Here I grow AGAIN! February 24, 2009

A person reaches a certain age and things begin to move and change and not necessarily for the better.  If you haven’t experienced these changes yet, well—GOOD FOR YOU—but some of us are not so lucky.

One morning I was washing my face and moisturizing in preparation for the daily application of powder foundation which covers up the ever expanding collection of age spots, freckles and broken blood vessels that I seem to be collecting–just like I collected stickers back in the eighties.  You gotta love those days when puffy and pickle scented scratch ‘n sniff stickers were all you were concerned about.  So, where was I?  Ah, yes–washing my face…then I lean in to do the all important close up inspection of any stray eyebrows that have managed to grow back since my last examination.  And what to my wondering eyes should appear?  Well, it wasn’t St. Nick, more like St. Hairy and it wasn’t growing in a “normal” location.  I seriously had a hair in the middle of my forehead.  Now, granted it wasn’t black or even dark brown.  It was blonde, but nonetheless in the middle of my forehead.  Where do these rogue hairs come from and why must they grow on my body?  I’m sure there is a physiological reason why hair grows in places we don’t want it too and disappears from places that we prefer it to stay.  However, this does not make one feel better about it growing in the first place.  Like most situations in my life, I handle the stress [or at least attempt to] with humor.  Like when I breastfed 3 kids and my bossom decided to fall and not get back up.  The girls had a theme song – “Lord lift us up where we belong”.  I think rogue hairs deserve the same opportunity.  Therefore, I declare any hair growing in the wrong place at anytime deserves an altered version of Whitesnake’s “Here I go Again”!  Please read below and sing it loud, sing it proud and the next time you find a hair where it shouldn’t be, maybe you will laugh a little and possibly sing the theme song — “Here I Grow Again”!!!!

I dont know where Im growing

But, I sure know where Ive been
Hanging on to follicles
In the hairs of yesterday
An Ive made up my mind,
I aint wasting no more time
But, here I grow again
Here I grow again

Tho I keep searching for a place to grow,
I never seem to find what Im looking for
Oh lord, I pray
You give me strength to carry on,
cos I know what it means
To grow along the lonely hair of dreams

An here I grow again on my own
Goin down the only follicle Ive ever known,
Like a drifter I was born to grow alone
An Ive made up my mind
I aint wasting no more time

Im just another hair in need of rescue,
Waiting on tweezer’s sweet charity
An Im gonna hold on
For the rest of my days,
cos I know what it means
To grow along the lonely hair of dreams

An here I grow again on my own
Goin down the only follicle Ive ever known,
Like a drifter I was born to grow alone
An Ive made up my mind
I aint wasting no more time

But, here I grow again,
Here I grow again,
Here I grow again,
Here I grow…

Wasting Away Again in Hooterville May 19, 2008

Just when you thought it was safe to breastfeed your child in the bathroom…

I’m not sure if you are familiar with The Galleria mall in Dallas, but growing up in that area I visited on many occasions. It’s a wonderful mall that, at least when I used to run around there, catered to a more spendy crowd. Sure there was the gratuitous Gap store and some other teeny-bopper stores but the crowd was a little more upscale. With that in mind I thought I was safe. Little did I know I’d be approached by a crazy on what would become, perhaps one of the most bizarre experiences in my life. My daughter is getting a little fussy and I know it’s time for her to eat. I can’t find a decent place to sit where I won’t be ogled by the passers by so I head to the hotel attached to The Galleria. In the lobby there are a multitude of places to sit but they are unfortunately all occupied. Many of the seats were taken by smokers. [Back then it was acceptable for smokers to do as they please inside or outside of any public place.] I end up going to the location which was initially meant to be a backup plan, but more often then not became THE place for me. Yes, it was indeed the restroom [bathroom, john, lavatory, powder room, loo, water closet, el baño]. Well, you get the picture. Luckily, there was a chair in the restroom [seated directly in front of a large mirror]. I pushed the chair back away from the mirror and settled in for a relaxing feed. While minding my own business a lady enters the restroom. I don’t feel like engaging in conversation, so I remain focused on my child. She stopped and stared, as if to say circus freak–how much for a ticket, and felt the need to comment. She looked at me with all seriousness and said “Why are you doing that in here?” I responded honestly saying, “All the good seats were taken outside and my baby was hungry”. Hoping this would satisfy her curiosity I resumed my focus on the task at hand. [Slightly put off by her boldness I blushed and hoped she would walk away]. She resumed her conversation [more like monologue] and proceeded to tell me that I should be proud to feed my baby in public and excitedly told me to “go out there and breastfeed for all to see”. My initial blushing turned in to a full-on hot flash as I hurriedly agreed and assured her that I was proud of my lactating breasts. Truthfully, I just wanted her to hit the stall and finish her business and leave me the heck alone. She proudly walked to an open stall and went about her business. When she came out, I was a little taken aback that she neglected to become fully dressed before reentering what I considered to be my safe zone. [no person should walk around in their birthday suit in any public restroom and yes, in my mind that includes the gym/rec center/spa]. I hadn’t noticed that she was wearing a 1970’s one piece jumpsuit until she came out of the stall. She walked toward me in what seemed to be slow motion. Her perky breasts [at least a EE cup] stood at attention as she got within a couple of feet of me. As she stood there in all her glory, she proudly announced that she had breastfed all 5 of her children and commanded that I look at her and her bosom. She was searching for an affirmation that her “girls” were beautifully formed. Not knowing exactly how to react, I suddenly became the Stuart Smalley of Saturday Night Live fame and said to her “They’re big enough, they’re perky enough and doggone it, I like them”! As quickly as it began, it ended. She concealed her ample bosom back within her jump suit and quickly washed her hands and left. I wonder whatever happened to that woman. Did she go on flashing others in bathrooms across the state? Or did she go back to Hooterville to waste away?

