I Have a Really Great Ass

Hello Beloved Readers!

So, there I am, chatting with my dear friend and co-worker, let's call her Mama K, on Jeans Friday at work. Part of my cushy office job includes casual Fridays. So we were talking about how neither of us has dedicated the time and energy to our casual wardrobe that we have (well, she has, and I'm working on it) to our work wardrobe. So she's criticizing the jeans she's wearing, and describes herself as having fat thighs.

My brain exploded.

This woman is GORGEOUS. She is slender but still has boobs and an ass. She has lovely eyes, nice skin and a beautiful smile. Her posture is excellent. She always looks put together. I could make a list of 20 men and probably half a dozen women who would be happy to drool over her at a moment's notice given the chance, without even trying. And she described herself as fat.

My heart broke. I immediately interrupted her and insisted that she was being absurd, and the next time she said that, I would be forced to smack her, which would get me fired, and I can't afford to lose my job. So she agreed, in the interest of my family's financial well-being, not to say that again. But I doubt I convinced her that she is gorgeous. Perhaps I should make the list and set appointments for each of these people to come describe what they like about her body. I haven't finished my sexual harassment prevention training yet, but I'm pretty sure I can't do that within the confines of our employer's policies.

This is what we do to ourselves, us women. Sometimes we're half-kidding, trying for self-deprecating humor or maybe fishing for a compliment. But even so, the little girl part of our brain hears "I have fat thighs"and believes it. And we go around with that hurt on our heart, second-guessing every bite of food or moment of not being on a treadmill, feeling bad, lazy, undeserving.

If someone does that to Jackie, I will rip them a new one. But more likely, Jackie will have to fight hard to learn NOT to do that to herself. And her best shot? Me. The best chance Jackie has to love her body, however her body turns out, is to witness me loving mine. I must be proud and confident. I must show her that I feel beautiful and sexy and strong and deserving. Even with cellulite on the back of my thighs. Even if I gain fifty pounds. Even if my hair is grey. Even if I can't take Parkour with her (I'm so going to take martial arts and Parkour with my kids if I can possibly get away with it). I must teach Jackie to love herself by loving myself. Starting right damn now.

So here goes.

I have a really cute ass, and a curvy little waist. I'm strong and adaptable. I have huge, beautiful eyes, and a huge, sparkling smile. I have a strong back and shoulders like a swimmer, and thighs like a yogi. I am beautiful and sexy and strong and deserving.

So are you. Tell me five things you love about your body. Right now. Out loud. And no mitigating statements - "I like my thighs." not "I like my thighs sometimes," or "I like my hair when it cooperates." Just "I have great hair." Say them out loud. See what that feels like. If it's hard, do it again. And again. Until it feels comfortable. Until you are convinced. And extra points for leaving them as a comment.

Believe it. Right now. This bullshit stops with us.

Much love,
Suzi

Old Friends

Hello Dear Boobjuicers and Friends!

This week finds Suzi and team back in the old stomping grounds of suburban Maryland. When we locals say "suburban Maryland," we mean suburbs of DC, not Baltimore. I don't know why, it's a thing. But I'm in the area where I was born and raised and schooled (very well, thank you Montgomery County), staying with one of my longest-standing and dearest friends, RG. We started off costuming for the high school theatre group (I used up all my sewing interest for my lifetime). We sang together in choir. We cried over dumb boys together (don't we always pick the dumb ones for years before we figure it out and pick nice, smart partners [hopefully] for longer-term coupling?). I can tell her anything. And do.

So of course Robert puked on the floor this morning. I came up from changing Jackie to find Matt comforting Robert and Rachel cleaning up the fallout. Nothing like staying with other parents to minimize the horror of parenthood. This is after we had dinner at the house of some other dear friends, with an 18 month old girl, and we arrived with Jackie having blown out both ends of her diaper with some traveler's diarrhea. So we went straight to the changing table, stripped her clothes into a plastic bag, and I essentially gave her a sponge bath with baby wipes.

