The perils of lactation

I never knew that when I got pregnant, all modesty and inhibition would go out the window...
Well, not all of it. Because I'm definitely not running around in crop tops or mini-skirts (Lord, that would be a sight). But once upon a time, I used to get embarrassed really easily. And I never talked about my body in any form or fashion. And I would blush even thinking about going to the doctor.

Those days are gone, friends. Now we have family conversations about my "girls," I am a firm advocate for breast feeding (and will answer any and all questions on it), and I almost never blush when Nate tells just about everyone, with total pride, my bra size (thanks, baby).

And today I showed a total stranger my boobs.

Now, don't get me wrong. I haven't turned into a creepy flasher or anything. But something I've learned as a mom is that if something is wrong with me that could in any way impede Milo's eating, sleeping, or general well-being, I would do anything to make it right. And I had this little problem with a blocked milk duct that was turning into a big deal in my mind.

And so, friends, I now have a lactation consultant. Don't I sound special and important? It basically means that I went to a stranger, showed her my boobs, and asked her to fix them. And she didn't look at me like I was crazy, or treat me like my questions were silly. In fact, I felt downright comfortable with her, blue exam gloves and all. Now I'm on the mend and thinking to myself, "Did I really just do that?"

Yes, I really did.