There are a few things breastfeeding moms should never have to worry about. Okay. Maybe there's just one.
Buying a wedding dress.
Yep. Not something you like to think about while caressing your large brown sunflower nipples with lanisoh and cool gelly pads. But I did.
For some reason that I have yet to figure out (pregnancy hormones, perhaps), I agreed to have a church wedding 3 months after having my daughter. I really wanted it to be later, but I gave into peer pressure (read: persistent husband), and there I was, planning a wedding while trying to figure out why my daughter was pooping green sludge and blood (amongst other things) while rubbing large amounts of prep H on my own poor asshole. What a lovely combination.
I was bitter, frustrated, and um, bitter. My mother-in-law was bitching to my husband about MY flower choices, my sister-in-law was bitching to my husband about the bridesmaid dress choices (choose a black dress you like and wear it... what's there to complain about?), and I was complaining to my husband about not sleeping, not eating (elimination diet), and the worst of all tragedies, not fitting into my wedding gown.
So at about 1-month post-pardum, I stopped my nightly rants and crying sessions and hit the only bridal shop in a 100 mile radius.
A Southern Wedding.
Perfect. Just what I wanted.
I admit that the store actually had a lot of lovely dresses (intermixed with some total "My-name-is-Kristen-and-I'm-yer-new-Miss-Mississippi"), particularly in my price range and size - "way larger than I ever wanted to be in a wedding gown or any gown for that matter." But no matter how big you are, nothing beats having to tell the lovely 19-year-old engaged sales girl Amanda-Jean that you "need a dress you can breastfeed in."
I bet she never heard that before.
I mean, like I wasn't under enough stress, I had to buy a wedding dress based soley on whether I could whip my tit out in a reasonably discrete manner and nurse my daughter. On my fucking wedding day. In the cool teal studebaker marked "just married" as we drove off. In the hallway of the boat deck (our reception locale - a large boat). In our honeymoon suite. Ack.
But, the young commission-motivated salesgirl grabbed a bunch of choices, and away I went to the dressing room. And there I was - trying on wedding dresses I wouldn't have even looked twice at and crying at the prospect of having to get my pictures taken looking like a large beached whale in white. Oh, and all while the salesgirl bounced my infant daughter outside the curtain. Let's just say, it was not the wedding dress shopping trip in my dreams - or even in my wildest imagination.
Thankfully, I found a great halter dress (unhooked at the neck - even during my wedding mass... woohoo) with a corset back (great for sucking in the mom scooch) that was rather pretty and relatively inexpensive. And it looked fabulous.
So, if it wasn't apparent to you before this post, it's pretty obvious now. I'm pretty damn talented - you know, nursing in a wedding gown and all.
And I have no shame. But you probably already knew that.
YAY! Photos (sorry, no bfing ones though)
Come visit me here for a little potty mouth, er, talk. I need all the help I can get.