Mama Nuggle

This post is not meant to be a commentary on breast vs. bottle feeding; however, I feel it is important that I touch on this topic first so you understand the legend behind the ”magic boobies.”

I am not one of those women who always felt strongly about wanting to breast feed my babies. In fact, I probably would have decided to not breast feed, had both of my babies not spent time in the NICU after birth. Yes, I have heard all the blah blah blah about why breast feeding is better, more nutritious, cost effective, healthier, etc. My initial instinct to chose formula was not for aesthetic reasons or vanity; rather, it was because I planned on returning to work after my leave was up, and did not want to be chained to a breast pump. I also wanted Jeremy to be actively involved (read: an unwitting volunteer) during those pesky nighttime feedings. Formula feeding seemed to be the best option to meet both objectives.

So, I decided to give breastfeeding a whirl after having Ty, mainly because the hospital staff strongly encouraged it as a away to ensure proper nourishment and bonding time with my son.

It wasn’t really that hard. Ty latched on like a champ. He ate like a Survivor contestant after returning back home.  We were constantly upping the amount he took each feeding. He was downing more than 6 oz. each time by 2 months.  Ty was insatiable, and it’s no wonder why we call him ‘Ty the Tank’.

There is an expression in crab fishing - thank you, Deadliest Catch, for enlightening me - to describe when a boat has hit the mother lode of Alaskan crab. It means that the string of pots is producing high numbers of “keepers” - crabs that are legal to catch. That expression is known as “on the crab.”

Well, we began to refer to nursing as “on the crab” due to Ty’s frantic energy and excitement at clamping on to the booby. It reminded me of a heat seeking missile locking onto its target. But I digress…

So we began to alternate every other feeding with formula. This would also help me avoid having to pump every few hours after returning to work. It seemed to be working out well for all of us. But then, we began to notice something unusual after formula feedings: Ty was harder to settle down. He wasn’t quite as toasty warm. He wasn’t as drowsy. He wasn’t as snuggly. He wasn’t as calm. He didn’t sleep as well. He was crankier. He exhibited preference for being “on the crab” rather than gobbling from a Playtex bottle. Or, at least it seemed that way to us.

Still, we persevered.

When I went back to work, I still had to tote along the pump. The best laid plans, eh? (I can’t tell you how many times I’d escape to my car to pump before my boobies exploded. Nope, I won’t mention the number of times they leaked. Through the pads. All over my blouse. And I certainly won’t tell you about the time I went away on business for a week to California and my pump broke the first day and my former boss would not let anyone take me to Target or Wal-Mart to buy one. And I won’t tell you how difficult it was to “manually express” myself. And I won’t tell you that I have a whole new respect for cows, or that I haven’t drank milk since. And I won’t tell you that halfway through the trip, one of my former colleagues, a gay Hispanic man from San Francisco, was so pissed off about my ex-boss not letting me go and felt so bad for my miserable ass that he drove to the store and bought me a breast pump. Without me having to ask. I won’t tell you that there were MANY days I’d call Jeremy on my way home from work and say, “Don’t you dare feed that kid before I walk in the door. The boobies need him, stat!”)

I will, however, tell you that after I returned to work, my boobies became the stuff of legends in our house.

I will tell you that our initial observations seemed to be correct - Ty definitely was a happier baby when I nursed. And thus, the legend of the “magic boobies” was born.

During the next few months, Ty became - as all babies do - a little more challenging to care for. Some days, he was an absolute angel for daddy. But, there were also some days that nothing would make Ty happy. Not swaddling. Not swaying. Not shushing. Nope, Ty was having none of it. Except, for the magic boobies. They, it seemed, always did the trick.

Unfortunately, I only had one set of magic boobies, and they were at work. With me. And unlike the ”Ferber method” shown in Meet the Parents, daddy does not have magic boobies. And some days, I suspect he wished he did.

On days like that, instead of me calling Jeremy to bitch about my painfully engorged breasts, he was now calling me to say “How soon ’til you and the magic boobies get home?” I took comfort knowing that both my guys were eagerly awaiting my return as much as the boobies were looking forward to seeing Ty. I felt better that I had a magic trick up my sleeve (or in my shirt, as the case may be) that would ease away the frustration and crankiness we all felt.

With time, Ty became less “attached” as it were to the magic boobies. We replaced his bottles with Soothie brand ones, which he still loves to this day. I began to slowly start to wean him, and completed the task right around the time he cut his first teeth. (I love my son, but no way was I going to  attempt to nurse an angry, hungry child with teeth! I am not THAT freaking crazy!)

In just over two years, Ty has developed into a strong, healthy, well-adjusted child. His formula was replaced by whole milk, and ultimately downgraded to 2%. He guzzles it by the gallon.

And yes, with the arrival of Caitlin, I have resumed the alternation of breast and bottle feeding. Ty has renewed his obsession with my magic boobies… he now is fascinated by watching me feed Caitlin. When she cries, Ty asks Caitlin “Whassamatta, baby Caitwin? U hunwgry?” Ty then reassures her by saying,”Its awwight, don’t cwy baby Caitwin! Mama dwink? Mama baby Caitwin hungwy. She want boobies. Mama boobies?” And I, in turn, proffer the boobies. Which makes EVERYONE happy.

I “get” Ty’s interest in watching Caitlin eat.

However, I am ever so slightly more concerned by his two newest odd - but typically male - fascinations.  Like any true male, Ty loves all things electronic. And yes, that includes my electronic hospital-grade breast pump, complete with its adjustable speed and suction dials. He loves to help me by grabbing the pump and saying “mama make milk? boobies?”

And, as if I can’t figure it out by myself,  Ty “helps” me with the pumping process -  by lifting up my shirt and pulling those magic boobies out. He is enthralled by breasts, no matter who they belong to. (shocker, right?) Ty even pulls up his own shirt, and says “Mama, whassat? Booby?” as he touches his own tiny nipples. And, if that is not weird enough, I’ll leave you with this picture, taken by my cell phone camera, as Ty attempts to combine his love of the breast pump and love of boobies - by making his own milk:

How’s THAT for your laugh of the day?

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