shield me from harm?

If you had said the words "nipple shield" to me four months ago, I may have ducked and protected; I may have thought that you were referring to some unknown super power belonging to Wonder Woman and her island-dwelling amazon counterparts; or I may have said "No thanks, they're fine." I would not have thought that, four months later, my boob would be wearing a little silicone hat every time I wanted to attach my baby to it.

That's what it is, though, and they told me at the hospital that I needed it. They went ahead and got one without asking, and when they handed it to me or, rather, put it on me like they were struggling to put a turtleneck on a cat, I just acquiesced because they were exhausting me with comments like "Insurance won't let him stay here if the only reason is that he won't take the breast."

We'd been trying for all of two feedings. Way to be patient. I was not feeling frustrated or anxious. I figured it would take him time to get over the pacifier.

Here they were pushing the bottle and the shield all because, they said, they were just trying to get him home, and didn't we want him home? Insinuation: we are selfish and just want things our way instead of getting our baby out of the hospital.

So here I am, typing with one hand while Finn sleeps on my chest, fresh from only his second successful feed without the neeple hat. I'm going to see a lactation specialist at his pediatric clinic to get him off the crutch, and in the meantime, if he is calmly hungry, I offer him naked boob to see if he will take it.

My nipples do not need accessories.

At least not in this instance.