My Bathing Suit, My Choice

When I went back to work after the birth of my first child, I had to navigate the world of pumping in a classroom during my free period. I locked the door, hid behind the media cabinet and went about business with my Medela pump sidekick. With a rotating schedule and duties, finding an exact time to do this everyday was just not possible. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! The fire alarm had gone off and I had just released. As any breastfeeder will tell you, the release is like Niagara Falls. Panicked, I looked down at my chest and half-filled bottles and contemplated two scenarios: 1) pull these literal suckers off and evacuate the building or 2) just ignore the fire alarm and complete the process. I considered number 2 for a full minute but then got an image of a beefy fireman knocking down my door with flames behind him and needing to carry me out with breast pump attached. So, naturally, I ripped the cups off, strapped myself back into the massive nursing bra, pulled my dress up over my shoulders, and joined the rest of my colleagues down the stairs and outside. “I was just pumping!” I told my closest companions but I don’t know that anyone truly understood what I had just gone through and was continuing to experience. My boobs were ginormous and felt like they had their own nervous system. I didn’t cry but I sure did want to.

Flash forward a few months later when I had gone through an entire diet change due to the fact that my son was allergic to my breast milk because of the many dairy products I was consuming on a very regular basis. I had to eliminate Ben AND Jerry from my life and nondairy alternatives were neither plentiful nor good at that point in time. After taking him for another test at our pediatrician’s office following my breakup with ice cream and the like, Dr. Paul told me that there were still signs of blood in the stool which indicated ongoing irritation. “Well I did have a bagel from Dunkin Donuts and I thought it didn’t have milk in it but I think it did” I said with tears filling my eyes. “Yes, breast is best but it’s not best for everyone.” Dr. Paul told me. I wanted to kiss him. With those words he released me from the bondage of nursing and we left with a prescription for special hypoallergenic formula. Bless you, Dr. Paul. Bless you. New parents and especially Moms, listen to me. You do what’s best for you because you have already proven yourselves. NO extra societal pressure to do anything should be placed on you. Well, maybe listen to the people that tell you to go take a nap.

Let’s bring ourselves to the present day. This past week I brought my three kids to New Hampshire for a quick 48 hour tour. We did a waterfall hike just off of the Kancamagus Highway and I only lost my temper once and for very good reason. After all, I have a 13-year-old sasser, a 10-year-old goofball, and an 8-year-old teenager. I am entitled to yell “KNOCKITOFF!!!” and slam the car door. I rocked that hike and then some during this trip; we had fun. Today, it is 90 degrees and sunny for once. I thought we might try going to the beach for a bit. I pulled out my evergreen rouched one piece bathing suit that has a hole cut in the center of the chest area. As I struggled to reposition the pads inserted into the bra area for a full five minutes, let it be know that I have officially decided to soon throw those pads away and I will tell you why. Every time I have washed a bathing suit, one of these pads goes astray in the dryer. After hunting it down, I then have to reinsert this 4x3 triangularesque pad into an opening that is about an inch wide. After the pad has been reinserted, I have to wiggle it around so that its triangular shape is positioned just so. Why are these pads present? To prevent my nipples from announcing their existence when a stiff breeze crosses over or, god forbid, I take a dip in the frigid Atlantic waters. Why do I need to hide my nipples? Because THAT’S what I’m SUPPOSED to DO.

Here are my thoughts on ALL of the above. I grew three humans in my uterus and winced a lot through the process of all my internal organs shifting around to make room. I PUSHED all three of these watermelonesque babies out of an opening the size of a lemon and dealt with the aftermath of that for WEEKS only to get clearance for more procreational activities SIX WEEKS LATER. After surviving breastfeeding, bottle feeding, and sleep training all three humans, I am now the proud coordinator and executress of their emotional, social, academic, and physical wellbeing. Not for nothing but I do all of that and I am SINGLE. A fact that I am DONE hiding. Maybe this paragraph should get copied and pasted into a dating profile🤷🏻‍♀️ Honestly, I am a catch. I’m just a very quirky catch with quirky baggage to match. Anyways, my point is that I am now resentful of the five minutes I spend every single time I need to reposition the pads inside bathing suits all to hide the fact that I do, in fact, have nipples and do, in fact, get cold sometimes. So although those pads are firmly and perfectly in place right now, the next time one of those suckers pops out in the dryer, I vow to pop it directly into the trash and never look back. My body, my bathing suit, my choice. Next topic? Men holding large fish in profile pictures. Newsflash? We are not impressed.