Have you seen my dignity?

I enjoy being a mother, there are new joys everyday. I am in a constant whirlwind of love and learning with my new companion, Owen. I remember all the big ideas I had in regards to motherhood. I swore I'd never be caught dead in public with spit up on my shirt, I even packed an extra shirt in my diaper bag for the first few times out. I vowed to never dress like a bum-mom. I vowed never to talk in a squeaky baby voice and replace r's with w's in words. Alas, I have failed.

I have done a lot of things I thought I would never do, I am experiencing a metamorphosis, but instead of a beautiful butterfly, there is a slightly disheveled, gym shorts, t-shirt, and pony tailed mom bursting forth from this cocoon.


I remember waking up one morning in 11th grade endowed with my genetic burden of an ample bosom. Most girls my age would have killed for my chest, but I just saw it as a hindrance. I simply strapped on my bra and two sports bras in order to fit in my cheer-leading uniform, and tried to act like nothing changed, even though I did start to get greeted with a hug by some of my male class-mates. But, I digress.

Now, I have been blessed again after giving birth. I knew there was a high possibility, every woman on my Mom's side of the family is well endowed. After years of modesty and keeping the "girls" under control, I have mastered whipping them out in almost any location under a small thin fabric "hooter hider" and taking care of business, before Owen can even get out a full bellow. My most amazing feat, was feeding Owen while in flight on a crop duster sized airplane, sitting next to what had to be an NFL linebacker, all the while reading my in flight magazine.

Is this what I am reduced to? My greatest accomplishments in life are breastfeeding discreetly in awkward locales? Surely not! These are the things the pregnancy magazines neglect to tell you. Their models are always spit up free, with flat ironed hair, flawless makeup, and babies who never have their poo run out of the sides of the diaper onto their designer onsies. Nope, they don't tell you that you'll turn into a one woman dairy farm. They don't tell you that you'll just be glad that you're showered and got to brush your teeth before you have to attach a 12 plus pound squirming baby to your body, when you're getting ready for an outing. This, they leave out of their glossy pages of ads for designer strollers and fancy Swedish high chairs.

I have not given up hope yet, I have successfully made it to the grocery store with mascara on one eye, and a healthy dose of chap stick. I am doing my best to wear my khaki shorts instead of my little brother's practice shorts from football. As for the t-shirts, something about a blouse or non-cotton tee, seems to upsets Owen's stomach resulting in spit-up. Slowly but surely I will find the secret that those magazine mom's know. I will stop repeating in a high pitched voice to Owen how much "I weally weally lub him" (Well at least in public).