I remember going out to dinner with friends, trying fancy drinks, eating amazing food, going to movies, having book club discussions, staying up late into the night talking and laughing and having selfish, delicious fun. My life is so much richer now than before my kids. But when you're washing poop out of baby jeans and vomit out of preschooler t-shirts, sometimes one gets a little nostalgic.

Anyway today I am so, so grateful for my dear and wonderful friends. I hope you all are so richly blessed as I have been to have these amazing people in my life and my heart.

Much love,
Suzi

Why Breasts Are Sexy

That ought to wake some folks up, yes?

I realize the people who really need this post aren't reading it. But maybe we can get this point out into the general population.

Breasts are sexy BECAUSE they are for feeding children.

As little mammals, programmed deep in our DNA to make copies of ourselves, we are often, indeed I might hazard to say mostly, attracted to features in mates which say "I will help you make lots of healthy copies of yourself." Curvy hips? Room for babies. Healthy skin, hair, strong muscles? Healthy parent, lots of good DNA. Strong muscles also says good provider, feed the babies. As do luscious breasts. Unfortunately we have divorced breasts from babies in our society, to the detriment of both. But when you make peace with their biological purpose, you can make room for the fact that breasts are for sexual pleasure AND nourishing offspring.

I am attracted to a lot more in my husband than all the delicious healthy baby advertising features which I will not describe on this blog (because he would feel shy, I think, but suffice to say he has them in spades). He's smart, he's kind, he's funny, he's interesting, he's handsome (wandering back towards healthy babies perhaps...) We are MORE than just mammals looking to make copies of ourselves. Obviously sex is for more than procreation. This is also evolutionary genius. Make it yummy, good for you, fun, and the little creatures will want to do it a lot. To make more babies. Not all of us want little copies of ourselves pooping on the furniture and crashing the minivan. But deep in our core, that drive is very, very strong.

So if a mama chooses not to breastfeed, or can't, am I saying her boobs aren't hot? This is such a ridiculous suggestion I hate to dignify it, but someone's going to ask. After a man has a vasectomy, is his penis less desirable? Are we done with that now? Okay thanks.

Last caveat. I can just hear someone saying this is a not gay-bi-trans-friendly post. I sincerely hope it does not come across that way. My heart is rainbow striped. Gay sex is obviously just as natural as straight sex, just ask the cute gay penguins, or George Takei. Perhaps one of our lovely lavender friends will leave a comment analyzing my point in the context of the wonderful variety of human sexuality. I am clearly not qualified to do so. I do know some pretty hot gay breastfeeding mamas though.

I love and celebrate you all.
Suzi

I have never been so grateful to have to pump breastmilk in my life.

Dear readers,

I am very pleased to say that I survived my training day at our cooperative preschool. And so did all the kids, even. But I am totally wiped. I'm actually an introvert.

I'll wait for you to stop laughing.

Ready?  Okay. So, introverts are not necessarily shy. We can be quite outgoing. Evidence me. What we are, in fact, is people who rebuild our energy via solitude. Ahhh. So we get tired and overwhelmed and grumpy when we are around too many people for too long. I first started to realize this waaaaay later than ideal. See, it would be great if parents sniffed out what their children's flavor was on this scale and subsequently taught the kiddos how to take care of their own needs for solitude or company, but come on, which of us has time to Meyers Briggs the kids? We're trying to keep them fed and alive, here. Maybe even clean, on a good day. So by the time I started to noticed that I need quiet me time, preferably alone in my own home, every day, or I get grumpy, I was well into my 20's. Maybe even 30 something. I really clued in when I was on a company offsite, which had been designed as WE MUST ALL BE TOGETHER HAVING FUN ALL THE TIME BECAUSE WE ARE TEAM BUILDING!!!! Fail. I grumped off to my hotel room after lunch on day 2 and fell dead asleep. Then I worked out and then by dinner I was a nice person again. It was miraculous.

