Bloomberg baby milk factory
Perhaps it’s appropriate on my wedding anniversary to discuss my wife’s breasts in this week’s op-ed for the MacIver Institute:
If New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg has his way, hospitals will start treating baby formula like a controlled substance. Starting September 3rd, New York City hospitals will start locking away baby formula like it’s medication. They will keep track of how many bottles of formula are stocked and used, and they will need to document a medical reason for every bottle of formula that is used.
If a mother does request a bottle of formula, the hospital will provide it. However, each bottle will be accompanied by a lecture on the health benefits of breast milk instead. That’s just what every new mother wants to hear, that they’re a failure. I can’t wait for the first lawsuit against Bloomberg and the city of New York for causing a case of post-partum depression.
All kidding aside, I remember what my wife, the Lovely Doreen from Waukesha, went through when my son was born. It was an unplanned Caesarian operation, and Will was born 36 hours after my wife’s water broke. The labor, the attempted delivery, and then the operation were all very hard on my wife.
Trying to get my wife to produce enough milk for our son became another ordeal. The very first night they brought my son into the room to breastfeed, and right away there was trouble. A lactation consultant visited Doreen multiple times during her four days in the hospital. The consultants had her doing massages while in the shower and worked up a weird contraption to fool my son into thinking he was working on a bottle.
My son was crying in the night because he wasn’t getting enough food. Meanwhile the lactation consultants were not sympathetic, and they even begrudged the tiny amounts of formula used to try to trick our son into latching on the breast. When he left the hospital he had lost ten ounces from his birth weight.
But we were determined to do our best to raise our son right.
You’ll want to read the whole thing at the MacIver Institute. Unlike the story about me hitting a wounded opossum in the head with a shovel, this story actually has a point.