If you don't laugh, you'll cry...find the humor in breastfeeding!

If you're new to parenting, welcome. If you've been a parent for more than ten minutes, you probably already realize that you have zero control over all this, from the moment you get pregnant. You can loosely steer the wheel, but the gas tank is close to empty and the destination is anyone's guess.

Did you dream of having a daughter someday? Congratulations on your twin boys! Did you read a book about natural childbirth and spend two weeks drafting a birth plan? Let me guess, you're recovering from a C-section and wishing you had spent that time learning more about breastfeeding. This author thought she would be the cutest pregnant woman on the planet, and then it turns out I had hyperemesis and spent all my pregnancies a lovely shade of green, usually sucking on a popsicle with vomit in my hair. Right from the beginning of our parenting journies, life teaches us that we have to relinquish control. But how do you cope with that fact, when you're a smart, capable, possibly Type A woman who has taken agency over her own life and is accustomed to managing quite well?

One word: humor. The good news is, if you've chosen to breastfeed, you'll get a nonstop "flow" of material.

All lactation consultants have a great sense of humor; why? Breastfeeding is ripe with opportunities for humor, so while on the job we're simultaneously curating an entire comedy routine of lactation jokes. We’ve taken boobs, a timeless sex symbol & fan favorite, and we've repurposed them as food for babies. We’re helping you turn your chest into a dairy farm. We’re asking you to throw away your black lace Victoria’s Secret demi-cup bralette, and buy an industrial strength nursing brassiere with peek-a-boo nipple holes, in a size double G, instead. I tell you what, breastfeeding your baby is the least sexy thing you’ll ever do, but it is empowering AF.

Lactation consultant humor: Buddy the elf likes a little milk in his coffee

You've now joined an exclusive club of people who know how to use their mammary glands. Half the global adult population owns these things, and for many, they've been just hanging around since puberty, seemingly with no purpose other than to be too big, or too small, requiring bras that aren't comfortable, collecting sweat underneath them, getting in the way during sports, and feeling incredibly tender and sore once a month. What a liability! (your partner might not think so)

Then you give birth and your milk comes in, and your breasts turn into water balloons that randomly leak while you're at the grocery store, soaking your top like you're in a wet t-shirt contest; you would probably make the finals with this hefty new set. The Milk-Makers 2.0 version of your breasts are also strangely capable of squirting your baby directly in the eye, which, who knew, is actually good for him if he has a blocked tear duct, and also hilariously funny. Step into the shower and you suddenly resemble a Greek statue, with each breast spouting fountains of milk in all directions. It seems a shame to have it running down the drain! Remember when you were squeezing the hell out of your breasts in the early days, triumphantly extracting a micro-drop of colostrum, wiping it into baby's mouth and feeling accomplished...and now you're standing here with rivulets of milk running down your body and pooling at your feet? You've come a long way!

The learning curve with this new set of juicy, leaky, veiny breasts is steep. But every day, you're NOT quitting, pedaling unsteadily on this breastfeeding bicycle, until you find yourself cruising down the street, balancing effortlessly, steering without thinking, no longer in danger of falling and scraping your knee. You watch your baby grow fat rolls and a double chin, knowing that you did that. You smell the pureness of your milk on his sweet breath. You have the satisfaction of knowing that you've put a virtual forcefield around him to combat a world full of germs.

And yet, with all the new circus trick fun, the sense of pride you get from overcoming any and all obstacles, (Watch out! Road hazard ahead!) comes a loss of control that necessitates a huge adjustment. You can't tell your body exactly how much milk to make, and you can't order the faucets to turn on or calibrate the flow, and you definitely can't convince that baby to nurse on a schedule. Your command of basic bodily functions has been severely impaired by birth, and now lactation. So what's a new mom to do?

Surrendering to the process is easier said than done. It helps to chuckle as your breasts become their own entity, and you're stuck with just wearing them on your chest day and night and trying to direct the stream of milk into the right receptacle, whether that's a baby's mouth, bottle, Haakaa, or nursing pad. You are forced to accept that this baby who is all of 7 pounds and not even self-aware, has become the new ruler of your house and demanding boss who allows you to sleep based on his whims. The only other way to cope with the loss of your former self, is to mourn, cry, or feel resentful. Lactation, as a subject or as a sport, is just begging for laughs. So lean into it, new mama! Laugh that stress away as your baby pukes a large percentage of what you just lactated into him, onto your clean shirt. Embrace your new life as a fully self-actualized mammal, doing what mammals do with their mammary glands. Who knew it was such an adventure?