I Learned To Breastfeed With Pop Culture Jeopardy

One of the first things I realized after coming home from the hospital after giving birth was that I needed new underwear. All my underwear perfectly aligned with my c-section scar, rubbing uncomfortably where I’d just been sliced open and stitched back together.

My partner held our perfect baby while I found a five-pack of high-waisted underwear on Amazon and added them to my cart. I had the option of getting them in three days or signing up for an Amazon Prime trial for next-day delivery. Wearing my last pair of disposable undies, I signed up for the trial.

The trial also gave me access to all of Amazon Prime’s video offerings. My first late-night feeding at home, I scrolled through the options with one hand and held my baby to my boob with the other. A lot of shows were off-limits: I couldn’t watch anything too sad, too happy, or remotely violent, since my post-partum emotions meant tears could start uncontrollably leaking from my eyes like sweat at any moment, and it was impossible to know what would set it off.

That’s when I saw Colin Jost’s non-threatening face smiling up at me. Husband of Scarlett Johansson and host of SNL’s Weekend Update, he was also the host of Pop Culture Jeopardy, a new show that’s like regular Jeopardy but with only the easy questions. Perfect.

Breastfeeding by the numbers

The Government of Canada recommends that parents exclusively breastfeed for the first six months of a child’s life. While 91 percent of parents start out breastfeeding, only 38 percent last the whole six months.

Before I had a child, I didn’t understand why people complained about breastfeeding so much. How hard could it possibly be? You put the baby on your breast and they suck. Surely even a newborn could figure it out, right?

In the hospital, my healthcare providers assured me that breastfeeding was going exceptionally well. My daughter latched on minutes after she was born, and apparently, my body was giving her everything she needed. But even when you’re doing everything right, there’s a learning curve. Babies have to learn how to latch on properly, and when they don’t, it hurts. A lot. Your nipples bleed, then scab over, then become cracked, but still, you’re expected to breastfeed.

My first late-night feeding at home, I knew that even though my nipples were bleeding, I was sleep deprived, and standing upright painfully stretched my incision, I shouldn’t complain. Others had it worse: moms who couldn’t breastfeed, parents with sick babies, single moms. Breastfeeding was going well, my baby was cooperating, and I had a supportive partner. Complaining made me feel guilty, and I knew I had to just suck it up.

Hoping for some distraction, I put on the first episode of Pop Culture Jeopardy and started feeding my baby.

Night one: Getting hooked on PCJ

Unlike traditional Jeopardy, where contestants are quizzed on opera, world history and geography, PCJ contestants are rewarded for their knowledge of internet memes, '90s boy bands and famous hairdos. Also, unlike traditional Jeopardy, PCJ is played in teams of three. The producers of the show appear to have searched high and low for America’s biggest dorks, put them all on a game show and forced them to wear matching outfits.

With no plot to follow, the show was perfect to dip in and out of as I nursed. I adjusted my baby’s latch, adjusted my breastfeeding pillow, and breathed through the pain. Once she’d successfully latched, I started playing along with the PCJ contestants.

“What is, ‘Jared Leto’s own head?’” I whisper-shouted at the television. “How could anyone not know that?” I looked down at my daughter and wondered if she’d ever want to be my PCJ teammate. Probably not—even though I’d just met her three days prior, she was clearly way too cool to be on this show.

When she was done eating, I put her back in the bassinet and collapsed into bed. Before I fell asleep, I wondered if I would meet some moms who would want to team up and try to get on the second season of PCJ.

Night three: Is this normal?

A few nights later, I was back on the couch in the dead of night, new underwear pulled up to my belly button. At this point in my breastfeeding journey, each session took about an hour: thirty minutes on each side. It perfectly lined up with PCJ: one episode per boob.

According to my endless Reddit browsing, my baby would soon become more efficient at breastfeeding, and it wouldn’t always take this long, but at this stage, it was starting to feel like the couch and I would soon merge and become one. Ten episodes deep into PCJ, I hit play on the next episode, sank into the couch, and let the useless trivia wash over me.

My daughter was gaining weight, which meant breastfeeding was going well, but it wasn’t getting any easier. My nipples had gone from bleeding to scabbed over, which meant the initial few sucks were always incredibly painful.

