I was told several things about nursing.
I was told it was painful.
I was told it was difficult.
I was told it was overwhelming.
I was told it was wonderful.
A week or so before I gave birth I went out with my mom to get a NICE nursing bra. We found one and I packed it away in my suitcase along with a million clothes for my little one.
36 hours after Clare was born my milk came in. Let me just say that I didn’t know what the heck-a-do-da that meant.
No one told me about engorgement.
My milk came in within a matter of minutes. I was having a nice talk with my brother…he left…and I had milk all over my hospital gown.
When I went to the bathroom I saw my chest and I almost fainted.
My boobs were so big and hard they looked like Super hero boobs. They felt like barbie boobs, sticking straight out. It was insane and painful for sure.
When I pointed it out to Andrew he laughed so hard I thought I was going to have to resuscitate him. “No. Can I seriously take a picture?! Hahaha!”
I then cried.
I didn’t cry during labor.
I didn’t cry when I hemorrhaged and fainted.
I cried when I saw those things. And by cried I mean WEPT.
Dolly Parton, move out of the way. There is a new folk singer with enormous boobs in town!
I then tried to put on my nursing bra, which looked more like little tiny caps on my huge balloon hooters. My breasts were bigger than my baby’s head.
I had nothing to wear home from the hospital. I had nothing to hide my ginormo jongos. So I called my mom (weeping) and asked her to run to target and get me something…ANYTHING to make myself modest.
For all of your who are thinking of nursing…buy a nursing tank. Just do it. Don’t buy a bra (do that later). Just buy the tank. I promise you won’t regret it.
In other parts of my world: Can I say that I’ve become a junk food junky? Can I say that?