Happy Monday. How was your weekend? You do anything fabulous? Good, good. I spent mine looking at breasts.

You think I am joking?

Maybe you think that I'm creating a play-on-words, and I cooked chicken breasts, or some such; or perhaps you think that I went to the beach and there were lots of shirtless men showing their chests; or maybe you are thinking that I'm making some real stretch of a joke about shopping for a suit (y'know, a double-breasted suit). I assure you none of those are the case. I am talking about exactly what you think I am talking about when I talk about breasts. Human female breasts. Uncovered.

So, as part of this whole "child birth" thing, the Murloc had a class on breastfeeding at the hospital at which she is to give birth. I was informed that my attendance was required, if not by the hospital, by the Murloc herself. (Attendance at the breastfeeding class, not the birth; well I gather that my attendance at the birth is also required, although that has not explicitly been stated. It's just been sorta, y'know, gathered.) That is my excuse for being there: I daren't disobey the direct commands of a pregnant Murloc.

And in fact, I was not the only man there. Discounting the nurse giving the class, the male/female ratio was 1:1. Most were young-ish couples, undoubtedly having their first child. (And further, most of them had rings on the appropriate fingers, indicating that the destruction of marriage and decline and fall of civilization may not be as imminent as prior reports indicated.)

So what did the class involve you ask? Breastfeeding how-tos and such. This is a field that, up until Saturday, I was blissfully unaware of the complexities and intricacies of, and had no urgent desire to study in-depth. But, like a terror master at Gitmo, I was forcibly plunged headlong into the cold and choking waters of knowledge, but with perhaps a bit less kicking and screaming. 

Apparently, there is a lot more to breastfeeding than "take baby; attach to nipple". I always figured it was something that, y'know, came rather naturally. Survival of the fittest would seem to crop out the babies that couldn't figure it out. I mean, what has evolution been up to for the last 150,000 years if not culling the human race to be natural breast-feeders? But no, there is all sorts of specialized knowledge and techniques and dos and don'ts that one has to keep in mind. And of course, the hospital would be remiss in their duties if they just gave all these eager and expecting young parents a quick-and-dirty explanation. No, they must, to properly inform us and make sure that we are adequately prepared, show us exactly what is entailed in proper breastfeeding technique.

To this end, there were—and Dave Barry swears I Am Not Making This Up™—a PowerPoint presentation and several instructional videos—complete with animated 3D graphics—showcasing exactly what goes on during breastfeeding. All the points, major and minor, were covered. At least I hope it was all the points, because I would be somewhat shocked to learn that there is much more to this field than what we have already been shown, in all it's engorged and supple detail.

The presentation started out with the expected scare-mongering and lies/damned-lies/statistics one would expect. You know, explanations about how breastfed babies are less likely to be eaten by wild dogs and the sort. The culmination of this was when it was explained to us that studies have shown (so it must be true!) that babies who are not breastfed have lower IQs than those who are. Oh no! If you don't breastfeed your baby, he won't be able to get into Harvard Law! (Of course, there may be some truth to the correlation of breastfeeding/IQ, but has causation been proven? What, exactly, is the difference? Half a point? Is there a standard deviation on that? Margin of error?)

Note to the nurse giving the class: we are sitting in a class on how to breastfeed. Chances are we are already planning such. Save the sales pitch.

From there, the nurse talked about the mechanics of breastfeeding: the glands; how they produce milk; the glands around the nipple that keep the skin oiled; the 7-9 tubules inside the nipple through which the milk comes out; the technical term for the milk that is produced right after birth (colostrum); let-down; and various healthy practices and urban legends. For instance, it is not necessary, and in fact a bad idea, to "toughen" the nipples prior to birth by rubbing them with a washcloth or—and I'm sure all my female readers will be pleased about this—fine sandpaper. (Dave Barry also swears that the nurse was not making up that one attendant of one class had been told by her sister to do just that.)

Some of this was accompanied by pictures and videos. For instance, when explaining proper latch-on, a close-up image of a baby latched on to the breast was shown. The nurse explained that the angle of the baby's mouth created when on the nipple was about 120°, tracing the angle on the image. This is a bad thing to tell a math major. Now, whenever the Murloc is breastfeeding, a protractor will be involved. If a protractor is not available, I think I still remember the geometric construction for a 120° angle using a compass and straight edge.

Also, when explaining proper milking-procedure and about let-down, there was a demonstration video showing how squeezing the nipple in different ways would or would not produce a stream of milk. This video showed a close-up of a nipple (a real one, just in case that wasn't excruciatingly clear) while a doctor explained that squeezing the very tip (he demonstrates this in the video) would not produce much milk, but if the nipple is squeezed farther back (again, he demonstrates), a stream will squirt out at the camera. I have one thought and one question during this video. Thought: I am amazed that this women is comfortable having her nipples squeezed by a male doctor, on camera. Question: how do I get that doctor's job?

Once the video was over, the lactation nurse (NB: not lactating nurse) instructing the class explains that, if you look closely, during the first squeezing, even though no streams were shooting out of the nipple, there was a little bit of milk, visible as a faint glistening on the skin. She then repeats the video, telling us all to look closer to see what she is talking about. I think that is probably the first time in my life I've been shown a woman's breast with explicit instructions to look more closely at it, instead of the opposite.

There was also another instructional video that showed several different women, still in the hospital after giving birth, learning to breastfeed. We, the viewing audience, are provided with extreme close-ups, as the cameraman leans in for a better view, of the baby latching on, first incorrectly, then correctly. Afterwards, I asked the Murloc, rhetorically, how she would feel about allowing a camera in her hospital room to film her first attempts to breastfeed. She asked how much they would pay. Clearly, there are some untapped business opportunities pertaining to my wife, about which I was previously unaware.

Throughout this, my "custody of the eyes" reflex kept manifesting itself. A pair of breasts would flash up on the wall. Without thinking, I would turn away before realizing I'm supposed to be looking at these breasts. It's educational. I guess it's good that the reflex is so strong, and it tends to be even stronger when I'm in public, as I don't want to be that one weird pervert in a crowd who can't peel his eyes off some tawdry image. A quick look at the other males in the room revealed that there was never any real danger of people thinking that about me in particular.

The end of the class consisted of the nurse talking about different ways to position oneself and one's baby while breastfeeding, as well as different ways a woman could grasp her breast, such as "C" or "U" holds. She demonstrated this with an analogue baby and breast. She informed each couple that they could obtain a baby of their own from a closet in the back of the room, with which the mother could practice the different holds. I was moderately relieved to confirm that they were not real babies. I mean, you never know. But even then, my relief was short lived, as the plastic babies seemed to have an uncanny resemblance to Kuato.

After the class, the Murloc and I were discussing the events of the day, and I remarked to her much of what I have recounted to you, expressing my surprise about the explicit nature—shall I call it lactation porn?—of the class. I asked her for her thoughts, and she mostly agreed with me.

"Besides," she said, "none of those women's breasts looked as good as mine."