Posts Tagged ‘breastfeeding’

Apparently Mommy & Me groups do not always welcome Daddys. I was talking to a buddy the other day, another SAHD (pronounced “sad”), and the conversation went roughly like this:

HIM: I hate going.
ME: Why, what’s up?
HIM: Every time I ask a question someone rolls their eyes at me.
ME: Find another group then.
HIM: Really?
ME: Yeah. And stop asking when your kid will be old enough to play Halo.

Then, a day later, I saw a post on Baby Center about a guy who wasn’t even allowed to join a Mommy & Me group in San Francisco. San Francisco?!? Are you shitting me? San Francisco where Good Vibrations was founded? San Francisco where Harvey Milk was elected? San Francisco where they’re about to ban infant circumcision?

Is there another San Francisco in Kentucky maybe?

At any rate, I don’t have either of these guys’ problems. Mine is worse: Nate’s Mommy & Me group has officially accepted me as one of the girls. I know this for a fact because of what happened last Monday. I was standing outside the classroom making small talk with one of the other Moms when, suddenly, in the middle of our conversation about I don’t know what — probably how much poop a diaper can hold — this Mom pulled down her nursing blouse and shoved her nipple into her son’s mouth. I don’t think she even broke sentence, just kept talking.

My first thought was, “Cool, everyone has finally relaxed around me.” But a couple hours later it occurred to me that this was actually kind of depressing. What did it say about me that a strange woman thought nothing of whipping her boob out in my presence? Let’s say I really did look like George Clooney . . . or Brad Pitt . . . or that Neanderthal they’re basing the next Ken Doll on. Would she have done it then? I bet not. Which, despite my iron-clad marital status, is still a little depressing. It’s like you wipe your kid’s butt for a couple months and all the sudden you’re some eunuch who’s allowed to sleep in the same room as the virgins. “Nighty night,” the King is telling us. “If anyone is tired, Scott will give you a foot massage.”

I don’t know. I guess I’ll just keep my loin cloth pulled low and try to blend in.

Maybe no one will ever notice.

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I used to think Freud was full of shizzat. Oedipal fantasies? Hysteria? Penis envy? Hogwash.

But I confess I’m getting a little jealous of Leigh Ann’s breasts. Call it boob envy. Those two mounds of mammary glory may be the greatest childcare tools in the history of mankind. Nate wakes up screaming? Put him on the boob. Nate won’t go down? Put him on the boob. Nate gets restless at his Mommy & Me class? Put him on the boob.

But what happens when Mommy’s not around? Well, what happens is poor boobless Daddy has to fumble with re-heating refrigerated breast milk and, by the time he’s done, Nate is usually teetering on bat shit crazy. I feel like an Amish guy trying to raise a barn without a hammer. I mean well. But, really, I’m just in the way.

Long story short, let us not forget that nature has her own ground rules – some several million years in the making – and we break them at our peril.

Or, as some old fart once said, “Anatomy is destiny.”

"Tell me about your mother, Scott."

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Tonight I am attending my first breastfeeding class.

As a consequence, I will miss the final week of the NFL preseason and therefore be unable to research the 3rd and 4th string players that might have ended up on my fantasy football team.

Is it worth it? Hard to say. Is there any chance these women will be breastfeeding each other?

(“No,” my wife just told me.)

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