Recently, many of my friends have been having babies. And because it scares me to imagine a small alien pea-being growing in my stomach, I’ve been known to ask more than once for the whole unedited birth story. And as I’ve learned, this is a huge mistake.
After hearing the 4th or 5th horrific tale of ripping, tearing, bleeding and numerous post-delivery stitches, I’ve become more afraid than ever to have children. When I called my mom upset about such atrocities, she calmly said, “Oh sweetie, there’s so much pressure down there that you can’t even feel the tearing.” This was not a comfort. It simply confirmed for me that yes, two holes could actually become one. And this will of course happen to me. Adoption, much?
Now, my latest pregnancy-related obsession: boobs. Have you ever noticed how many boob products are on the market? Things that actually are foreign to girls whose breasts have never been useful. Nipple shields & pads, breast pumps and breastfeeding bras, which all look like they are designed to make you feel ugly. There’s even a product called milkscreen that will let you know if your breast milk’s alcohol level is safe for your child to drink. That one I’ll definitely need.
These mounds of flesh start out as insecurity-inducing things that cause suffering alike to flat-chested and well-endowed middle school girls. For example, as a late bloomer, the mature beyond their years 7th grade boys would kindly mock feel up the wall when I walked by. Cute. But then, by the time your finished paying off the therapy bills from that experience, you’re spending all your energy trying to get guys to stop looking at them and to talk to your face.
Then one glorious day after the atrocious pain of childbirth, your boobs experience a rebirth of their own. They become useful. If you so choose, your boobs are essential to your child’s wellbeing. They instantly morph from sexual mounds into dual matching baby bottles. And this is the true miracle of life.
A boob being the sustenance of life brings a whole new list of concerns. Will I produce enough milk? Will I survive nipple infections? Will a breast pump make me feel like a cow or a caring mother? Will I cry the first time I pump and dump? When I’m done breastfeeding, do they morph back into objects of desire (I’ve heard no – closer to morphing into something that resembles tube socks)? But the scariest fear of all … will my husband ask me if he can try the breast milk and how do I gently tell him um, GROSS, NO!?
For more great information on new mom stuff, check out my friend’s amazing site Daily Peppermint.
Image via Web MD