The bacon that ruined my life.

The deep freezer contains many wonderful mysteries. As a family of 6 with young kids who eat like 16 year old teenage boys, we go through a crazy amount of food in a month. Without the deep freezer I think we would need to set up camp in the grocery store across the street.

Sometimes digging into the depths of this white, cold box brings fully cooked freezer meals of awesomeness that save time and sanity, but other times you pull out a dud. Last night was one of those times.

My parents are often my meat supplier because as retired military they can still access the rock bottom prices of groceries at a local military base. I decided to use one of these meat gifts for breakfast this morning and threw it into the fridge to thaw last night as I headed out to a last minute date night, equally excited about time with the hubs and breakfast the next morning.

Today when I woke up I remembered, "WE ARE HAVING BACON!!!" For those of you who don't know, bacon and I have quite the love affair. I've even been given the nickname "Bacon Whore" by theatre friends because that is how deep this thing goes. It's a thing. Don't judge.

Now, as an actress who rehearses and performs at night, mornings are not my friend. That being said, my darling, way-too-good-to-me, husband makes breakfast for my kiddos and I stumble out of bed to scoop out the pre-cooked breakfast for the two youngest. He was the bacon cook this morning.

I walked into the living room to the smells of delicious pig fat in the air and as I round the corner to the kitchen I could see that something was not quite right. The bacon looked weird. Normally we are a crispy bacon kind of family but when I beheld the plate that contained my treasure, it looked fatty and slightly petrified. The look alone should have dissuaded me from putting it into my mouth or the fact that my bacon-loving school kids had left it on their plates before heading to school, but as a true bacon follower I disregarded all logic and obeyed the uncontrolled desire to consume it.



As the substance that I thought was bacon touched my lips, I realized that something horrible had happened. Thoughts raced through my head.

WHY WOULD SOMEONE MAKE BACON LIKE THIS?

DO THEY HATE US? DO THEY HATE LIFE ITSELF?

BECAUSE THAT IS THE ONLY EXPLANATION FOR WHY SOMEONE WOULD DESTROY SOMETHING SO SACRED.

So I texted all of this to my husband and the poor guy wrote back that he actually ate this strange pork substance! He said the package actually said uncured pork bellies. What, the what?!?! Why? What does that even mean? Why would you NOT cure it if you knew that curing this same exact belly fat would make bacon? Why waist such a luscious piece of meat by not curing it?

I spit this abomination of bad meat packer foder into the garbage because I couldn't take it. And I'm not one to spit food out! I'm the girl who eats the skunk spray jelly bean when playing Bean Boozled. Food should not be waisted, but what lay upon my tongue was not food.

Needless to say, I'm now skeptical about the very nectar of life: bacon. Can it be redeemed after this experience? I'm honestly not sure. And I'm appalled that the military community has to put up with this terrible product. America owes you an apology and free bacon for life!

My life is a movie script.

Sometimes things happen in my life that are quite out of the ordinary. Strange circumstances like a toilet smashing to the floor seconds after using it or slicing my foot open during a photo shoot on a rogue piece of glass are just a regular part of my life. I also have very touching things happen like the day I met my husband playing in the mud or when my children saw me act for the first time. And sometime down right serious things happen in my life like when I picked up an old man on the side of the road or my youngest had an adoption melt down. Of course, these aren't every day occorunces, but they happen often enough to me that when something like the day I had yesterday occur, my friends just say, "It could only happen to Karissa!" Let's set the scene.


I was feeling under the weather for the third day in a row as I finished up my rehearsal for my upcoming show of "Miracle on 34th Street" at Garden Theatre as I got into my car to drive home. It had been a productive time of genuine connections on stage with my co-actors but I was preparing myself for the stress that await me at home: over-booked schedules and feverish kid as I drove down the highway. The call to my husband letting him know I was driving home had concluded and I was left with my thoughts.

Suddenly, it felt like something hit my front driver side wheel and my car began to thump and bump and jump as a horrible noise was happening. I slowed my 80 mph speed down and crossed three lanes of traffic with my 4-way flashers brightly signaling all who surrounded that I was not O.K. Thankfully, I was able to do this with no incident and was oblivious to how seriously I could have been hurt if my car had decided to respond to the incident by spinning or flipping.

Once I was off the highway, I assessed the damage: tread completely off the tire, wheel well dragging and cracked, front turn signal missing, and front bumper broken and dangling. Tow truck called, while I Periscoped (find me @theactingmom) to pass the time, parents came to the house to watch my four sleeping kids so my husband could be my knight in shining armor and rescue me from the side of the busy Thursday night highway.

