mr nice guy gets lactose intolerant

this is too sweet not to share with you this very second ... and yet it is something that i have not had nearly enough time to fully get my tiny brain around. so bear with me a little.

our erstwhile landlady just gave us a book titled (i kid you not) The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding ... brought to you (seriously) by the good people at La Leche League International. you get that? THE INTERNATIONAL MILK LEAGUE!

the mind positively reels, on every level. look, mr nice guy is a sensitive 90s man -- he's had long hair, he's not afraid to dance, he cries all the damn time, he writes poetry -- but come on ladies, do we really need a 450-page treatise on the art, womanly though it certainly is, of breastfeeding? i mean, don't you just hook the little hooverbaby up to your chest, like you would a pop the gas nozzle into your car's tank, and let 'er rip? the tiny troglodyte should know exactly what to do: it's hardwired. moms, there's very little art involved on your part: lay off the booze and pills for another few hours or however long you plan on breastfeeding (actually, pass them here. i'll hold them for you. inside me, where it's warm) and the kid will do the rest. right?

mrs nice guy informs me that two of her colleagues were discussing the best breast feeding coaches for their respective wives (i assume it was for their wives, anyway, this is new york though ... so ... you know, maybe they want breastfeeding coaches for their teenagers, hoping that a little eccentric extracurricular activity will look good on their college applications). do you follow me? these guys were talking about BREASTFEEDING COACHES. i am in the wrong line of work, clearly, because i suddenly feel as though i might have missed my calling. i too must train the ladies of new york how to breastfeed! how does one get this job? any tips? i mean, i'd make a very dedicated hands-on coach.

seriously, what is mr nice guy missing here? are new mothers so overwhelmed that they go hooking their newborns up to their noses? do they attach the little ones to their matronly elbows? where's the confusion? all i know is that neither i nor my dear mater nice guy ever went to any seminars and we both seemed to know what to do. i mean, i breastfed for 17 years and i turned out just fine. i suppose i could open this book and investigate a little more, but i have much more important things to do.

for example, it is much more important that i figure out what the hell the international milk league is all about. i picture something like the superfriends, only instead of the hall of justice the international milk brigade (i know it's "league," but i like brigade better so they just changed their name) meets on a dairy farm in wayne, wisconsin. wait, no! their name is actually french (o, la vache!) so they must convene in some rustic little village in provence. or canada. whatever. i am losing my train of thought.

a quick glance at their web site shows they offer conferences and workshops -- i went to a CPR workshop once and pretended to be an unconscious woman named annie as other people in my group pounded on my chest, breaking several of my ribs, trying to resuscitate me as they shouted into my face, at ear-crunching volumes, "annie, annie are you ok?". so if my new career as breastfeeding coach fails, i will go to international milk brigade workshops and volunteer as a cranky baby in need of some sweet, sweet boobs mother's nectar. much more agreeable than getting my ribs broken.

UPDATE: look, i know that "leche" is spanish for milk, not french (the french for milk being, of course, jus de boubie). i don't know what happened there. some brainfart. mr nice guy apologizes. he's very tired.