One Husband’s Experience with Breast Milk

So, I was browsing through a list of popular blogs.  One site lead to another until I found a startling post, I stopped.  Dozens of people had written responses so I knew I wasn’t alone.  The topic was: Would You Breastfeed Your Man?

I can neither confirm nor deny what may or may not have happened while my wife was nursing our three boys.  (Mostly because I don’t remember one way or the other.)  But I can confirm this. . . .

. . . I was surprised and overwhelmed when I learned that we were expecting a baby.  It took a few seconds to remember to breath.  I mustered up all the courage and romance my heritage allowed and said, “Well . . . plan a wedding. . . .”  We were 23 and 21 and still in college.  We married in August and by February we were proud parents of a brand-new baby boy.

I’m not sure how we did it—probably with an awful lot of help.  Peggy completed her RN while working in a nursing home.  I delivered pizza at night and attended classes by day, sometimes bringing the baby with me.  (Fascinating question professor.  May I answer after I change your diaper. . .er. . . I mean . . . .)

By the time classes were winding down I was entering the early stages of exhaustion.  Bottle feedings around the clock followed shortly by a diaper change, a new wife, becoming a husband and father so quickly had taken a toll.

Looking back I see a completely different woman than the wife I saw at the time.  Today I see a very young woman enthusiastically committing herself to an overwhelming combination of roles and responsibilities: wife, mother, student, and provider.  Although her life had been altered dramatically and permanently she didn’t complain and expressed no regrets.  She tried very, very hard.  She did a wonderful job.

At the time all I could see was a demanding nag who couldn’t shut-up if her life depended on it.  After a long day she’d come home, slip into the bath, and insist on sharing her day with me.  The entire day in real time!  I told her to call her mother.  It didn’t occur to me that she had been thrust, no to gently from one life to another, without the benefit of her previous social circle; they couldn’t begin to understand what her life was like.

Eventually senior finals came around.  Crying every few hours during the night, followed by morning classes and evening pizza delivery left me drained.  The stress was killing me.  I thought to myself on the way home from work that night:  if I could just get in one more night of studying before finals in the morning, I’d have a chance at maintaining my grades.

Hallelujah!  When I arrived at home the baby was sleeping and food was on the table.  Peggy was extra calm as she cleaned up the dishes and let me study undisturbed.  Imagine my delight when brought me a tall cold glass of chocolate milk.  (One of my favorites, it’s right up there with hot chocolate.)

A while later, when I was too tired to study anymore, I fell into bed.  She asked, “How did you like the chocolate milk?”  The sparkle in her eye raised the hackles on the back of my neck.  That’s when she told me she had pumped her breasts to make my chocolate milk.  The hackles turned into a vague feeling of nausea.

I don’t know for sure if the “breastfed husband experiment” went any further than that or not:  it was far enough for me.

NOTE TO SELF:  Human milk is far more rich than cows’ milk.