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The Worst Lactation Specialist in Brooklyn
Let me set the stage for you: a new mom, a tiny human with an insatiable appetite, and a whole lot of confusion. A wise friend once said, “Back in the day, we raised babies in a tribe, with all the women before us ready to lend a hand.” Fast forward to today, and many of us are navigating this wild ride without our tribes nearby. So, what do we do? We hire our tribes!
Preeclampsia Postpartum: The Plot Twist I Didn't See Coming
There I was, 10 centimeters dilated, one leg in my husband’s hands, the other in my nurse’s, gripping the hospital bed rails for dear life. I was locked in on my OB-GYN, who was calmly coaching me through each contraction. “You have to get above the baby with your body,” she said, like I was doing Olympic gymnastics and not, you know, pushing out a human. “Push down and out; he’s gotta get past your pelvis bone.” With everything swirling in my head, I closed my eyes, letting each wave of contractions hit me like an oncoming tide, then sprinting through each push.
The Nursing Chair That I Never Nursed In: A Hilariously Emotional Tale
When I was pregnant with my first baby, I had this vision of being the quintessential "Brooklyn Mom." Picture it: limited gear, baby strapped to me in a chic sling, and zero bottles because I would be the breastfeeding queen. Naturally, I devoted an embarrassing amount of time to finding the perfect nursing chair for my baby’s room. It had to swivel, rock gently, have the perfect arm height for elbow support, and a tall enough back to rest my head during those dreamy late-night feedings. The fabric had to be just right—nothing too dark since I imagined countless meals being spilled on it. Finally, I found "The One," ordered it online, and couldn't wait to sit in it, pregnant, daydreaming about nursing my soon-to-arrive little boy. Little did I know that the times I sat in it pregnant would outnumber those after he arrived.