Well, girls. What can I say?
I guess I'll start with thank you. Thank you for allowing me to nurse my son. I know how hard that is for so many women. I was worried before he arrived that you might fail me, but when the physical part of nursing came easily to us, I was so proud of you, girls! I knew that some day, your cartoonish size might come in handy. You didn't let me down.
Speaking of let downs, I have a bone to pick with you, Boobs. When the little guy went on a nursing strike a few months ago and we had to start pumping exclusively, why did you insist on being so stubborn? Why did you put me under so much stress, making me freak out about clogged ducts, no let downs and lack of supply?
I know it was a sad day that fateful morning when the baby screamed at the sight of you. It made me feel bad, too. But that's no reason to just give up, is it?
For months now, Boobs, you've played mind games with me. "How much milk should we give her today?" I can just hear you snickering to each other as I hook myself up to that damn pump for the umpteenth time, hopeful for even just an ounce.
At least four times each day, I sit down, looking forward to our time together, confident you'll work hard for me, for the baby. And each day, ladies, you disappoint me. I sit, and I pump. I speak to you kindly. I give you warmth, good food, lots of vitamins and supplements, and plenty to drink to keep you full.
And still, you give me the silent treatment. (Except for those boob farts. What ARE those?)
I'm starting to think you really just like the intense massages I have to administer for the entire 30 minutes of our time together, since that seems to be the only way to get you do anything at all.
And hey, left boob? Why are you so damn lazy? Your sister on the right shows up to work every day, doing about twice, sometimes three times the work you do in a 24-hour period. Get it together, would you?
I'm sorry for everything you've gone through the last 10 months. I know it hasn't been easy, what with all the clogged ducts, engorgement, cracked nipples and bleeding. I'm sorry for those times when the baby reared his head back during a feeding session, and didn't let go of the nipple first.
I'm only asking for a couple more months of this. Less, if you can start to work harder. Can we do that? Can you just work with me a little while longer?
After that (and after the next kid...and maybe one more after that...), I cross my heart and hope to die: I will pay for the nicest "face lift" money can buy. You've got my word.
This post was originally written for Raves + Revelations in October 2015.