I Need Padding

The World is harsh. It picks, it scraps and scratches and slaps. And sometimes it wallops you so hard in the gut you lose your breath and come close to blacking out.
Right now I am in the spin and haze of a wallop. Itty Bitty Baby. Oh Itty Bitty Baby and your little flickering heartbeat. That flicker stopped flickering. Literally there one day, gone the next.
My world went dark.
Trying to catch my breath.
Trying to make it through the day without tears.
Trying to hold the joy of Little Man's laugh and smile in my soul to keep the dark out.
Trying to keep the dark out.

"It's Normal" That Isn't Helpful.

I find myself staring down a long road of anxiety and fear. I never expected to be here. Hoped, yes, hoped with the desire of a thousand suns. But Expected? Not so much.
 Here I am 2 weeks out from the BIG 4-0 and the stick I peed on didn't included the "Not" in front of the "Pregnant".
Pregnant.
PREGNANT!!!!!
4 years of trying, a miscarriage, countless needles and blood test. Having Little Man was hard fought, and hard won. I never wanted Little Man to be an only child. I know how much support (and pain) siblings can be, and I wanted him to have it all. And here I am, in the position to give it all to him. A week of knowing is followed by days of extreme anxiety. Doubt. Worry.
Spotting.
I've been there. I knew that time, I knew it was bad. And I waited, waited to see if it was just a one time thing. It wasn't. But that time, that time I knew things weren't going quite as planned. That development had appeared to stop. I had weekly Dr visits to help prepare me. "Ease" me into it. Help explain.
This time? No. None of that. There is some concern on part of the Dr's office. But it is more, "Wait and see".  For them it is routine.
This kind of waiting is torture. Don't they know that? I need answers. I need a direction. I need you to know this isn't routine for me.
I need a hand to hold.
In this situation, I am high maintenance. I'm not asking you to rub my feet, I'm asking you to ease my mind. Help quite my soul, and calm my racing heart.
I want this pregnancy to "stick". I keep telling the little itty bitty baby that it is already loved. That it is wanted.
That it needs to grow and be healthy.
Close my eyes.
Breath.
Pray.
Wait.
Pray.

You Won't See This Pregnancy Story On TLC

My pregnancy had been pretty easy. All the NSTs (non-stress tests) had gone very well. Little Guy was a mover and a shaker. So much in fact that my very first NST landed us in the Hospital because they couldn't get a clear read on him. But an hour and half later I was back home chillin.
Yes, I had Gestational Diabetes from pretty much day one and was put on insulin, but I was doing incredibly well controlling it. My Dr had agreed to let me go to 40 Weeks if everything in that area stayed under control. She knew I didn't want to be induced. And I felt we were well on our way to a "normal" delivery pretty close to my due date.
Um, yeah, no.
I think it was about week 35 that things started to go haywire. 
At one visit my Dr informed me that I had dilated to 2 cm. But in my gut I knew I was no where near ready to deliver. Then my sugar levels started to drop. Which in turn made my insulin needs drop. Not a lot, but enough. In fact it took me a few late night sweats for me to figure it out.  I was in the middle of week 37 and was desperate to go to week 40. My Drs decided that because my need for insulin had dropped, that my pancreas was shutting down and the baby needed to come out ASAP. I was not at all pleased with this. At WORK, on a Wednesday the Dr shut down my hopes by telling me that I was to come in on the following Monday. After I calmed down a bit, F and I were able wrap our heads around a Monday delivery and even made plans for the weekend. Luckily we went shopping for a few important baby items. Thursday, the very next day, the Dr called me at work again and told me I was to report to the Hospital THAT VERY NIGHT.
 I freaked the hell out.
 I was not ready for this! I truly felt that if I had the weekend, my body would do it's job and make the baby ready to come. I still had an appointment with the Dr that afternoon and hoped I could push this whole thing back to the original Monday plan.
Then the Dr called again and said there was no room at the Inn for Thursday night but hey, come Friday!  I'll see you at your appointment!!
No, no, no. I still needed that extra day to finish work! I still needed that extra day to find some peace with this. The Dr would not budge. Even though in two weeks I'd only dilated HALF a cm more. Nope doesn't matter; Friday, come on in!
I knew in my core that this wasn't necessary. That the baby was FINE and we could make it just a little longer. Let my body do what it was meant to do. I thought about refusing to go through it all, but I knew if putting this off meant something would then go wrong and Little Man would somehow be affected, I would never forgive myself. So I relented.  We went in on Friday morning, and were late getting there. They still didn't have a place for me, so we ended up waiting. Little did we know that it was going to be  waiting game for a full day while they monitored me and Little Man. We were none too pleased to discover this since we thought by Friday night we would have a baby. Not so much.

