Surrounded by Naked Breasts and Still Bored

Recently, we went to breastfeeding class. You would think I would enjoy any two-hour period when I am surrounded by naked breasts. You would be wrong.

First, the only reason I was at the class was because the dastardly doula from our earlier birthing class casually mentioned she also teaches a breastfeeding class and the mothers usually bring their husbands along. To this point, Brooke was going to the class alone. But with the doula’s proclamation, Brooke immediately looked at me. I didn’t even protest. I simply asked what night it was so I could put it on my calendar.

This gets to this whole new-age dad thing that kind of bothers me. Doesn’t it seem like men have been sucked too far into this whole birth process? Look, I am going to be a better dad than my dad ever was. He only talked to me when he needed to yell at me and straighten my ass out. The only time he ever touched me was when he needed to knock some sense into me. I don’t have to go far to surpass my father in the parenting department.

But do I need to be there at every step of the process? I am pretty sure I will never breastfeed my child. Why waste a class on me? To support my wife? Brooke will be June Cleaver. She doesn’t need Homer Simpson screwing her up.

Some “duties” are just more woman-oriented, and vice versa. I can’t teach her about breastfeeding. She can’t teach me about peeing while standing up.

While I am on the subject, why do I have to be in the room when Sydney comes into the world? Whatever happened to the dad waiting out in the waiting room with a box of cigars? I have heard some stories and I am scared out of my mind on what might happen in there. One buddy was pushed from the room after someone yelled “Code Blue!” and sliced his wife’s belly open in front of him. Another watched as his wife’s internal organs were “hung on a rack” to prepare for a cesarean birth. (Really???? Do I need to see that?) I even saw an Oprah where a group of men proclaimed they could no longer have sex with their wives after witnessing the births of their children. Holy cow!

Is this going to end ugly for me? Let’s just say my head will stay north of the border at all times and if someone yells “Code Blue!” I am going to turn into a combination of Jessie Owens and Ray Charles. I’ll sprint out of there with my eyes closed.

My point is, there is so much pressure on men to play equal parts in the birthing process anymore that, if you beg out of anything because you are uncomfortable, you feel like John Edwards abandoning his cancer-stricken wife for the young hottie taking his campaign videos.

Thus, I agreed to go to breastfeeding class.

My wife began the class by knocking over her water bottle and dumping what seemed like a gallon of water on the floor. This class was held in an old tile classroom the likes of what you would find in an elementary school. This water was everywhere. If anyone knows me, they know I abhor negative attention on myself. I embarrass very easily. Well, you can bet everyone in the class stared at us like we had just brought Niagara Falls into the classroom. Great start.

By the way, I was also sitting in one of those little chairs you would find in a middle school, the kind where the desk is attached to the chair and folds up and down to let you in and out. I’m a big guy. These are tiny chairs. My desk wouldn’t even fold down. Sigh. It just keeps getting better.

There were eight women in this class. Six had their husbands with them. Score one for me in making the right call!

The teacher was a dietician who seemed old enough to have last breastfed while watching Walter Cronkite on the evening news. Seriously, she told us she had started “late” having her children and they were now 29 and 27. So, if she started late, she must have been in her late 50s or early 60s. She likely participated in some bra burnings in her time.

Oh well. I gotta believe breastfeeding is not something that changes a lot over time. It isn’t like there has been a technological revolution in the art of applying breast to mouth.

But this woman’s teaching techniques were a bit outdated. She used an overhead projector with overlaid slides. They were yellow and withered with age. I understand it is the content that counts, but would a powerpoint kill you, Oh Ancient One?

We spent the first part of the class learning about the anatomy of the breast, inverted and flat nipples, feeding times, etc.

Did you know if you have flat or inverted nipples, you are supposed to advise your “lactation consultant?” Do you think our founding mothers had lactation consultants? What did kids do back then if they couldn’t latch on? Maybe that is why George Washington never had any children --- Martha had inverted nipples!

The second part of the class featured a movie showing how to breastfeed. Again, the movie was a bit outdated. All of the women featured are either dead or grandmas right now.

Some of them were kind of hot, in a 1970s kind of way. But breastfeeding is not really sexy, so no matter how hot and how many naked breasts, I really couldn’t get into it.

I was a little interested on the various “holds” and “techniques” to breastfeeding. You have to make sure you don’t push the baby’s nose against the breast because then they can’t breathe. Been there!

The movies did touch on how laws have changed and you can pretty much breastfeed anywhere you want now. And your employer must give you a room to pump.

Brooke is the kind of mother who would be discreet about this kind of stuff. I’m the kind of dad who would throw an enraged fit if someone told my wife she couldn’t feed our daughter because it made someone else uncomfortable. I don’t care if Sydney sucks so hard she gets a milk mustache, no one is coming between my daughter and the nutrition she needs to lead a happy, healthy life.

Brooke plans to breastfeed for at least a year. We learned how good it is for the baby, so we are crossing our fingers it works. I’m crossing my fingers on both hands because if mom has to do all the feeding, dad gets to sleep more, right? We learned babies might feed every hour or two during growth spurts! Since I can’t breastfeed, Brooke is going to spend a lot of time getting up and down. This will be one part of this parenting thing I will not be able to share with her. I love you, honey!

The class was ok.  Brooke didn’t need me there, but I am glad I went. I would have felt like a real “boob” if she had to go through that all by herself.