“Don’t worry,” I told my partner during the daytime feedings as he watched, frozen and unable to help while I cried out in pain. “It only feels like knives are coming out of my nipples for a few seconds.”

According to a 2024 survey, the sharpest drop in exclusive breastfeeding occurs during the first month, and it’s easy to understand why. When you’re exclusively breastfeeding, all your independence is stripped away, as you never know when you’ll have to whip out a tit. Unlike with formula, it’s impossible to tell how much your baby has eaten, and there’s no way of knowing if your baby is actually eating or just sucking on your nipple, using you as a human pacifier.

Suddenly, I was overcome with jealousy of the PCJ contestants, and I felt terrible for calling them America’s biggest dorks. They were out there living their dreams on the Alex Trebek stage. I realized I might never get a chance to be a contestant on the show, since it was starting to feel like I’d be sitting on the couch with a baby on my boob until the end of time.

But what did it matter? I hadn’t met any other moms who would want to join my PCJ team. I hadn’t met any moms at all. How could I when I had barely left the house?

Another episode autoplayed, and I switched my baby to the other boob.

Night five: When the sleep deprivation hits

My nights had become a blur. In the mornings, I could never remember how many times I’d gotten up the night before. Twice? Three times? I accidentally watched a few episodes of PCJ more than once, but still got all the same questions wrong.

My midwife said our baby was doing well and gave me some breastfeeding tips: the right posture, how to hold the baby, and make sure she’s getting a deep latch. She also recommended silverettes for my nipples (think Madonna in her cone bra era), which, thanks to Amazon Prime, were arriving in 12 hours.

I set myself up on the couch for another night feeding and hit play on the next episode, but this time the categories seemed weirdly personal.

“Here are the categories for our first Jeopardy round,” Colin Jost said. “‘Reasons Breastfeeding is Better Than Formula’, ‘Ways You’re Going to Mess This Baby Up’, ‘Moms Who Lost the Baby Weight Faster Than You’, and ‘Potent Potables’”.

I gave my head a shake, and the categories went back to normal, although Colin Jost’s eyes still seemed like they were judging me. The sleep deprivation was starting to get to me. I turned the television off and decided to nurse in silence for the night.

Night ten: Giving up. No I’m not. Yes I am.

I only had a few episodes of PCJ left, and my cracked nipples had almost completely healed. After a few three-hour stretches of uninterrupted sleep, Colin Jost seemed to have stopped judging me, but I did wonder if he’d ever walked in on Scarlett Johansson using a portable fan to dry off her c-section scar that was covered by what was formerly a pregnant belly, but could now only be described as a FUPA.

After only two weeks, I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d be able to keep breastfeeding. It was so much harder than I ever thought it would be, even though, while pregnant, I had heard over and over how hard it was. Having someone attached to your body for hours a day is exhausting, even when it’s no longer painful. I added formula to my Amazon cart multiple times, but never went through with the purchase.

At least my dorky (it’s a compliment) PCJ friends were there to keep me company for the next few late-night feedings. I wasn’t sure how much longer I would breastfeed for, but I started another episode and put my baby on my boob. All I had to do was make it through this episode. I could always quit tomorrow.

Night 15: This is hard. But I’m going to do it anyway.

I played the last episode of PCJ and felt a little sad it was over. The show had gotten me through the earliest days of breastfeeding, and I was going to miss it. Luckily, I was finally starting to get into the rhythm of things, and my daughter and I had established a great routine.

Just kidding, I was still at her constant beck and call, and had to be ready to put her on the boob at all times. Every day, I decided I was done breastfeeding forever, then I’d feel guilty and change my mind.

Halfway through the last PCJ episode, one of the teams landed on the Daily Double in the Double Jeopardy round. They were in second place and decided to make it a true Daily Double, betting all their points. If they answered correctly, it would be almost impossible for the other teams to catch up to them.

“This is how you should live your life,” I whispered to my daughter. “Big risk, big reward. Watch them nail this question and win the tournament!”

They did not nail the question; they lost all their points and lost the game.

I didn’t know what motherhood had in store for me, but at that moment, I decided I’d treat it like I was a contestant on Pop Culture Jeopardy: keep trying even though I might fail, dress in a way that would embarrass any child, and lean into the weirdness.