It only got worse once I was "settled" in my room and the medical side of things started. Needles and I are not friends. IVs and I are mortal enemies. So needless to say when they stabbed me 6 times before they managed to get the IV in; I almost passed out. My mom told me later I was whiter than the pillow case. Then my sugar crashed because I hadn't eaten since 6 am ("something lite" like I was told, total bs, btw, eat as much as you want) and my system was used to snacking right about the time they decided to stab me.  By noon time they were just starting the medicine to get my cervix to dilate, since it wasn't doing it on its own. (duh) Little Man and I were continually monitored throughout the day.  At 2 pm I still hadn't been feed, and was being told that wouldn't happen until after I delivered. MANY HOURS LATER. (WTF?) When the Dr on rotation came in and told me that they might send me home to rest for a few days and "let things progress naturally" then bring me back, on MONDAY to try again; I had all I could do to not start swearing up a storm and crying like a little girl. They were so worried about the baby that they MADE me come in and be induced, but NOW it was ok to send me home?  At home who would monitor me, the baby, my sugar that was low, or my blood pressure that was continuing to climb? The nurse did her best to talk me into it, but she couldn't answer any of my concerns. Needless to say nothing more was said on the topic.  The new nurse ordered me food on the sly at 5pm.   VERY late Friday night I got feed again, again on the sly, because within the hour they would start the Pitocin to induce contractions.  By Saturday morning I still hadn't progressed much more. All day long on Saturday they pumped me with pitocin and monitored my sugar and blood pressure. Throughout the day they upped the pitocin dose until they finally maxed it out.  Late Saturday afternoon they broke my water which kicked the barely felt contractions into high gear. That in turn made my blood pressure soar. They put me on bed rest and the nurse highly encouraged me to get an epidural because my blood pressure just kept climbing. I had wanted as natural of a birth as possible. Granted, I hadn't completely ruled out the epidural, but to me it was a last resort. However, putting me on bed rest due to my blood pressure killed all the plans I had to walk, shower, or use the birthing ball to help the process along. So I went along with it, I mean, if I was going to be confined to bed, why should I suffer? F had just left to get something to eat, but he came running back to be there when they stuck me, IN MY SPINE. Yeah, a NEEDLE in my SPINE? SERIOUSLY? Thank God that stuff is fast acting. They put a skull monitor on Little Man and one inside me since I wasn't going anywhere and it would give a more accurate reading of his heart rate and my contractions. I still had to fight to be feed and was only allowed broth, and they were still talking about a vaginal delivery. At this point, a day and a half in with 2 sandwiches in my stomach and no real sleep to speak of, I was beyond that. I was tired, extremely hungry and knew there was no way I would have the strength for "4 to 6 hours of pushing, people do it all the time." WTF????  Yes, this wasn't the way I wanted to give birth. But NONE of what was happening was how I wanted to give birth. I probably could have done it, but I still knew that my body was not ready for a vaginal delivery.

Late Saturday night/ Early Sunday morning they stopped the pitocin to give my system a break. They started it up again about 3 hours later. For a total of 27 hours of pitocin. I think it was a record.  I was so incredibly bloated it was horrifying. I could have given the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man a run for his money.  During the night Saturday Little Man's heart rate went down a few times. Just before 7am Sunday morning I was still stuck  at being dilated 6cm  and 70% effaced.  It was at this point that they decided to do a C-Section. I was fully on board at this point. I just wanted to be done. Poor F had all of 15 minutes to pack up all our stuff so it could be moved to Recovery. He saw his son born while still in his slippers, pj pants and a t-shirt.  They stuck me AGAIN to have a "fresh IV line", so I had TWO flipping IVs in me for the next several hours. At 8:54am on Sunday they pulled my little baby boy out of me. And then stapled me back together, again WTF??? STAPLES???????????
So yes, I didn't really get to "deliver" or "have" my son. He was taken and then given to me. But damned if he's not the  most precious thing I know.
The next several days in the hospital were surreal.  Nurses, Doctors, Aides, all came and went. Little Man and I struggled to breast feed. He was so tiny and thin!! I felt like my huge boobs would crush him. Family came the same day. I fell asleep on more than one visitor. F and I were so spent. Hospitals are not known for their restfulness. Twice I sent F home to try and get some sleep in a real bed. It didn't really help.  
Finally we were released into the wild as a new little family unit. As we pulled out of the parking lot it hit us full force. We had a baby in the back seat!!! Holy crap, now what???? There wasn't going to be anyone checking on us every hour, no call button to bring immediate answers.
SHIT.
We were on our own. On our own with a little 6 pound 6 ounce person. There would be no leaving him in the car to run into grab a pizza. Those days were gone.
Do I wish it had all gone differently? Of course. Did the end justify the means? To a point. I will always believe things could have progressed on their own just fine if left alone. But when I look at Little Man and he smiles at me, I know I would do it all again.
He is the best gift God could ever have given us.

