by Lisa Lieder

Fenugreek.

Desperation made me do it. As my milk supply dwindled to a precious few ounces and my daughter's demands became less dependent on need and more dependent on how much she liked today's solid lunch our wonderful symbiotic relationship began to deteriorate.

So, I was desperate when I walked into the health food store and asked the man behind the counter--a mass of muscle and testosterone--what he could recommend to increase lactation.

"Lac...ta...tion" he repeated slowly, as though the mysteries of this word might reveal themselves in the individual syllables. "Is that like water retention in the joints?"

"Close," I said, all the while thinking "Babe, you're on your own."

So I went to the books and looked for more information (Cro Magnon followed me in the hopes that he would learn what 'lac...ta...tion' was). It was here that I found my potential salvation.

"Fenugreek: The ground, roasted pungent seeds are used to flavor curry, and chutneys (nice, but not exactly what I'm looking for). Sprouted seeds have iron-rich leaves that can be added to salads (perhaps useful knowledge at another time). Tea made from the seed is a revitalizing tonic It can relieve digestive or menstrual pains (Getting warmer), reduce fever, and can be put in a poultice for skin infections.

Note: The seeds contain hormone precursors that increase breast milk... (Jackpot!).

It went on from there about how Fenugreek is used in oral contraceptives, restores hair growth and libido in men, acts as an aphrodisiac, and so on. I didn't care--I had what I needed.

I turned to Mr. Testosterone. "I need Fenugreek." He found a bottle, and sold it to me. He was still trying to figure out what I really wanted it for and I was not in the mood to give him a lesson on his products so I told him to ask his manager and quickly left the store.

Day One: The recommended dose is two pills daily. Took that. It didn't increase my breast milk but my husband started looking better. Called the breastfeeding center at my hospital and asked them about Fenugreek. They asked me about my "breastfeeding relationship." Then it came, as predictable as the spring rains.

"Oh, you're working." Long pause... "How much are you working?"

"Full time."

"I see....So how much formula are you supplementing?"

The devil made me do it. I answered "20 ounces so far."

"Well," Ginny, the Lactation Consultant said knowingly, "If you're feeding 20 ounces of formula a day you should expect the decrease in production. That's what happens when you return to work."

"No," I answered "20 ounces ever. My daughter needed a little help in the first few weeks. She figured it out, though, and hasn't tasted formula since she was six weeks old. She's almost eight months now. She's a smart girl."

Eventually, Ginny was convinced that I knew what I was doing regarding breastfeeding and I wasn't going to discuss staying home for the good of the breastfeeding couple. Fortunately, Ginny had just read a study on Fenugreek. The results were good. The dose, however, was six to nine capsules a day-two or three, three times a day. I thanked her, and took three capsules immediately. I assured Ginny I would let her know how it went.

Day two: My urine looks like some sort of nuclear waste. I'm pretty sure it glows in the dark. I don't have the courage to check, though. It smells vaguely of curry powder. My breastmilk production increased by 2 ounces. Now, we're talking. The milk also smells vaguely of a Lebanese bakery but my daughter seems to like it. Hubby still looks pretty hot, too.

Day three: Twenty-five minutes before a meeting I go in to pump. I feel more engorged than usual so I'm thinking I may have two or even three ounces extra. I start to pump, my milk starts coming

...and coming

...and coming.

I have now collected six ounces on each side. Impressive. I look at my watch, the meeting is in five minutes. I turn off the pump and start putting things away. I am woman, hear me roar.

My milk keeps coming.

I realize with horror that I have, over the last few months, grown complacent. I'm not wearing a print shirt. I took home the practical black blazer-the one that doesn't show milk stains. I am wearing a SILK DRESS for gosh sakes. Light green. That shade that turns forest green whenever it gets wet. This leaves me with a choice. I can get to the meeting on time but with two forest green targets over my nipples or I can be five to ten minutes late. What am I going to tell them?

"I'm sorry, lunch took a little longer than I expected."

It's 9:30 a.m.

Day four: Production is still high, hubby is still sexy, urine is still flourescent and milk still smells like a Lebanese bakery. One difference, though. There's a practical black blazer hanging from the coat hanger in my cubicle.

I am woman, hear me moo.