Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Publica Breastaefeedaphobia

It has been 2 weeks and 1 day since glitter spilled from my vagina in the form of baby Ozzy. (Which is kind of a lie since he was born via c section, but the mere mention of the word vagina lends the idea a bit more gravitas, no? Vagina, vagina, vagina, BAM! Just add glitter and what you get is pure magic. Ask anyone.)
The most part of these 2 weeks and 1 day I have spent crammed like so many worn tissues into the folds of my couch, one pillow propped under the right arm, another beneath the left, boobs out, back aching, wondering how they make it look so easy, though I have no idea who "they" really are. Despite the presence of nipples, here there is no glitter. Just me and my nipples, Luck be a Lady de la Leche, and at night when I use the breast pump the wheezing in and out of the machine sounds as if it's talking to me. Make more, make more, make more... (Or what a bore, what a bore, what a bore, milky whore, milky whore, milky whore...)

Me thinks that when your breast pump starts talking to you it's time to get out of the house, no?

So this weekend I decided to take this show on the road. Armed with two of my oldest and bestest, I went to the park with Ozzy, my boobs and an artfully draped cloth festooned with little cars for diversion. And at first it was easy. We were the only people there, and for a second I felt a little like Bill Murray in "What About Bob" tied to the mast, I'm Sailing! I'm Sailing! That is, until a toddler and his overly-Spandexed, Vibram-footed father spotted us. It was almost like I had cotton candy stuffed in my bra, or dollar bills--the kid would not leave me alone. He pulled and yanked at my artfully draped cloth, pushing his face beneath, even with me saying no, no honey! The baby's eating! And his father was no help, either. Guess my son's a boob man! he said, talking a little too close to my friend. It was weird. He was weird. The kid was weird. They. Would. Not. Leave. And so it would seem that my first pass at public breastfeeding was a bust, no pun intended.

And lest you think I'm being hyperbolic, yesterday I decided to get right back on the hooter horse and set up camp on my front porch. (Baby steps, people. Who knew "What About Bob" would be so apropos?) So there I was breastfeeding Ozzy while Zoey played in the garden, the sun shining the hazy yellow of a memory of a movie, when suddenly my neighbor's Chihuahua came bounding over to excitedly press his nose into my nipple. Which of course made his owner, a 50 year old man I've met maybe once, come over to see what his dog had found. Again with the the possibility of cotton candy hidden inside my bra, or maybe it was a piece of rawhide, more dollar bills, something, because the dog Would. Not. Leave. And eventually his owner had to reach down into my artfully draped cloth to retrieve him, my cover blown for the second time.

Oh, how I wish I were one of those women who whipped out her boob all so what and yeah, so? Daring you to look or not caring at all, without two fucks to rub together because she really doesn't give a flying one. But I'm not. Instead I'm a WASPY girl of a woman who thrills at the mention of vagina and glitter together, a fumbling mom with Publica Breastaefeedaphobia, a condition that does not even exist in the world of WikiGoogleWebMD so I had to make it up myself, all faux Latin-ate and official. Because the truth is I don't even sail. I get sea sick.

11 comments:

Cricket said...

Love it. But there is such a thing as "wasps who whip 'em out". Living proof right here baby...

Alexandria said...

Holy mole. It's like when a dog comes up to sniff your hoohah when it's that time of the month times a million. (Sorry, following your lead with the vagina rant to provide TMI.) Embarrassing to the max.

eRin said...

My breast pump said "broccoli, broccoli, broccoli." I don't know why.

Hang in there. Or out of there...

anita said...

It's only been 2 weeks and 1 day. By 2 months and 2 days, you'll be whipping 'em out like nobody's business.

Geli said...

In other countries it's the most natural thing in the world to breast feed your baby in public without a shielding cloth. You'd think after 200+ years of oppression by the
Puritans, something would give....
I do understand your position though, I'd feel uncomfortable too if everyone stares and is trying to get
a glimpse of your naked boobs, even that gawd damn sorry excuse of a dog.

Cathi said...

And she's back - I love the way you look at life....:)I had no problem whipping it out ...let them look!! Enjoy your little ones! xxoo :)

Michelle M in KY said...

OH SUSANNAH...
LMFAO!!!
Welcome back...you have been sorely missed!

Chris said...

O.M.G. this has to be one of the funniest breast-feeding stories I have ever read :-) So glad I found your blog...and I think we were separated at birth because my experiences were no better!

Weitzell4 said...

Congrats! I love this post. I was freaked out when I was breast feeding and my mother in law would talk to the baby with her face up way too close. Bleh, what is wrong with people? I did it very discreetly in public, and tried not to make eye contact with anyone. I also remember being mortified when out to dinner with a friend, the whip it out right at the table in the restaurant without even attempting to be discreet kind of friend. Good times.

Scribe said...

I think your knockers need glitter. Maybe the glint would be distracting to all men and dogs. Hang in their Susannah. You'll be a "whip it out" pro in no time.

Sair said...

You ROCK Hard!! you have such a hilarious tilt on life, possibly coming down from the caesar! But I was one of those " Daring you to look or not caring at all, without two fucks to rub together because she really doesn't give a flying one" kinda gals, still am actually! But you're as funny as all get out. Best of luck baring it all to the world!
...and the little dog too!