Baby Chicken Legs

Pinch Hitter

We are closing in on the end of the whole I'm PREGNANT phase and approaching the I'M A NEW MOM phase. And honestly, I am a little sad to see the end of the pregnancy. I've had a really good one with few problems and I'm not going to lie, I enjoy the special treatment. Who wouldn't? I get to sit and watch Ghost Hunters while F cleans the house? Um, YES PLEASE. I get to nap instead of doing laundry? Where's the pillow??? Seriously, I could really get used to the pampered lifestyle.
But I know it is coming to a close. And I am ready to meet this Little Man who loves to punch his mommy in her bladder making her stop in her tracks while the ringing vibration of the hit subsides. I am ready to be done with the swollen feet. The end of October and I am still wearing flip flops because it is the only thing that fits. I am also ready to be done hearing F say, "Well how can you TELL your feet are swollen??" When CLEARLY they are 4X their normal size and there are strap marks from your flip flops still cutting across your foot an hour after you've removed your shoes and propped your feet up. When the doctor looks at you at during your appointment and says, "So, how's the swelling?" as he hitches up  your pant leg to take a look at your "elephantinus" (Sailor Mouth's husband's assessment) ankles. And then proceeds to tell you that you better remove your wedding ring while you still can and put it on a chain to wear.  When I told F this new development that would require the purchase of a chain? "Just don't wear it."
Um, yeah. Cause the stigma of a pregnant lady without a ring is non-existent. I received no chain and have been "just not wearing it" and feel completely judged every time I go out. This brings us to the newest phase of being pregnant. The Birth Class phase. When I realized there were various classes offered I signed us up for as many as I dared before I thought F would start refusing to attend. F claims to not be a novice with this whole baby thing, but seriously, he so is. Some of his comments over the last 7 months has really made me wonder about his knowledge of the birthing process. It is minimal ya'll. We had our first class together this weekend. I was concerned about how he would take the 7.5 hours of birth Birth BIRTH!!!! But he did remarkably well. Half way through he said he was learning all manner of things. I was surprised but very glad that this was the case.  His interest began to wane at the end of the class when it was focused on making your baby momma more comfortable during labor. He was not pleased about being my pillow, but I did get a half hearted attempt at a back massage later that night, so something appeared to have sunk in.
What I'm finding "sunk in" was bits and pieces, not the full scheme of the "L&D" process.  I think we've discussed that  F is an engineer?  And hence has a VERY different thought process, very linear. When the instructor informed the class that at 35 weeks you are considered full term and can deliver safely anytime thereafter,  F heard "DELIVER ANYTIME, IMMEDIATELY." On the way home from picking up the crib mattress he queried as to how far, exactly, was I along?
"Just the start of 35 weeks."
"When do you start counting?"
"Well, on Wednesday I will be 35 weeks, 5 days."
"So the 35th week started.......?"
"Friday?"
"Yes, FRIDAY. So you could go into labor ANY MINUTE."
"Well, yes, I suppose."
"ANY DAY, ANY TIME!"
"Um, yeah?"
"We have to be ready, we HAVE TO GET THE CRIB!!!!"
"ooook."
When we got home he fixated on the crib and the need for it to be in the house RIGHT NOW.
This discussion brought me almost to tears because my feet were swollen, my back hurt, I'd just spent 7.5 hours in a class I really didn't need to attend and then was dragged to a sketchy Toys-R-Us to pick up the crib mattress. I was SPENT and just wanted to be done for the day.
We agreed that the next day we would go order the crib. Thankfully they had one in stock and there was no need to wait 6-8 weeks for delivery because I was due NOW NOW, ANYTIME NOW!!!!!
I thought after procuring said crib we'd moved on into safer, calmer waters of understanding.
I was wrong.
While at dinner at my mom's later that night the topic turned towards her readiness for the impending day and the need to put together her own hospital bag since I asked her to be part of my L&D team. And by "Team" I meant her, F and anyone with a medical background and a hospital ID badge. I made her a list as we discussed what she might need clothes wise F chimes in with, "You know, you really should line up some other (birthing) coaches. Like maybe call S_E_S."
"What?"
"Well, if labor really does last 20 hours (a factoid from class, 20 hours is the average from the very start to finish) then I'm going to need someone to relieve me."
My mom stopped mid task and stared at him.
My mouth was stopped from hitting the floor only because the kitchen table was in the way.
"WHAT?!" my mom and I said together.
"That's a long time, someone will need to relieve me."
"REALLY? And just WHO will I get to relieve ME and take over having the baby?"
"Well, no one."
"EXACTLY. If I have to be there the whole time, YOU have to be there
THE. WHOLE. TIME."
"Nuh nuh."
"Yuh Huh."

