My wife and I went to a couples breastfeeding class last night. Yes, I went. No, I wasn’t expecting to learn how to pump out some milk. It’s a sad truth that I know nothing about babies other than they cry, shit and drink milk, so I figured it would be good. Plus I had a show that got me out of there after an hour, so it worked out.
1) Skin to skin contact is good, even for the dad (me). They showed some shirtless dude holding his kid at the hospital while momma was getting stitched up during a C-section. I can say I never thought I would be encouraged to remove my shirt indoors. Maybe one of the nurses can play Marshall Tucker Band or .38 Special and make me really feel like a hillbilly while I strut around sans top.
2) There’s milk in them thar boobs. I told my wife a couple weeks ago to hit my cereal bowl when we ran out of milk. She told me no way and I was joking, but it was possible. I better switch to Pop Tarts or start buying more milk either way.
3) The lady that was yelling at her husband last time we had a class for not reading any of the baby books was back, without her man. She said she was going back to work soon after the delivery because she couldn’t stand her husband that much, who was working on a car instead of being at breastfeeding class. In fairness, if he won’t read a baby book, he’s sure as hell not going to practice the football cradle with a doll over slamming gold top Busch cans and turning a wrench.
4) Breastfeeding apparently burns up to 1000 calories. I need to start producing some milk or slow down the sweets and beers. C’mon milk, where are you?
There was more, but quite frankly one more video showing a baby latching onto a nipple like a tiger shark and I was going to black out. I never thought I could see boobs for an hour straight and have the same excitement level as looking at a vegan menu. Oh well, add this to the list of things my wife has to suffer through that I never will. Thanks, Y chromosome!