Evil lurkes in the maternity ward

When I was pregnant with my first, like most parents, we wanted to do everything right. The problem with "right" is it keeps changing. The other problem with "right" is some people think they are right and no one else could possibly be right.

We got sucked into all sorts of things that we must have if we are going to be able to successfully raise this delicate being to adulthood (and some would say beyond). Wipe warmers, bassinets, portable cribs, slings to carry them, changing tables, a diaper bag with 15 pockets, baby washcloths and towels, a matching crib sheet/comforter set with matching wallpaper border, a little mirror so you can watch the little cherubs while driving, neck supporter for the car seat, toys to hang from the car seat handle so they have something do (overscheduling starts in infancy), Baby Einstein videos (or else there goes Harvard), special diapers that keep baby extra dry, enough safety gadgets to protect even the most adventurous child and a hermetically sealed diaper pail so no one gets a whiff of what goes there. Oh my, I got carried away, sorry about that.
Also available are books on every topic you can imagine related to the gestation, birthing, and raising of said child.

Now some of these new fangled things are good. Car seats are the best thing that ever happened to child safety. If you get past the environmental effect, disposable diapers rock.
But the biggest push for making your baby all she can be was breastfeeding. The stories were everywhere. Breastfeeding improved IQ, prevented eczema, decreased gastrointestinal problems (unless mommy loves legumes or Mexican food), protected them from dreaded diseases, facilitated bonding, it's a list that goes on and on.

I had decided that come hell or high water I was going to breast feed this kid. I wasn't going to risk harming her in any way and how could I bond with her by just sticking a bottle in her mouth. ****WARNING: the following sentence contains what is probably TMI**** I had several obstacles to breastfeeding, "flat" nipples, size "H" breasts, and a complete and utter aversion to the thought of breastfeeding in any type of public situation (public being any where outside my house). None of this mattered though because I was going to do it, damn it, and nothing was going to stop me.

Skip ahead nine months and I deliver a healthy baby girl at a local hospital. The birth went just the way I'd hoped. We were exhausted but proud of ourselves. I even let The Engineer take a picture of me looking like crap holding our brand new baby.

The nurses are trying to help me figure out this whole breastfeeding thing. It certainly isn't as easy as the books make it sound. Is there some reason that no one mentioned that it hurts like hell and curls your toes? And I'm struggling, this whole treating my breasts like they're a hand to shake is freaking me out. And since sweet baby Scientist decided to scream the entire first night fatigue and a total collapse of the "way it should be" had left my nerves raw. All my insecurities came rushing in to laugh at me. Who was I kidding? They can't possibly think that I can take this baby home in less than 48 hours. There must be a rule about that somewhere. She won't survive, I am already showing my complete incompetence as a mother.

Still the nurses are terrific. They can see I'm struggling and their patience and understanding are the only thing keeping me from a complete breakdown. They suggested giving her a bottle. I was adamant, every thing I'd read and everyone said, "Do NOT give her a bottle." There was no way that was going to happen. All sorts of damage would be done to my ability to breastfeed if I succumb to the temptation.

So at some point they gave me what feels like the Holy Grail. They are going to call The Lactation Consultant to help. Surely with her training and experience she will be able to hold my hand and give me direction so I can feed this poor thing before I starve her to death.
An hour later she comes breezing into the room full of confidence and with a calm smile. Wasting no time she gets down to business. She pulls my gown to the side and exposes her prey my breasts without a word. I am mortified and tell her so. She informs me that I will get used to handling them for feeding and I'm being overly sensitive. She looks me over like she picking a roast for dinner and informs me that I have "flat" nipples. She then asks me what I've been doing during my pregnancy to fix them. I didn't know they had to be fixed. After telling her that she sighs and makes an under the breath comment about doctors. I'm trying to hold it together as another hope starts to crumble. She then informs me it just makes it more difficult but not impossible to breastfeed. At this point I'm willing to grasp at anything remotely positive and begin repeating that statement over and over to myself. Plus, I'm tough, I fight fires, I hold a green belt in karate and kicked butt at a big karate tournament, shit I just birthed this baby au natural, I can do whatever it takes. She tells me she'll be back in about a 1/2 hour with some things to help. She leaves a pamphlet for me to read and she breezes right out the door.

A few minutes later The Engineer returns after heading home for a shower and some real food. I tell him that The Lactation Consultant was there and even though she freaked me out in the beginning she did tell me she knew what to do to help and would be back soon.

I usually go with my first instinct, once again it's proven to be correct....