Alexa, Is This Normal?

I am here to enlighten you about the most not talked about thing in regards to breastfeeding. Not the leaking. Not the cluster feeding. Not the fact that your nipples will develop the resilience of a seasoned UFC fighter. No, I’m talking about D-MER. Also known as Dysphoric Milk Ejection Reflex.

Love us some morning snuggles with Papa

Also known as: “Why do I suddenly feel like I’ve ruined my entire life?”

Because nothing says “beautiful bonding moment” like an unexpected wave of existential dread. It’s like your brain just decides to go: “Hey. Quick question. What if everything is terrible?”

It’s like your hormones hit the wrong button and instead of oxytocin bliss, you get sad-emo-early-2000's-playlist-at-2 a.m-energy. For absolutely no reason. No warning. No invitation. Just vibes. Bad vibes.

And the worst part? It lasts just long enough to make you question your entire personality, your life choices, Then—poof—it’s gone. Baby’s still happily eating and you’re sitting there like, “Well that was dramatic.”

D-MER is basically your brain doing a surprise emotional fire drill every time your milk lets down. You’re not actually sad. Nothing is wrong. Your body just decided to temporarily audition for a soap opera. The emotional whiplash is real.

Honestly, it feels like your brain briefly disconnects from Wi-Fi and starts loading worst-case scenarios before reconnecting.

The good news?

Once you know what it is, it becomes a lot less scary. Instead of spiraling, you can just sit there and remind yourself that itbis only temporary. Because it is temporary. Even if it shows up multiple times a day like an uninvited emotional pop-up ad.

If this doesn’t say, “I wanna speak to your manager.” then I don’t know what else to say :)

So if you’re sitting there feeding your baby and suddenly feel like you’ve been emotionally drop-kicked for no reason—congratulations! Your body is just being weird in a very specific, medically recognized way.

Hang in there. And maybe keep snacks within reach. Because nothing combats hormonal nonsense quite like a snack cake and the quiet confidence of knowing: “It’s not me. It’s my boobs.”

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A Very Crappy Situation