The Breastfeeding Adventures of My Magical Boobs

I have two boobs. That may not seem like much to most people, but mine are special. They make magic.

Magical boobs.

They were just ordinary little things. Nothing too impressive. We all hung out for years, very nonchalantly, just going about the business of being.

Then somewhere toward the end of pregnancy the magic began. It was subtle, but I could see it. They were swelling with pride. Not so much to be arrogant, but enough to know they were important. They had a purpose. None of us truly understood what lie ahead, but it was a natural instinct. Something was coming and we would all play a vital role. It was completely foreign, but it was happening. We waited with frightened anticipation..

My daughter came out of me. She was a tiny thing, but ravenous. I knew enough to understand there were golden power-packed drips in those first few days. I thought that perhaps it was like a person on a feeding tube. You get all of the nutrition you need, but it still doesn't make your belly every feel nice and full.

That didn't stop her. She was an overachiever. Maybe she was just practicing ... getting me warmed up for the big waterfall. She was simply happy to have access to the magical boobs.

Oh, and then the floodgates opened. The swelling of pride became glorious conceit. By this time, my magical boobs had received the workout of a lifetime. They were sore and tired. I had recently had a baby come out of me. I was sore and tired. She cried. I cried. I'm pretty sure my boobs cried. But they kept making magic.

Around three months of age, I decided that the magic wasn't worth it. I didn't have anyone in my life to explain to me that the problems we were having were in no way related to the quadrangle (my boobs, my baby and me). It was nothing a little Zoloft wouldn't fix. Yet, instead, I chose to stop the magic.

I regret it. To this day I regret it. I wish someone had told me more. I wish I had the perfect person on speed dial. I wish I had found the help I needed to stop the crying and the irrational thinking.

But I didn't. Hindsight's 20/20.