I just came from visiting my friend and her ten pound, twelve ounce newborn. I had to see this kid for myself. Also? I neeeeeded a baby fix in the worst way.
For the first half hour or so, little Marianna was eating so her mom and I talked and laughed and I was looking at those little feet and tiny bottom and was just dying to hold her. Finally, she burped and started looking around, so I cradled her in my arms and began the bouncy, swaying, figure-eight move. It was bliss.
We were in such a trance, looking at each other (her wondering where her mommy was and me remembering immobile children) when suddenly I felt a tingling sensation. In my breast. Holy Christ.
“Um, you’d better take her back now… my milk is letting down!” I pressed the inside of my wrist against my breast and stared, wide-eyed, at my friend. “Eeeeeeeeeeee!” We both squealed.
“This is wrong. So wrong.” I haven’t nursed in ages, and I swear in a few minutes I’d have been asking for a towel and the baby would have been eyeing me with sudden interest.
I know that seven years of breastfeeding would condition my body, but come on! When does it finally believe I don’t have any more babies?