So, for someone like me, being one of five grownups in a group of 17 preschoolers for 4+ hours is even more freaking exhausting than it already is just by virtue of being one of five grownups in a group of 17 preschoolers. So by the time Snack rolled around and I closed myself into the Art Room to pump, I was so, so, so in need of that quiet break. I just breathed and sat and enjoyed the much closer to quiet environment. I was so sad to see the timer on my PJ hit 17 minutes (I probably only needed like 12 to pump). But I was refreshed enough to go play "Monsters Chase Mommy Suzi, Mommy Suzi Falls Down, Monsters Say They Will Eat Her and Bury Her in Woodchips." It was fun. It was a beautiful morning and I got to both run around and lie down. It was worth every wood chip I had to pick out of my hair and pants.

I think I'll send our preschool teachers chocolates. Like, every day. Forever.

Much love,
Suzi

PS - Hubby, Please, please please, don't get sick on our shift day...

High Finance, Drama, and Breastmilk!

Hello Dear Readers!

So, this morning, I had a very exciting work opportunity, to present to our decision making committee. It came about somewhat suddenly and I've been going mach 2 with my hair on fire getting ready for a couple weeks. This is a high profile assignment, and my first opportunity to speak to this committee since we merged with a larger company.

You can tell where I'm going with this, can't you? Well, in case y'all are anxious like me, let me spoil the ending - everything turns out okay.

So I get up nice and early (for once) to get to work nice and early (for once) while still leaving Hubby Matt the car to do some grocery shopping (thanks honey!) that I just didn't make happen this weekend. Technically that's my job, the way we've divided things up, but I finished my meal planning and list making this morning, and that's the part that he really doesn't want to do (and where I have the comparative advantage anyway, says EconoDork Mama Suzi). (Aren't you glad I spoiled the ending? I mean how much more annoying would my tangential babbling be if you were wondering if I sprung a leak in the middle of my presentation? Which I did not.) Anyway the material point of this paragraph is that I last nursed Jackie at like 5, 5:30 this morning.

As usual, our monthly Fancy Committee meeting ran long. Like longer than I anticipated. And I'm at the end of the agenda. And I usually nurse Jackie around 6:30 or 7. So I'm starting to worry... check time on phone, check agenda, try to surreptitiously check breasts for fullness, pretending that I'm just cold and crossing my arms.... write note on boss's papers next to me, "Got to take a mama break, back 20-25 minutes." He nods sympathetically, with a hopeful but perhaps slightly worried look... ZOOM! Walk briskly to that office! Set up that PJ's Comfort! Massage those breasts! Apply that coconut oil! Dial in to that conference call - MUTE IT FOR GOD's SAKE! Okay now... relax. FAST! No really, relax. Oh, okay. Deep breaths. Neck stretches. Listen to the fascinating asset allocation discussion... ahhh.... look out window at pretty view, think about cute baby... she's so cute, you know, and when I came out of the bathroom this morning she was peeking like a little prairie dog over the edge of the Pack-n-Play next to the bed... ARE WE DONE YET? No, of course not. More full from not nursing since 5:30. Argh. Relax.... still not on the second to last agenda item... now we are... but the girls are done! Okay, GO GO GO! Store that breastmilk (totally could have just left it on my desk and closed the door, but anyway). Button up that shirt. Grab materials. Dash to fridge, put milk away. Dash back to conference room. WAIT. deep breath. Look down. Shirt on? No weird drips or coconut oil? Okay, good. Composure. I am a calm, confident woman, and I know this presentation flat. Go in.

"Any other questions? Well then Suzanne, you're just in time." "Ah, fabulous. So, I'm sure you all looked at our pretty charts and graphs..." Deep breaths, speak slowly.

And our proposed product passes! WHEEE!

Seriously who needs to be a cat-suit clad international woman of mystery when you've got a financial calculator and a breastpump? And I firmly believe the universe is on the side of the mamas.

Much love,
Suzi

Rally, Preschool, and CPR

Hello Dear Readers!