How do I turn this thing off? May 14, 2008

FACT:  I was a breastfeeding mother.  FACT:  I was Armed and Dangerous.

Don’t get me wrong, it was a great bonding experience and I was more than happy to provide nourishment for my children.  There’s just one little thing that wasn’t so pleasant.  There’s no magic button to control the flow.  I never had a problem “letting down”, it was the off button I was missing.   Whether it was at the mall, during the movies or just whenever ANY baby cried–I leaked.  It got so bad at night I’d wake up and think my breasts had been replaced by two boulders.  They were solid all right [solid as a rock, and nothing's changed it...sorry I got carried away with that Ashford and Simpson classic].  Anyway, where was I?  One time I was out with my daughter and a couple of friends from college.  We were sitting down to a quiet lunch at the Olive Garden.  By this time my daughter had just started solid foods and I thought I could make it through the meal without having to nurse her.  She was really thirsty and she had never taken to THE BOTTLE so I discreetly attempted to let her get a quick drink.  The Olive Garden was a hopping place that day and she [being an infant] was easily distracted.  She had just gotten to the point where the milk was flowing and suddenly popped off.  My breast, not knowing how to react, continued to flow as if someone were feeding at the time.  My milk must have squirted a good 8 feet to the next table.  [I told you I was plentiful].  I’m not sure if the woman seated at that table took cream in her coffee, but she got it anyway.  I was slightly mortified and quickly finished my meal and paid the check.  I guess it’s back to breastfeeding in the bathroom…

Pavlov’s Dog May 13, 2008

It’s been a few year since I’ve breastfed. It’s possible that it has become more acceptable to nurse your child in public. This was not the case when I nursed my oldest child. The looks, the stares, the comments–they were completely frustrating. It was all worth it because I knew what I was doing was for the health of my child. At times I allowed myself to be intimidated by the potential controversy I would create breastfeeding in public. You would have thought I was completely exposed and was adorned with tassels and a g-string the way people glared. My tendency was to camp out in any and every bathroom available to me when I was out and about. This was before the days of posh sitting areas in department store restrooms. On more than one occasion I found myself with no place to sit. Supporting a baby while exposing your breast [all the while trying to relax] is a tad more difficult when standing at attention. With no place to sit I would occupy the most obvious seat. Yes, that’s right the porcelain throne–better known as the toilet. There’s nothing that startles a baby more than industrial strength toilets flushing while they are trying to chow down. It was an adventurous year of nursing in public. My biggest fear was that I had conditioned my child like Pavlov’s Dog. Would she be hungry every time she heard a toilet flush—or would she just drool?

Seen one, seen’em all? January 2, 2008

Here I am a 30 something. I have breastfed 3 kids for a total of almost 4 years. Needless to say, my breasts had morphed into hanging sacks of flesh. I appeared to be [at least in that particular region] an 80 something. Not that there is anything wrong with that. Power to the older generation. But at 30 you don’t want to be forced to tuck your breasts into your pants or roll them up just to get them in a bra. I longed for the days when I went bra-less and my breast actually stayed where God intended them to. Well, the bra-less days were far behind me and I was looking forward. Which was more than I could say for my breasts. They were so bad that I actually gave them a theme song. Now don’t laugh, it was to encourage them to be all that they could be. You know the few, the proud, the perky! The song was “Lord, Lift us up where we belong”. I am all about the power of prayer, but this was one that was sure to be low on His list. [no pun intended]. I figured after gaining and losing 50 pounds 3 times [once for each kid] and going from a natural 36B to a 40EE [and then back to a barely there B] , surely they’d bounce back, right? Wrong! Those perky days were gone and here to stay were the swing low, sweet chariot days. Thank God for padded bras and underwire.