With our birthing class diploma proudly framed and hanging on the wall of the nursery, proof positive to both baby and visitors that we are , in fact, trained professionals, I assumed that our classroom days were finally behind us. It was of some surprise then, when I arrived home from work one day only to be informed that in a few days we were signed up to attend a “lactation seminar.” For those of you unfamiliar, in laymen’s terms, this is a breastfeeding class.
Under normal circumstances, I would not attend such a class. There are a variety of reasons for this, most notably the long understood inability of men to breastfeed their children. I simply do not have the parts, nor do I foresee a time in the future when that particular situation will change (let’s hope). In addition to this obvious situation, there are several other notable reasons why I would not attend such a class, including the fact that I didn’t really want to, and that (again) I don’t have the parts.
In any case, it was made clear to me that I would attend the class, ostensibly to help retain the knowledge of this feminine art and to helpfully remind my wife of “latching” tips at 4 AM in the morning while our newborn child gently reminds us that he/she is, in fact, very hungry by screaming endlessly and at high pitch. I resigned myself to my fate and dutifully informed my boss, to some snickering, that I would need to miss a little work to attend the class.
The class was scheduled for right after work on a Monday, and so I jetted from my job a few minutes early, winging my way across town towards an hour of “edulactation.” I arrived just a couple minutes late, and opened the door to see my wife, our nurse instructor, and two other very pregnant women. And no other husbands. Apparently husbands don’t normally attend these things, I discovered. Perhaps because of their INABILITY TO BREASTFEED. Sigh. I took my seat next to my apologetic wife and prepared for uncomfortable conversations.
I think that if I was to give a title to the book of our childbirth experience, one of the front runners would definitely be “Interesting Characters.” Joining the long string of odd folks that have punctuated our journey, our breastfeeding instructor Janelle warmly greeted us. Janelle, in short, is VERY passionate about breastfeeding. I mean, VERY VERY passionate. Passionate in a crazy-eyes sort of way. I couldn’t help but chuckle at once again encountering such an odd soul in our birthing journey.
Janelle began by discussing every thing BUT breastfeeding. She is a very dedicated (fanatical) proponent of a concept she repeatedly referred to as “skin-to-skin.” This theory holds that newborn children perform best early in life by spending much of their time sleeping topless on Mom’s (or, in some cases Dad’s – although I think she was just trying to include me in the conversation since I was the ONLY MAN THERE) bare chest. The infant apparently will sync their heart beat and breathing to match the parent on whose chest they lay, and this process leads to a calmer, less colicky child. In addition, studies have shown that skin-to-skin babies score higher on their SATs, sucessfully answer 20% more Jeopardy questions (on average) than their peers, and some even develop the ability to telepathically communicate with small cats and rabbits. The advantage, as Janelle explained them to us, was clear and unquestionable. After the 20 minute lecture, I certainly had no questions.
After our lengthy side discussion, we finally began discussing the process of breastfeeding. I’m sure it was a deep and informative discussion, punctuated with diagrams, “Boppy” pillows, and prosthetic, knitted breasts. But I’ll be honest. I zoned out for most of it. I mean, honestly, it was a 45 minute discussion on “latching,” “proper lactation angles” and “breastpump etiquette.” I sat there, mostly trying to resist the urge to ask the questions that I could not block from my mind:
- If she eats a ton of chocolate, can she emit chocolate milk? What about strawberries?
- While breastfeeding, if one breast runs dry, does it make a sucking sound like a straw at the bottom of an empty glass? On a related note, does it deflate?
- If she drinks a ton of cow’s milk, will it still be her milk, or will it be the cow’s milk?
- I’ve heard a lot about skin-to-skin. Can you spend 30 minutes explaining it again?
Well, in any case, before I knew it, the lecture was over and the mothers-to-be were comparing notes on how awful they were feeling, how their backs were hurting, ribs were getting kicked by their unborn children, and their overall discomfort at this late stage in their pregnancy. Then they all started to look at me with those men did this to us look. I saw the writing on the wall, grabbed my wife’s hand and high-tailed it out of there before “pregnancy rage” claimed another innocent husband’s life.
Are we now 100% prepared for the challenges and rewards of breastfeeding? Probably not. But I look to history, and the success of millions, if not billions of mothers throughout time that have gotten this to work, and I have faith that we can get it done.
Or at least that Kim can. Remember, I don’t have the parts…