This weekend found me Single Momming it as I had sent my husband home to cheer up his parents and play IT support. Recall that colon cancer sucks. Gary is doing very well all things considered. But the suckage is undisputed. Well, I'm pleased to report that not only did I have the same number of kids at the end of the weekend as I did at the beginning of the weekend, and the house was still standing, but we actually had a nice time! I got an absurd quantity of laundry done (for some reason I'm really good at cranking through laundry), the dishes done, I made soup and chicken stock, Robert and I made cookies, we had friends over to dinner, and - sit down for this one - we went to a rally. The last thing remotely resembling a political demonstration which found me in attendance was in 1996. The environmental canvas I worked for took over a town counsel meeting. I forget why. We didn't want them to do something or other. But generally I don't like large group political demonstrations of any sort. I dislike crowds, and some idiot always starts chanting "eat kittens" or something else which is clearly nonsense but with which it is difficult to disassociate oneself if one is standing in the same large group of sign wavers.

So why go to this one? Ah, well, just one step removed from a Rally to Support Moms Pumping Breastmilk in the Workplace, this was about improving the birth experience for mamas and babies in this country. (Birth rally on Labor Day - get it? tee hee.) Recall my VBAC story. This gets me where I live, as it were. Actually come to think of it I have no idea what people mean when they say that - but this really matters to me. My heart said I have to put my day off where my heart is and show up. So we did. Me and Preschooler and Baby and some snacks and a stroller and the ergo carrier and purse and diaper bag... thank goodness it wasn't some huge, tightly packed crowd. Actually it was about the mellowest rally ever. Like a giant play date. With midwives and doulas and other radical wacky folk like that. It was awesome. I met interesting mamas working to help mamas and babies, many of them as an avocation and passion like me. We didn't even get a sunburn.

Fast forward three days. We went to our lovely co-op preschool for a sort of dress-rehearsal half day today. Have I mentioned how much I love my nice quiet office, with a door, and a computer, and assignments that make it totally legit to sit still and ignore all humans for minutes on end? I was totally overstimulated the minute I walked in the door. And at that point only three preschoolers were there, and one of them was mine. This bodes ill for me doing any co-op shifts this year. Mostly of course that will be my SAHD hubby's job, but I will be on call in case he is ill or something. Eek. So I took Jackie downstairs to the young toddlers room for a bit. Surely that will be more mellow, right? Sure, until she chokes on watermelon. Another mama complimented me on how calmly I handled it, just getting up from the table, carrying Jackie a few feet away, and beginning my Red Cross rescue for choking infant maneuvers, just as I was so well trained by that fine and important organization. Poor kiddo really had a chunk lodged in there. And now I'm convinced all the other parents think I'm a horrible, negligent mother who nearly kills her daughter on a regular basis.

Sigh.

I'm a really good investment advisor... Seriously I've never killed a single client.

Much love,
Suzi

Cleverness, Cuteness, and Then Not So Much

Hello Dear Readers!

I'm feeling terribly clever at the moment. I noticed a spot of Something Suspicious in one of the more complicated, labyrinthine parts of my PJ's Comfort just now, at work. Couldn't get it all the way out with a straightened paperclip, even under hot running water. So I just nuked it in a mug of water for a couple minutes. Whatever it is, now it's sterile!

Also, I must share that Jackie is really adorable searching for a boob in bed with her eyes closed and her tongue out. "aaaaahhh?"

Lastly, I want to express how frustrated, frightened, and angry I feel watching our legislators, supposedly educated men, trivialize and misunderstand rape and resultant pregnancies. Lots of folks rightly point out that when our legislative body is overwhelmingly composed of one sub-set of the population (crusty old white guys), you get skewed policy. I want for my daughter a world where a bunch of crusty old white guys would still understand how human reproduction works and that rape is rape is rape, is horrible, is much too common, and is not the victim's fault or responsibility. Ever. Why aren't we there yet? Totally unacceptible.

Much love,
Suzi

PS - this post is another great example of the constantly conflicting impulses in my brain, like the previous post points out, leading to the crazy. Or at least the stressed and anxious.