The journey of first-time pregnancy is undeniably exhilarating. While subsequent pregnancies can also be filled with wonder, nothing quite compares to the thrill of the first, where each change feels like a brand-new adventure. I relished my initial pregnancy until I discovered a lump the size of a kiwi developing in my armpit. Panic set in. Was it cancer? A tumor? What on earth was happening?
As I sat in the ultrasound technician’s office, I fixated on the monitor, trying to decipher what she saw.
“What’s going on?” I asked anxiously.
“All I see is breast tissue. I’ll send the results to your doctor,” she replied.
Relief washed over me—no tumor, just some unexpected breast tissue… in my armpit. The lack of explanation from my OB/GYN didn’t help much either. I was told it was normal for breasts to swell during pregnancy and that things would return to normal after childbirth. But, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was alone in this experience; it seemed no other pregnant women had a kiwi-sized anomaly in their pits!
Finally, a friend who was a lactation consultant mentioned it might be an extra mammary gland. This was confirmed shortly after I gave birth to my first son. When a second lactation consultant came by to assess my nursing situation, I blurted out, “I think I have a third breast.” True to the nature of lactation consultants, she lifted my hospital gown to investigate the extra appendage.
Her knowledge was enlightening. Milk lines extend from the armpit down the abdomen (think of a cat or dog nursing a litter). It’s possible to be born with additional mammary glands or nipples anywhere along this line, and unless there’s a visible nipple, you might not even realize it until your breasts swell during pregnancy. She recounted a story about a woman in the hospital the day before who had eight breasts! (I could practically hear the gasps from here.) Suddenly, my one additional breast didn’t seem so daunting.
She reassured me that it would diminish after nursing and that, without a visible nipple, it would eventually shrink back to its original size. However, she was mistaken. When my milk finally came in, I asked my husband to turn up the air conditioning because I felt drenched. To my horror, I looked down and realized what I thought was merely a small brown freckle was actually a nipple, actively dripping milk onto my shirt. Yes, folks, I had a third breast that lactated—how delightful.
I had to nurse with a towel tucked under my armpit. While most nursing mothers sported absorbent pads in their bras, I had to manage that and wear a giant band-aid on my armpit. For context, my son was born in June—perfect tank top weather. It was a real treat!
Between my first and second child, I opted for surgery to remove the extra breast. There remains some breast tissue, and it still swells during pregnancy, but at least there’s no nipple now. I’m okay with the third breast phenomenon; I just wasn’t keen on the damp clothing whenever I nursed or when my baby cried.
In conclusion, I’ve come to appreciate this quirky addition to my body. It’s a reminder that while your post-baby body might have its challenges—stretch marks resembling Venetian blinds or skin that’s changed in ways you never anticipated—you can always look in the mirror and think, “At least it doesn’t lactate!” So here’s to you, third breast. Thanks for brightening the outlook of many and providing me with a story that never fails to amuse.
For more insights on pregnancy and post-baby bodies, check out our related post on the truths about our post-baby bodies. And if you’re considering at-home insemination, I recommend visiting Make a Mom for their reliable syringe kits. For more resources on pregnancy and home insemination, Progyny is an excellent place to explore.
Summary
This article humorously explores the unexpected experience of discovering an extra mammary gland during pregnancy, affectionately dubbed a “third breast.” It recounts the journey from panic to acceptance, shedding light on the bizarre yet fascinating changes that can occur during motherhood. Ultimately, it encourages a lighthearted perspective on post-baby bodies.
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