this won't hurt a bit" crap, I am going to throw a rock through my TV screen--if husband will go outside and find a rock for me.

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