Yep, complete and total understanding.

I Am Not Sucking On Sugar Cubes

So, I know in the last post I said I was going to try and avoid making this an ALL BABY ALL THE TIME type Blog. I realize however that being pregnant is currently apart of my daily life, and therefore will need discussing. So forgive me if my snark has temporarily left the building. Right now I am just irritated, and I need to vent.
 Way back in the very beginning of my pregnancy they decided because of my age and my weight that I would get to be lucky and be tested for Gestational Diabetes way before normal testing would take place. I'm talking week 8 instead of week like 30. And guess what people? I FAILED.  Monitoring started and diet change started and my life with pasta ended as I know it because no matter how hard I tried I just could not stay within the levels they wanted me to.  I cried, no, let me be honest, I LOST MY SHIT and BALLED HYSTERICALLY when the nutritionist informed me that the Dr would most likely put me on insulin. I could barely speak when I called F. He promptly sent me home. I promptly went to my mother's and cried some more. My boss, I'm sure, thought someone had died because I DO NOT CRY and again, I was crying to the point that I could not speak properly. She agreed that I needed to go home. Why did this news hit me so hard?  So many things. So. Many. Things. And this was just the one thing I was really hoping to avoid. I'd had enough with the needles and drugs getting Little Man that I really thought I was all done with it. And here this not very motherly older lady was telling me that I had a good SIX MORE MONTHS of needles and poking myself.  Straw, meet the Camel's back.
I inform them weekly of my glucose levels which I take 4 times a day.  And again, no matter how hard I tried, I still was not getting the levels where they needed to be.  Each week my dose would increase. I've had a few weeks here and there when I would be allowed to maintain the same dose. I cannot express to you the joy this would bring me.  Today however, I was, I felt, scolded. I felt the nurse was "What is your problem? Why can't you get this under control?" type attitude as she sucked on her soft drink. I could hear the straw squeaking  and the ice rattling through the phone. I get this nurse on occasion, and I DO NOT LIKE HER.  "Well I just don't know, Did you eat a snack before bed? You know, Did you take this at a different time of day because you SLEPT IN?"
Yes, I eat my snack before bed. But she never actually waits for me to answer these questions.  And NO I did not sleep in. 5 out of those 7 days I WORK, so sleeping in is not possible. Plus, I don't know, I'm PREGNANT and everyone knows pregnant women get up to pee A LOT. My body is so condition to wake to pee it is chart-able. And if I did manage to attempt to sleep in Puppy would not be havin it! She needs to pee too. She also questions the manner in which I report my levels. The App I have on my phone lists the dates from most recent to which ever previous date you tell it. And she complains EVERY SINGLE TIME that she read it wrong because of how I reported it.  Seriously? How about you, I don't know ACTUALLY READ what is written? This is MEDICALLY important information, maybe SCANNING it isn't the right way to do it? Ya' Know?
I am stressed out enough as it is about the whole Gestational Diabetes thing, I don't need your judgement on top of it. I've been considering asking my Dr's office to please not have her call me back, but I really don't know if it is worth it.
Speaking of stressing out, did I tell you, my digital friends, that Mrs Mannerless cornered me in my office and questioned me about my sugar test? Yes, she did. Then she proceeded to tell me, as she whipped out her phone to check dates, that, "Oh, they'll start talking to you about being induced in October."
Oh? I was unaware that you had a medical degree.
"Did I tell you the EXTREMELY funny story about the dream I had before I went in to labor?"
Please dear Lord, NO.
 I'll save you from the details, but it wasn't really all that funny, it was actually, disturbing. As was  her LABOR STORY. I need to bleach my brain just thinking about it.
"If you want to hear a good labor story come talk to me!!!  Don't go to the other two ladies [who have birth around the same time], they have HORROR stories! Come see me!"
Luckily she only gave me an overview of her labor and delivery story. I continue to try and avoid her. At least once a week one of my co-workers tells me "She is CRAZY!"
Yes, I know, in more detail then I think you'd like to know.

