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Tuesday
Apr192011

I'll Shoot Yer Eye Out!

Not really thinking this is one for the fellas. Actually, maybe it is one for the fellas. It's all about wet nipples and giant boobs, after all.

One time? I was looking at porn on the internet. FOR A FRIEND! Shut your dirty whore mouth! It was FOR A FRIEND. Okay, so I was looking at porn on the internet - um - for a friend and I stumbled on these two Asian chicks squirting each other with boob milk. Not saying it's an Asian thing or anything, these chicks just happened to be Asian. So they're spraying each other and giggling and making out, yeah, it was really weird. This was before I was ever pregnant and the amount of boob milk they were hosing each other down with blew my mind.

It was a lotta milk, yo.

I'm not really sure why I'm telling you about the milky Asian chicks other than now that I'm thundering into my third month of breastfeeding I've pretty much experienced all manner of milky shenanigans myself. God, I love that word: shenanigans. Say it. SAY IT! See? You like it too, don't you?

So I'm going to a lot of doctors. Gotta make sure I'm in top notch condition because my health insurance runs out in ten days. My insurance runs out in ten days! Oh my God, you guys, I quit my job! Deep breath, deep breath, deep breath...

The other day I had an appointment to get my root canal finished. Something about putting in a post and capping it off or whatever. I don't care what they do so long as they crank the nitrous. Serge came home from work early to watch the kids and I bolted for the dentist. In my hurry I forgot that I was breastfeeding. Not breastfeeding right then at that second, but, you know, breastfeeding in general. Meaning my son's only source of food was walking out of the door for what could be several hours.

I think it was Kate Hudson or some other generic blonde actress that said Pregnancy Brain is like being high. I'm here to tell you that Postpartum BreastFeeding Brain is worse. Serge recently asked if I'm suffering from early onset Alzheimer's because I can never remember the words for anything. Conversations between us go something like this:

ME: Have you seen... that thing?

SERGE: What thing?

ME: You know! THE THING!

SERGE: Oh! THAT thing.

ME: Yes! You know what I'm talking about?

SERGE: No, I have no idea what you're talking about.

ME: YOU KNOW! THE THING! THAT HAS THE STUFF ON IT! THE THING!

So I run out the door for the dentist without pumping milk for Henry. I call Serge and tell him that if Henry starts The Hungry Cry, just call me and I'll come home. Fine. Okay. Problem solved. Except not really.

I hang up the cell and feel the telltale tingling that signals my milk is in. Doesn't that make you think of a short order cook in a white chef's hat placing two milkshakes on the counter, dinging a bell for the waitress and saying MILK'S UP!

So yeah, my milkshakes are up.

There are two quarter-sized rings of milk sopping through my bra and t-shirt. DAMMIT. I wait at a traffic light, hoping that'll be the extent but NO. The quarters expand to silver dollars and I feel a pearl of milk slip down a boob onto my stomach.

SONUVABITCH.

I can't go to the dentist with big, wet nipples sopping through my t-shirt. I frantically search the console and glove box for napkins. (Do you call it a glove box or a jockey box? Jockey makes me think of some small guy who races horses for a living. So what if the jockey keeps his racing gloves in there? Would it be called a jockey box or a glove box? Or a jockey's glove box?) No napkins. I consider going home and changing but there's no time. I have to keep this appointment, they barely squeezed me in.

I keep searching for something, anything to stop the milk hemhorrage. At the next traffic light I dig into the diaper bag we keep in the car. Please let there be a diaper, please let there be a diaper. Bingo! One left. I try to tear it in half so I can stuff each portion in my bra but holy shit have you ever tried to tear a diaper? They don't tear. Oh, I'm positive it would tear right in half if your kid shit hard enough, that's just the way the universe works. But have two boobs firehosing the inside of your shirt and desperately try to rip those diaper bitches and you will be sorely disappointed.

It was then that I spot Violet's pink bunny rabbit lying on the floor of the car and I had an epiphany. I cram the diaper (luckily it was one of Henry's tiny newborn sizes) as best it would fit into one bra cup and jam one of Violet's bunny's big, cloth ears inside the other bra cup.

There I am cruising, a diaper lumped under my shirt and a rather large pink bunny dangling by his ear, hanging out the bottom of my shirt. But hey! The diaper and ear are absorbing the milk! Success. Now I need to get the wet nipples dry before the dentist gets himself a gander. I slouch in my seat because even though they can't see my bizarre diaper bunny get-up, it's tough to keep a straight face when I happen to catch the eye of fellow motorists.

