The First Time...

Today's HAWMC prompt is to write about the first time you ever did something.

We arrived at the hospital the morning after the kid was born. It took a while to find someone who seemed to understand why we needed to get back to the nursery to our baby. Apparently, at that particular hospital, adoptions are nowhere nearing commonplace.

We hadn't discussed nursing with L and D prior to the kid being born (we'd only met them once, and that didn't really seem like the time to broach the subject). Our social worker - who was aware of our desire for me to nurse him - discussed it with L that morning. L was all, "I mean, I don't get why you'd want to do that, but whatever. Go for it".

The nurses, who were all abuzz, ushered hubby and I into the overflow nursery. I settled myself in a rocker. Hubby held the kid while I lifted my shirt and unhooked the nursing bra. I didn't use the SNS, because I wanted to see if he would just latch. And, really, that thing looked more than a little intimidating.

I ended up just taking my shirt off completely. There were several people around. A couple of nurses, a lactation consultant (maybe 2?), hubby. Apparently the kid and I were quite interesting. It was anything but intimate.

There were lots of hands. On him. On my boobs. Fluttering about. Pushing his head into my boob. Pulling my boob this way and that. Dribbling formula on my nipple to try to further interest him.

He latched for only a minute and a few sucks. Tired. Then even less interested when immediate gratification didn't occur (thanks to the bottles he'd been fed the previous 12 hours). He fell asleep.

The first time I breastfed my son, I cried. It was perfect. He was perfect. He was my child. I was finally a momma.


Today's lesson: You'll never guess who is first (that's right., FIRST!) when you Goo.gle search "why I hate social workers". This girl. That's right. I find this impossibly humorous. I mean, really? Irony at it's finest.