The tow truck showed up sooner than I expected and started to lift my vehicle off the group with me still in it! No hello from the tow truck driver. No, "are you all right?" No, "please, get out of the vehicle before I start jacking it to heaven." NOTHING. As I sat in the passenger side seat, I felt myself rise to a higher elevation than one should while broken down on the side of the road. I hurriedly grabbed my script, water bottles and theatre bag as I scurried out into the midnight air.

My knight didn't have time to come rescue me because of the efficiency of the tow driver, so he met me at our mechanic and we drove home, with a stop at McDonald's for really-horrible-non-organic comfort food. No sooner had we said thank you to my Mom for sitting with the kids and my husband laid his head on the pillow after a stressful day then what should transpire but another unfortunate circumstance.

The bedroom door opened, little feet scurried to the bathroom and then I heard moaning. I quietly knocked, opened the door and the eruption of liquids began to pour from my oldest's mouth. All over the floor, himself and anything in between. I coaxed by poor child to aim at the toilet, but the force took over and drenched the wall, vanity, and sink. It looked like a crime scene in that tiny hall bathroom as I cleaned up my son and the mess. The couch was quickly turned into a bed, complete with a vomit bucket and I myself headed to shower, wondering why the house felt so hot.

More incidents happened throughout the night with some of our other children interrupting our sleep complaining of hurting teeth and confusion as to why their roommate wasn't in their bed. After a fitful night, I woke up to the cold that had plagued me the previous days intensified with three kids asking when I was serving breakfast. The house felt warmer than usual, but I chalked it up to a possible fever until I had a cup of liquid caffeine in me.

Took my temperature. No fever. So I went to turn the AC down only to find that it was 81 degrees in the house! Jumped on the phone to call my mechanic about the car that had been dropped off at nearly midnight and then called our AC guy. And what do you suppose happened? It would be too easy if he was available to come out and inspect things in the morning. Instead, he had lost his technician, his receptionist had quit and he was on vacation in another state until Monday. Lovely. Since my brother's family just had their AC  unit fixed yesterday (their life could also be a movie script!), I called for their recommendation but he won't be available until the end of today.


So, I am seated in my bedroom with fans spinning, lines to memorized, a sick kid and two others with boundless energy, laughing. Laughing at how much my past 24 hours is reminiscent of many comedies I've seen on the silver screen and wonder if all this craziness could make me a box office smash, if I only wrote it down.

Negative Nancy vs. Positive Polly // Social Media's Influence

Social media is pretty intwined with our culture, wouldn't you say? It is unavoidable to participate in some way to these artificial forms of community, even if you aren't signed up for Twitter, Linked In or Tublr.  It jumps into normal conversation all the time and I know I'm guilty of it. "Did you see that thing of Facebook?"

I've been on Facebook from the beginning, but it has really lost it's luster. It use to be a great way to connect with the college girls I was mentoring and share photos with across-the-country relatives. Now it is the latest hype on BuzzFeed or an invitation to play a virtual game or a video of a cat doing something cat-like. Facebook has become everyone's platform to be an expert. While I love my friends, sometime I don't really care to hear their opinion on certain topics and our friendship is better off not hear how passionate they are about XYZ without a face-to-face conversation about it. And I'm all for real-live talking about things we might disagree about, to any friends who want to. I came to this silly little corner of the internet to get a fun look into what everyone was doing, how their day is going and what fun new adventure they might be enjoying. But now, Facebook has become a whole lot of yuck.

Debbie Downers, Condemning Carls, Lazy Lennys, and Negative Nancys. 

We are for gay marriage. We are against.

We are for the ethical treatment of bunnies. We eat bunnies.

We support ALS. We think the ice bucket challenge is stupid.

What you are doing is wrong, but I'm not doing anything to help.

I leave Facebook thinking, "Can't we all just get along?" Anyone else?


For all the ads, messed up algorithms and strange permissions Facebook require for use, I have found another form of social media that I adore. INSTAGRAM.

Beautiful pictures, concise commentary, and no one is really offended if you don't "friend" them with a follow. It is a beautiful thing! On Instagram, most of the people I interact with are like-minded strangers. They encourage and uplift me to tackle this crazy thing called life and make me laugh along the way. Sure, I follow friends but since it is not as all-consuming as Facebook to the social media world, I can be a little more selective with whose pictures I see. If you aren't on, I would suggest you join and look through the people I follow. There are some truly inspirational Instagramers (is that a word?) I get to glean a little wisdom, laughter and positivity from every day and that makes me a better wife, mother and person. Win, win, right?


More important than social media it to develop genuine relationships in the community around you. Sure, I can be encouraged by an image and a sentiment on Instagram, but how much more life-giving to find camaraderie and friendship at the park yesterday while all of our kids played together? Social media has it's place and believe me, after 9 straight days of potty training social media was my saving grace, but it shouldn't replace real, honest to goodness face-to-face sharing of life.

