Behold the power of boobs

Recently I learned a valuable lesson: if you want to hurry things along at the doctor’s office, whip out your rack.

Hear me out friends. I promise I’m not a pervert. There truly is a perfectly logical explanation for why I was letting it all hang out.

My son, Little Man, was born with Stickler’s syndrome. Ever heard of it? I hadn’t until he was diagnosed. What I’ve learned so far is that it means he will have approximately ten million appointments with roughly fifty million specialists. I literally quit my job because I couldn’t keep up with his appointment schedule. It’s not just that he has ten million appointments. Each one is long. Painfully long. Because at each clinic, there are several doctors and other staff that want to see him. My first time taking him back after his discharge from the NICU we were there for about four hours. Not even kidding.

Currently, I am suffering from New Mom brain. Sleep deprivation plus hormones equals I forget things a lot. It also means I forget things a lot…wait…did I say that already? Eh, whatever. As soon as I get my keys out of the fridge, I’m sure whatever I was talking about will come back to me.

Okay, now that I’ve got my keys out of the fridge, we can get back to business.

Wait, why were my keys in the fridge? They should be in my shoe.

Wait…

Ugh. Okay, you get the picture by now, right? I am the dumb. And because I am the dumb, even though I’ve had multiple appointments that take several hours, it took me a while to learn to adequately prepare.

But this last time around, I finally got it together. I whipped out my pump and got down to business.

I want it stated for the record that I was fully covered. Though I also want it stated for the record that I fully support the legal right of women to breastfeed uncovered if they choose! I suppose I just like to give my boobies an air of mystery. And I’ve always been awkward about my body, so there’s that.

Despite keeping my boobies under wraps, just knowing they were being milked was enough to send the doctors into a panic.

“Whoa, you’re busy. I’ll be quick,” they said, eager to quickly exit the room. Not sure what they were afraid of exactly. I mean, given their profession I’ve sure they’ve seen plenty of stuff. Were they intimidated by the beauty of my bosom? Afraid they might somehow be crushed under the weight of my monstrous D cup? Fearful that the sight of my udders hard at work might drive them mad? Who the hell knows.

What I do know is that it never ceases to amaze me how people can be so squeamish about breastfeeding. I’m especially surprised that it would freak out a bunch of medical personnel. I didn’t spend too much time musing on it, because 1) The Dumb and 2) I was more focused on wondering how I could harness this power in the future. Picture it…

NURSE: Sorry, the doctor is running behind schedule. He’ll be in as soon as possible, but it may take a while.

ME (unhooks nursing bra): Behind schedule, you say? So I have time to pump…with my boobs…my big, scary boobs?

DOCTOR: (instantly appearing) No, wait! I can come in now. Everything looks good, kay thanks bye! *disappears before I can unleash the udders in his presence*

Little Man has another doctor’s appointment coming up soon. I will have to try this experiment again. You know, for science or whatever. Or maybe because I just like intimidating people with the girls. I’ll be sure to report back. For now, I’ve gotta sign off. It’s milking time.