I roll down the window (I didn't roll it down, I pressed a button and it went down. That sounds stupid, though. But, unless you own a car from 1995 you can't technically say "I roll down the window", right?) and lean my torso out as much as I could, hoping the wind would dry my milky silver dollars that were now the size of small pancakes.

I was a couple minutes late for my appointment because ultimately I had to crank my heat full-blast and press my boobs to the heat vents. I'm sure I looked like a crazy, sex freak engaged in some sort of odd breast/heat vent masturbation but whatever. The shirt was dry by the time I slid into the dentist's chair.

He asked if I'd like the laughing gas. "Crank it up and lay it on me, doc. I could use a laugh."

Reader Comments (16)

So, you have got to update- did you sit through your root canal with a diaper in one cup and a bunny in the other???

April 19, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterKim Q

I had a root canal this morning and had read your post about the nitris and texting your boss from last week.... I decided to spring for the extra $30 and actually enjoyed them drilling into my head for an hour. I told the dental assistant that I'd heard about a girl who texted her boss while on nitris at the dentist - she just looked at me weird and told me that she would keep my phone away from me.
Bruno Mars came on while they were at work and I had to resist the urge to dance.

April 19, 2011 | Unregistered Commenterdash away

ROTFLMAO!

April 19, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterM

Six week checkup, postpartum, at the doctor's office. Pretty much the first time I had been out of the house without the baby... and a baby starts crying in the next room. That ol' tingling sensation starts in. Anyone that tells you that you can stop the letdown reflex by whatever means, is lying! Good thing there were lots and lots of paper towels in the exam room. Your bunny story is a lot better though!

April 19, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterJoni

Thanks for a great laugh! Totally laugh-out-loud funny. Note to self: do not read this blog at work. Your co-workers might think you're on something...

April 19, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterJanet

three things...
one... it is strange how this is not me... it's me under a spell...
two... connected to one... paradoxically, the wrong reasons just became "wronger"...
three... it's a good thing (for henry) that the "nitrous" does not get into the milk... :-)

April 19, 2011 | Unregistered Commenterfahrenheit

Been there! Well, not exactly there, but I've had major leaking while not near my baby and not much on hand to stuff in my bra. Your story is much funnier than any of mine, though!

April 19, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterBarb

thanks for a great laugh too :)

April 19, 2011 | Unregistered Commenteranajo

Too funny! And you described it so well! I really really adore reading you, madame!

April 19, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterSerena from Italy

What? No milkyways in the freezer?

That was very quick thinking there with the bunny ear, Monica. You know I can't relate to drippy nips, BUT... don't they make those things you can stick in the bra for such occasions? Washable sponges in that same silver-dollar pancake size. Of course you could always rip out a shoulder pad. Oh wait. That was the 80s. FYI Useless information: They also designed the adult disposable pullup to tear but only on the side seams. Not that you have any of those hanging around, would you. I remember back in the Girl Scouting days, they recommended carrying feminine NAPKINS ( as they once called them) and using them for shoulder pads when you go hiking. Either way, I wouldn't call that a Jockey box. Sounds like a cross between boxers and jockey shorts. Glove 'compartment' is nice. Jockey box. hah!

April 19, 2011 | Unregistered Commentergina

So funny! Thanks for that. :)

April 19, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterThat Uncomfortable Itch

Oh, I feel you. I had to give a presentation a few months after my son was born. I stood up there on a stage in front of dozens of people, Madonna mic on my head, milk slowly creeping its way through bra, blouse and jacket. I'm sure my audience didn't think a single thing was odd about me sidling over to my chair -- mid speech -- and casually slipping on my wool coat in that climate-controlled room.

April 19, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterJillian

I once brought a newish boyfriend to a party and one of the crazy girls there hosed a whole couch of people (him included) with hot breastmilk. We stopped dating shortly after that, obviously. So you know, party trick, if you need one.

April 19, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterLindsey

hilarious post. i'll never forget when my milk letdown at arby's while wearing a white t-shirt. i went to get a refill and my husband tried to signal across the "restaurant" that i was making a mess. i was sure to take my pump everywhere from that day on!

April 19, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterMeg

I will never look at a stuffed bunny the same way again.

April 20, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterNoelle

The dialog between yourself and Serge - too funny! Reminds me of the exact same conversations I had with my husband 17 months ago - actually, I still have those conversations now...when will mothers' brains ever go back to pre-children thinking?

June 24, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterLCH

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