Sugar levels, disagreement on names, which freaking car seat out of A MILLION we should choose, can I handle sewing curtains for the nursery, which crib will I finally decide on, will the nursery be ready in, all of the out-laws possibly coming to visit while I am in my ninth month, who will watch said baby once he arrives; these are just a FEW of the things on my mind.
And I can't even indulge in a Dunkin Donuts Vanilla Chi Latte to give me a small moment of peace.
How is that fair?

Where We Are With The Pregnancy Thing

I've cut my possible baby name list in half. I've traded my visions of dresses and pig tails for vests and frog tails. And you know what? I love him already. I talk to him more, I smile when he tickles my belly from the inside, and I look forward to my little man's arrival. My little man. He has ten fingers, ten toes, two eyes and one strong little beating heart. I can't tell if he loves or hates the spicy chicken sandwich from Wendy's, but I know it makes him do baby gymnastics in there. He's growing right on schedule. I have finally relaxed about most of it. I am avoiding some things still, like research, and classes, which I know I need to do, but I have this fear in my heart and mind of jinxing his arrival if I get ahead of myself. Which in reality is probably making me be behind. But I think I'm ok with that.
I am not OK with the gestational diabetes. Because of my age and weight and "sugar history", they tested me super early, like week 8. It has been a constant battle of numbers since. Testing four times a day. Testing within an hour of eating; which can really take a toll on your personal life and vacation plans. Shooting up with insulin at the same time every night. I never thought I would be packing an insulin pen in my clutch at a recent wedding so I could stab myself in a stall in the lady's room. Counting, counting, COUNTING CARBS. Goodbye cheesy bread sticks! Hello STEAK. I have been doing quite well with this, I admit. I've "cheated" a few times. I had a scoop of ice cream for my birthday. But it has turned out to be much easier than I thought. Because I want to give this Little Man a chance. After everything to get him here, I want him to know happiness. So I have a bite or two of F's pizza before finishing off my salad. I've actually LOST WEIGHT. I can not tell you how many people have asked me if I'm really pregnant or not. As I type this in week 21? I am STILL wearing my regular pants! Who knew?!?!?!
So there you have it. A BOY. A Boy who has already stolen his momma's heart.

"THE APPOINTMENT"

Next week is "THE APPOINTMENT", which is quite literary how even the O.B. staff refers to it. With the dawn of new technology, it has become more common place to find out the sex of the as yet born child.  I am completely and utterly torn on this point. To have a definitive answer would make some things easier to decide on. Nursery theme. 50% fewer names to come up with/chose from. Stocking up on baby clothes. etc. When we first got the news that this extremely long, emotionally defeating, needle infested process had FINALLY taken hold, F claimed to want to know; he has since changed his tune, SEVERAL times over.  I however, am unsure. After "When are you due?" is asked, the follow up of  "Are you finding out what you're having?" is hot on off the lips.  I waffle between wanting to know and sticking with "tradition" and not finding out.
It did occur to me after my Mom asked me if she could attend "THE APPOINTMENT" since she had never seen an ultra sound before that the "tradition" of not knowing was not so much of a tradition as it was just how things were. They had no way of telling until the baby came out. Many blogs and websites are split 50-50 on this topic.  Anyone you talk to will have an opinion on this.
 I am going to be completely honest about this, please do not judge me. I want a girl, and I am concerned and disappointed in myself that I will be horribly upset if we find out we are having a boy. Of course I want a HEALTHY baby, no matter the sex. And I WILL love this hard fought for child NO MATTER what. Let me be clear about this. I already love this child. How could I not? It is the coming together of F and I. 50-50. I have always pictured myself with a family of both girls and boys, but since this is most likely the only child we will have, I want a girl.  I adore boys, they are just as cute and of course momma's boys, what is not to love? I am just confessing what I feel.  Granted our family is short on the male side. We are clan that produces girls, so me having a boy would make my only nephew probably extremely happy.
But there it is. My darkness in my heart.
This pregnancy has brought about many feelings in me. Fear. Love. Doubt. Joy. Shame.
Today I am sharing my shame of myself. Shame for giving thought to my baby beyond its health and well being. I am going with the Shame because I cannot handle the bone chilling, heart stopping, tears inducing Fear that something will be wrong with little dh.
So judge me if you will. Just know you cannot judge me any harsher than I am already judging myself.

