I lay asleep when Baby Girl gives me my wake up call. I look at the clock and jump out of bed with the energy of a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader. I anxiously run down the hall to the nursery and grab my little McCutie and begin nursing her. It's St. Patrick's Day! Along with Halloween, this is my favorite holiday of the year. Call it a flair for the dramatic (or my Irish heritage), but I can't resist a holiday where you can both dress up ridiculously and drink on a weekday.
7AM
I hop into my pretend Aveda Spa (aka my shower) and start to think about the day. MJ and I have a tradition with our friends where we start the day off with kegs and eggs at a local Irish Pub. Then, we hop on a party bus and chaos ensues the remainder of the day. (Here in NE Ohio, we pretty much make every "holiday" a drinking day. We don't have much else).
As I rub my soapy bath pouf on my post baby body I begin to feel a little insecure. I know have lumps where I never had them before. My boobs are now the size of small planets. My face and body are puffy enough that I could pass as having a shell fish reaction. As I look down I think that I must have been abducted by aliens and given a new body. I swear, my thighs did not have their own zip code before. "OMG I can't do this today!"
Most normal people could care less about how they look on this green holiday. However, I also know my husband and I will be surrounded by a bunch of hot skinny twenty somethings. Now, I know I shouldn't let these little Miley's and Rihanna's get to me. But, it's hard because in years past I was one of those skinny bitches. Oh, the glory of putting on tight little tops, heels and Seven for All Mankind jeans. Pre baby body, where did you go?
7AM
MJ gives me a pep talk and reiterates how beautiful he thinks I am. My hair and make up I have to admit are rocking. I feel a moment of courage and grab a pair of my pre baby jeans. Who am I kidding? This isn't a moment of courage, it's a moment of insanity! I get them up to my thighs when I can hear my jeans saying to me "For the love of God, lady. Spare us the pain!" I listen to my jeans and crumple them in ball in the floor. I let them know they haven't won. I will be wearing them again soon. Nearing tears I grab my "Yummy Tummy" tank, my smoothing panties, and nursing bra. OMG. I've morphed into a senior citizen. After practically crisco-ing my body to get all of this "smoothing support" crap on, I finish getting dressed. So, off I go in my maternity jeans (yes, I'm still in them) and my "Kiss Me, I'm Irish" tee. Let's just hope I can breathe being this sucked in.
9:30AM
Well, after making a point to tell everyone to be at breakfast at 9AM sharp, here I am running a half hour behind. I spent the last 45 minutes searching for my nursing wrap. I'm not really the kind of girl to whip my boob out in public and start nursing. And by no means am I going to pump in public. No one but me needs to see that dairy farm freak show. Because of this, I had MJ order me a nursing cover appropriately named "Hooter Hiders." The name alone drew me in (the reviews helped a bit too). I made a plan the other night that I will pump in the car both before and after we ride the party bus. So, I really need this wrap. Where the F is it? We search high and low to the point of tears. Finally, I make a phone call and learn that we left it at a friend's house. Luckily, he is coming to breakfast and can bring it along. I'm glad that it's on its way, but I hate being late to any event. Yes, even kegs and eggs.
10:00AM
I greet my friends at the long table. Everyone is glad to see us. Not necessarily to see MJ and me, but to see Baby Girl. Baby Girl and my mother-in-law came along and will be departing after breakfast. She looks adorable dressed in her green top and shamrock pants. She's also sporting a bib that says "Kiss Me, I'm Irish", so we match. Damn that child can pull off an outfit. What can I say? She is the child of a fashion crazed woman. I look around and see beers, bloody mary's and mimosas-a-plenty. I start to get a little insecure again. This time I'm worried about the idea of me drinking all day. I know it sounds absurd being a former sorority girl and party animal. However, I haven't tied one on in almost 11 months. I'm out of practice!
10:30
I'm in the backseat of my car with the hooter hider tied around my neck. I'm trying to be discreet pumping, but it's obvious something's up. I start to get insecure yet again, as loads of people pass my car and give me the look of "what the hell..." I just pretend I don't see them and go one with my pumping. After 20 minutes, I finish and start to put the lids on the bottles. Shit, shit, shit!! One spills. All I can think of is that my friends may be sitting back here later. How do you tell them "Don't mind the wet stains, that's just my breastmilk"? Thank God, the milk lands on my coat and not the seat. Great...what am I going to wear for a coat now?
11:30 AM
I kiss my adorable baby good-bye. For a moment I realize how crazy it is to be leaving the most adorable baby in the world to drink green beer all day. Then, I remember all of the stressful and long nights I've had during the last 2 months and suddenly feel better. We begin the morning with an old St. Pat's standby: Irish Car Bombs. This is going to be a long day.
3:00 PM
1 car bomb, 3 cherry bombs, and a beer later, I'm in my happy spot on the bus. Ke$ha is blaring on the radio and I'm dancing like I don't have a post baby body. I'm loving this! This is a blast--until, our bus driver, Mildred, stops the bus to let some twentysomething puke at the side of the road. Mind you it's 3PM. Kids just can't hold their liquor. As we all start to laugh at the inebriated youngin', we get a new bomb. This time it's the news: our bus won't start back up. Excuse me? It will take how long to get a new bus? 2 hours? WTF.
Here we stand on the side of the road with a group of drunken strangers looking like a touring cast of an Irish "Rocky Horror." School is letting out and since we are on a main street in Akron, the kids walk by, point, and laugh. Cars whiz by, honking there horns giving us the "way to go, losers" signal. This was not the best moment of my life. Funny yes, proud no. Thank God for our friend, who is en route to meet us downtown. He pulls up in his mustang convertible and picks us up. We wave good bye to the party bus youth, and head to the next bar. My only concern now, is keeping my rocking hair from becoming convertible hair.
7PM
We make through a game of quarters downtown, a few martinis at a new martini bar, and another bus ride back to our "home" bar. We are excited to be back and share our story of our ghetto bus ride. I run in excitedly and hug my one guy friend, As soon as I pull back from hugging him, I see a look of horror on his face. I ignore it and turn to an entire table of friends. They have the same look of "OMG! Freddy Kruger is behind you!" on their faces. Finally, one of my friends finally tells me what's going on. My right boob is leaking milk and a have a nice big evident stain on my shirt. I put down my grey goose martini, look at MJ and say "It's time to go."
We head home and I begin to forget my humiliation of the leaky right boob as thoughts of Baby Girl enter my mind. Thank God, MJ stayed completely sober and his mother is spending the night. All in all, it has been a good day. However, just like always, at the end of the day, it's all about the boob.
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