E is for Engorgement

Now I know this may be shocking to some of my 3.5 readers, mostly because you are all single and/or newly married and not yet contemplating the giant, insane leap into parenthood at this moment in time, but I feel it is my sworn duty to scare you with the truth before you partake in it yourself and cry foul at the horrendous nature of what befalls you post-pregnancy. It's my pleasure, my sisters did it to me and I honestly thought they were being dramatic. Ha HA HAHAHAHAHA. How oblivious I was.

Here's how it goes:
A. You get knocked up. (You're all, YEAH! This is so fun!)
B. You travel through pregnancy and it goes really well. (You're all, what are these people bitching about, this is great!)
C. You have the baby. (You're still, this is still amazing! Everyone is exaggerating the pain and etc.)
D. You try to breastfeed. (This doesn't go so well, but you're not horrible at it, so you're okay. YEAH!)
E. Your "milk comes in". (This should be called, "Your breasts swell to the size and weight of giant bowling balls, they're hot and sore as hell, and whatever progress you made with your baby convincing him that they are for nourishment and contain lots of yummy milk goes flying out the window when he takes one look at them and tries to run back into your uterus for fear of suffocation by mammary gland".)
F. You try every trick in the "Breastfeeding Your Baby" 2 page guide they give you in the hospital. Yeah, thanks for teaching me where my breasts are located, aside from that, you are completely useless.
G. You call lactation consultants, La Leche League, your neighbor's best friends mother, anyone who has breasts and might be able to help you. All turn up empty.
H. You start negotiating with your baby, "If you learn to do this, you can eat anytime you want, for as long as you want, anywhere you want, until you're old enough to enter a retirement village if you'd just meet me halfway here."
I. You finally reattach your brain to your nerve endings and get a breast pump to relieve the pressure which has quickly achieved 'Erupting Volcano' status.
J. You give in and meet with the scary Australian Lactation Consultant.
K. And voila! She's got him breastfeeding faster than Michael Phelps can win 8 gold medals.
L. You quickly take back everything you ever said about Australians. In fact, you're nominating Australia for a non-existent 'Country of the Year Award' and contemplating moving the entire outfit Down Under in support of Aussie Lactation Consultants.