Beauty and the Boob

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, I was a young PR chick who wore short skirts, high heels and could drink all night. Flash forward only seven years and I am a secretly (and only very, VERY slightly) graying STORK who realizes the night before going to a swanky conference that not only does she have nothing that fits the now oddly shaped body three children have left her with, but she can no longer balance in heels.

It’s amazing how the things that once came so simply can suddenly seem so daunting. Pre-kids, I had an endless supply of outfits, even brand names, that I could wear to any kind of event, ranging from casual to the most formal. I could pack a carry-on bag in a second, without thinking. I owned more than just flip flops (although they have always been my true shoe love). And when choosing an outfit, my first requirement was not, believe it or not, easy access to my boobs.

Ah, my boobs. Today, my boobs are the subject of endless hours of conversation, typically involving phrases like “you are a boobie baby,” “JayJay wants the boobie,” “you are a big boobie head,” or “Jay is crying, I don’t know what to do with him. You take him, he must want the boob.”

I don’t mind all this boob talk, really. I have never been Penthouse material so I’m glad that what I’ve got has at least gotten some good use. Still, the one place my boobs don’t really belong is on a work trip.

The first problem occurred in my crazy, Sunday night scramble to find something to wear. I saw a number of appropriate dresses. However, given I was going to be flying down to the conference at 6:30 a.m. and returning home that night at 9:30 p.m., I was going to have to take my breast pump along and find places to use it along the way. Given that I had no hotel room, and a dress would mean that I would be nursing with my dress basically over my head, I decided that this was not the best choice for the public bathroom.

Because, yes, the public bathroom is where I spent a good amount of my time Monday. The public bathroom at the airport where I stood by the paper towels, hooter hider over my pump, and greeted everyone as they dried their hands, inches from my equipment. And then the hotel bathroom, where I perched on a little couch and made small talk with women reapplying their lipstick.

And you know the weird thing, no one, not even those little twenty-something year old me’s, really even looked twice. No one noticed that my bra was stuffed with Kleenex because today was of course the first day in ten months of nursing that I had forgotten to put on breast pads.

And a lot of people liked my skirt.

Once, last summer, I told my husband that I still felt like I was 25, and that I thought maybe I still looked 25. He was a bit skeptical on that point, and being in a room of twenty-somethings at this conference made me realize that yes, I don’t look 25. I look better.

As I watched those fledglings wander around the show floor, in their strappy sandals and shiny lip gloss, they looked confused, maybe even a bit scared. And you know what, my clothes were actually cooler than theirs. Sure, their stomachs might be a bit (OK, a lot) flatter but I was suffering through it all in heels, so with that little boost, who could really tell. And I could move around with confidence because, really, if you just spent 15 minutes pumping in a public bathroom, is a room full of “important people” going to intimidate you?

I think as a married person, let alone a mom pushing 40, it is easy to look back at your 20s and see only the highlights--the first dates, the nights at the bar with your big group of friends, the late morning sleep-ins. It’s easy to forget the hang-overs, the biological clock, the nervousness about what might come yet.

As STORKS we know what’s coming next: more diapers, more milestones, more sleepless nights, more family trips, more tantrums, more hugs and kisses. And more things that are one hundred percent out of our control.

Being able to accept the imperfection, to look yourself in the mirror with no makeup and wild hair and still somehow find the guts to go out and face the world, well that’s pretty beautiful. So rather than thinking about all the things we once did, we should enjoy more all the things that we can do now. We STORKS are a pretty interesting bunch. Even more interesting than my boobs.

Comments

[Dan Conway]

I never, ever said that you don't look 25. That was one of those "no win" situations where no matter what my facial expression or words communicated to the contrary you somehow recognized "skepticism". You still look 25 and always will in my book! For me however, the common greeting from friends has been "Hi Dan, have you been ill?"

[Jen Dracos-Tice]

ahh boobs...did I ever tell you about pumping in my upstairs classroom, door locked, gazing out the uncovered HUGE windows into the woods, when suddenly a guy in a crane lowers down from the roofline to wash my windows? And I wasn't wearing a cover at all...

Loved this. Yes, the best is yet to come. I'm digging the feeling of experience and how much richer that is making my life with my children and my teaching.

[Victoria Cullen]

Hi Eileen,
Daniel passed on your blog info thru Kev at Peggy's 80th and I've been following ever since. You are an amazing writer and even though the days of breast-pumps and diapers are long past (the diapers may make a comeback - for me!), I am finding a lot to relate to and am enjoying each post. Keep up the great work! Hope to see you all soon :)