Let the TMI Begin

You, my digital friends have been introduced to Mrs Mannerless. Mrs. Mannerless has often cornered her pregnancy partner and regaled her with all manner of stories and updates, much to her PP's displeasure. Let us call Mrs. Mannerless' pregnancy partner Rustie. (yes Rustie is a woman, a very nice one at that. Trust me on this.) Mrs. Mannerless and Rustie had their babies not even a week apart and therefore were on maternity leave at the same time. When they got back Rustie went to Mrs Mannerless' cube to inquiry about her and the baby.  Since Mrs. Mannerless sits near me I over heard the entire thing.
Rustie: "Hey, how are you?"
Mrs. Mannerless: "I'm fine. If you came here just to chat I really have A LOT of work to do and DO NOT have time to talk."
*stunned silence*
Rustie: "oh, well, I just thought I'd see how things went with your delivery. And how things are now.............."
Mrs. Mannerless: "Everything went well.....blah blah blah...whatever else she said."
RUDE!!!!!!!!! Completely and utterly rude! Yes, I will give her that she had a lot of work to do, maybe. But to be so completely and utterly rude is just, amazing.
After this little exchange Mrs Mannerless apparently changed her tune and has since decided that Rustie is her new bestie and shares EVERYTHING with her. She seem to also rather enjoy degrading Rustie's mothering skills.
The following was relayed to me via text directly from Rustie:
"Today's direct quote: "I know you don't make his own baby food but I'm super mom."
Rustie was of course completely floored by the matter of fact manner in which this was stated. She however cannot bring herself to tell Mrs Mannerless off because she's just not that kind of person.

It is because of things like this that I have been DREADING the time when  Mrs Mannerless brought her sage advice to me.
I didn't have to wait long and I was greatly validated where my sense of dread lay.

Mrs Mannerless plants herself in my cube doorway and inquires and to my plans concerning breast feeding. Mind you Mrs Mannerless is an avid breast feeder and DEMANDED time off during the day in order to leave work to go feed her child at daycare AND then a place to pump throughout the day. Our small office doesn't not employ enough people to fall under the law on supplying a Lactation Station, but they accommodated her. It has recently become common knowledge that she would extend her time in there by watching TV online on the computer in the set aside office. The computer was removed to prevent this time stealing task, which she circumvented by taking along her iPad.
That aside, let me get back to my main story.  I answered her inquiry truthfully and told her I was hoping to breastfeed. And that my digital friends is where I made my mistake. Mrs. Mannerless launches into her HORROR STORY of the lactation nurses at the local hospital. Let me just say here, that it was truly horrible and I would have been swearing bloody murder if I had been treated in such a manner, but what I didn't need, now or ever is her visual help aid. 
She told how her doula informed many of the people on the hospital staff that the baby's tongue was misshapen and therefore would  have problems latching on during breast feeding. Apparently they all choose to tune out said information when trying to help Mrs Mannerless feed her baby. When she would ask for help or complain to the lactation nurses they were rude, abrupt and completely unhelpful.  She told me that on more than one occasion they would grab her breast and shove it into the baby's mouth saying THERE, he's feeding, you just need to try harder!

Bitches! I cannot imagine being treated in such a manner!!! I still feel for her. Despite the fact that upon telling me this portion of the story she grabbed said breast to give me a visual aid to go along with her story.
Let me repeat. As she stood half in my cube and half in the hallway, SHE GRABBED HER BOOB and recreated the shoving and pinching motions for my better understanding.
Um, yeah.  I did not need to see that, let alone to help me better visual it happening while her breast was naked. I do however thank her for the warning, because no one man handles the girls, NO ONE.
Add to that Crazy Co-Worker telling me how I shouldn't be wearing my shoes and how said shoes won't fit me through the summer, and I can see why women used to leave the work force until after they give birth.