Now Where Was I?

The clogged duct is empty! Hooray! Still uber sore and painful, but so much better all the way around. (And on abx, because I seem to attract raging infections).
I know people get push presents for L&D, but I'm starting to think they should really look into breastfeeding presents. Something along the lines of "Breastfeeding: somehow I survived, even though it was hard as hell." I truly believe that society does lactating mothers a HUGE disservice in the areas of breast troubleshooting/realism at how difficult it can be. I know there are classes and books (and okay, I didn't get around to a class before Bean was born, but I did read books and I am pretty certain I wasn't naive about all things breast and feed) but Oh.My.Gosh. Nothing can prepare you, just nothing. If I didn't attend my weekly breastfeeding forum (Free!) I'm not quite sure how I'd be doing, to be perfectly honest.
The LC that runs it is truly invaluable - if you want support, I highly recommend you find something similar in your area.
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Okay, so I know I promised stories from "the sticks" on an earlier post, so I'll get started.

The Chicken Story

One morning, Glamma and I were sipping coffee on the porch and enjoying the breeze when we noticed one of my neighbor's hens in her front yard. The chickens are free range, but usually confined to a certain area, so this was unusual. I told Glamma she should make the call -- this is what it sounds like:

"Carolyn? Hi! It's me... I just wanted to let you know that your... (What kind of chicken is it again? Rhode Island Red?) your big brown hen is loose in the front yard. Is that okay? It's not okay? Oh alright, well... yeah uh-huh. No problem. Bye!"

My neighbor comes out the front door, waves at us, and begins to attempt to "shoo" said hen back into her pen. I'm pretty sure that with some banjo picking, it could have been a segment on a major network because the whole thing was just too funny. This was no ordinary chicken. It was a genius chicken. Dodging my neighbor, faking her out, getting close to the gate and then running back between her legs. I thought I was immature, sipping my coffee, trying not to laugh at the situation. Be an adult! Ahhhhh!
Then, I look over -- Glamma is cracking up. We both start laughing together. We are officially the evil people, laughing at the poor woman trying to get her chicken. I finally get up and start to go over and help when the hen nonchalantly waltzes through the open gate.
I like free range chicken.