I will say that one of the nice things about having breastfed Claire successfully is that this time I got to skip the classes and shoo away the lactation consultant. Mind you, Gage and I were doing just fine, and should I have needed her, I would not have hesitated to call upon her expertise. But as things were, I didn't need her to show me nursing positions or discuss proper latch when I had other things to do. Like sleep.
Of course, she still felt the need to share some of her wisdom with me, so I got what I imagine is a lecture called Breastfeeding 201. I don't remember much about this bit, except for the fact that she kept orienting a stuffed bear at her own breasts, and that it ended with a spiel about how babies really do know how to breastfeed, because we humans? We're MAMMALS.
Yes, the woman felt the need to remind me that my baby boy is really just a little mammal. What she failed to mention, however, is that sometimes the little mammal I would be allowing to suck my nipple would act like a hungry, pissed off baby RACCOON.
He howls. I offer. He taste-tests. He latches. My letdown comes too fast and milk gushes into his mouth. He chokes and sputters and pushes off of me with both paws. If I've forgotten to trim his claws, I pay. He shoots me a pissy look. Perhaps he grunts and moans a bit because he's got air in his belly. I try to burp him. He won't burp. He's still SO HUNGRY, FEED ME WOMAN. He literally throws himself off of my chest trusting that I will catch him so that my nipple is lined up precisely with his mouth. He latches. He still needs to burp. He pulls off. This continues until either the flow slows to his liking, or he decides to...well...suck it up and just nurse.
All I can say is that, in addition to surviving on breastmilk like other mammals, he's also cute and cuddly and furry.
It makes up for a lot, doesn't it?