Whose life are you sharing in?

Join a gym.
Plan an adventure night.
Meet a friend for coffee.
Frequent the farmers market.

Go out there and really truly connect. It's the only way to really see who the Positive Polly's are in your life. Find them and build a community you can believe in.


P.S. Get a pen pal or make a friend run a marathon. 

Wife of a school teacher

Being married to a school teacher has it's perks.

Summer breaks. 

Weekends and postal holidays off. 

Freshly sharpened pencils.

But at the same time, being married to a school teacher means I feel like I haven't grown up!

As fall approaches, I feel the anxiety of starting a new semester.

Did I pick the right coarse load?

Is there time for a bathroom break before 3rd period?

Will any friends share my lunch period?

And then I remember: I graduated from high school 14 years ago! 


Seriously though, it is pretty cool to get to see my husband the entire summer, all Thanksgiving week and the two weeks surrounding Christmas. You won't hear me complaining about spring break or Craig never working on the weekend. Since he is my best friend, it is amazing to have him around all the time. And what a blast for our kids to get to have their dad in their lives on a consistent and frequent basis. We know this can't happen for every family situation, so we cherish what we have.

Twelve years of public education and four years at university, I became accustomed to fresh beginnings in the fall and the lazy days of June, July and August. Marrying a school teacher means I get to enjoy these same things year after year without the stress to achieve and perform academically. Winning!


Today marks the new school year for my husband, and me by default. January isn't our time for New Year Resolutions, it's now, the beginning on the new school year. As I reflect on last year and look forward to the one that lies ahead, I am optimistic and excited about what is in store.

Last year held trying to win a trip to Rwanda, the 1 year anniversary of our adoption, picking up an old man on the side of the road and a complete lack of blogging. Next year, I hope to get back in shape, blog more, downsize our possessions by half, focus on personal Bible study, and give more talks on healthy eating on a budget. Who knows if this is possible or what will actually take place this next year, but I'm anxious to see where it takes me and my family.

And I'm thankful there won't be any exams at the end of it!

A letter to my 50-year-old self

Dear 50 Year Old Karissa,


Congratulations! You made it to being an empty nester!!! That is quite the accomplishment and 30-year-old Karissa thought you would never get there. But you did, so it is time to celebrate!

You might feel a little nostalgic and sentimental about the years that have passed and all of the memories you have made with your four kids over the years. And a part of you might be missing your sons and daughter and the fun they brought to your daily life when they were preschoolers. It is alright to have those feelings, but I am writing to tell you to KEEP IT TO YOURSELF. Don't share those feelings with the woman walking through the grocery store with a baby strapped to her back, a toddler in the cart and the kindergartener opening a box of cereal onto the aisle floor. Her life is hard, very hard right now. She doesn't need a word from you telling her that she should cherish these times because you are feeling sad that Simon is now in college. She doesn't care. That mom of preschoolers needs a break! So just keep your well-intentioned thoughts to yourself and keep walking.

Here is a reminder of what it is like being a mother of four very small children:

Your days are long. The weekends are short. And you have no time to yourself. None. Not even when everyone is sleeping because that is the only time to get done the laundry/dishes/cleaning/sanity-time for the next day. You say the same things over and over and over again to all of your kids and you are constantly wiping nose/hands/bottoms. A bathroom break for you becomes an anatomy lesson on what makes you a girl and a talk on modesty. Every 15 minutes you are a referee for a fight you didn't see because you were trying to prepare food/crafts/lesson for your crew. There are never enough diapers/ wipes/pretzels/puzzles/books/turns to satisfy your kids and you are constantly navigating between being a life coach and protector.

There are good times. Truly there are. But the physically grueling nature of having preschoolers does not allow you a moment to remember if you showered today let alone think about how short this time will be. Reflection usually comes after something is over, not right in the middle of it.

Many kind, well-meaning 50-year-old women have told me to cherish these times, that they go by so fast, and that I'll miss them. I'm sure that is the case, but for now, it is HURTFUL TO HEAR. It is hurtful, because time has allowed these women to forget what daily life is actually like for me. They just recall the snapshots, the photo album fun and highlight reel of these years. But as I face the day-in, day-out marathon I run and the patience, grace and AMAZING huband that God has given me for this time, I do not need any sentimental statements telling me something I already know.

Fifty-year-old Karissa, HELP THEM. Don't tell them things, DO things for those mothers.

You have more free time that you know what to do with since all of your kids are out of the house. Use some of it to soothe a baby, take a toddler to story time or go for a nature walk with a kindergartener. Listen to the 30 year old mother who needs adult conversation. Don't lecture. Say, "I know," to her when she complains. Give her tips and ideas that you found invaluable WHEN SHE ASKS. Make her dinner and drop it off on a regular basis. Check out books for her kids from the library and drop them off unexpectedly. Bring her coffee during nap time and chat for 30 minutes. She won't ask for help, so go out of your way to do it.

She needs you to tell her she is doing a great job. That is what she needs: someone who has made it to the other side and can be her cheerleader. Be that, not the sentimental one who doles out cherishing advice.

NOW is your time to love on those young moms.


Sincerely,
30 Year Old Karissa

Once upon a time, there was a pack of baby wipes...

As a crunchy, organic, "green" kind of mom, I do not use wipes that often. Sure, I use them to change diapers, but that is about it. I do not fear germs, so sometimes a little brushing of the hands is all I require. Other times, we head to the bathroom and used ol' fashion soap and water with a little elbow grease. I thought it was extremely wasteful to use baby wipes before every meal, or after playing at the playground or because their hands got a little messy at a meal. Besides the fact that then your hands/face had a residue on them that messed up your next meal. Who wants to be eating baby wipes?

That all changed when I added two more children to my brood in one day! Four kids has made me a baby wipe-aholic. I am now a believer in the beauty of these disposable solutions. Wipes have become my best friend. Seriously, people. I can not go ANYWHERE without a LARGE quantity of wipes within arm's reach. The world would end if they were left at home. Let me give you a couple of examples.

Andrew's first experience with chopsticks.

{EXAMPLE #1}

At lunch one day, I had served everyone an age appropriate portion of refried beans and brown rice. For my oldest two, I place it in front of them and encouraged them to eat. For the younger ones, I placed it on the table, instead of on their high chair trays and went to use the bathroom. When I came back, Big had grabbed his bowl off of the table and had attempted to feed himself with his fist. There were refried beans and rice everywhere! I started to get frustrated and then I remembered that I was now a wipes mom. There was no need to fret because I could simply grab a wipe, clean up my child and discard the mess. What a novelty!

{EXAMPLE #2}

Shortly after we returned from Uganda, all four of the kids had snotty noses. There was snot everywhere! I was grabbing tissues left and right and constantly cleaning up liquid-cold from their upper lips, cheeks and even hair. It was exhausted to be on high alert for the viscous discharge that was streaming out of all eight nostrils of my clan. Little woke up from a nap looking white. I am not exaggerating. His beautiful dark complexion had been replaced with dried mucus from forehead to chin and ear to ear. Little's big brown eyes stared at me from under his white mask as if to say, "Why does my face feel so funny?" Tissues were going to do no good for this job, so I headed to the nearest pack of wipes (I have them on the side bar, on the book shelf, on the kitchen counter, in each bathroom and in every bedroom) and started to clean the poor kid up.

Playing in our home-away-from-home in Uganda.

{EXAMPLE #3}

(The best/worst for last, which involved a bathroom incident, in case you want to skip it)

We were playing at our local children's museum and I smelled something funny. I thought to myself, "Man! If that is me, I REALLY need to shower." The kids played the morning away and as the day went on, I would sling one of my little guys onto my back and into the Ergo. When Little was on, I would think, "Maybe I was imagining that smell..." When Big was on I would think, "I am so stinky! Wait a minute. Oh, no. He's pooped." And that should have been my clue that I needed to get my pack of baby wipes and head to the nearest changing station. But they were in the car. I had broken my new rule as a mother of four: never be out of arm's reach of a pack of baby wipes. So, I let the stink ride until the other three were safely buckled in the car and I proceeded to take Big off of my back. And that was when I realized that wipes weren't going to handle it. Big's stink had soaked through his diaper, through his shorts and through MY shirt. To say I was appalled would be an understatement. But what is a mother to do in that kind of situation? I grabbed that glorious pack of unscented Target brand baby wipes, cleaned my son and then attempted to clean my back from the nastiness that had been left there. There was still some residual smell, but I knew that those moist cloth segments had saved the back of my driver's side seat from a horrible fate.



If these three incidents, as well as the parasite-diapers dripping down the leg and the eating of handfuls of dirt didn't make me a wipes believer, I would never be converted! Being a mother of four has truly changed a lot about me, but the think I am most grateful it has changed is my freedom to wipe and throw away. Whoever invented that little tote-able pack has my undying admiration.

I have the wrong wedding date.

A very funny thing happened Monday as I was finishing up our homestudy paperwork and sending in my passport for renewal. I discovered that all these years, I have been celebrating the wrong wedding date. I know that this might seem odd to a lot of you. A girl should know when she got married, right? Apparently, I do not.

Let me explain myself. I thought that I got married to my best friend and fabulous husband, Craig on July 23, 2004. It was a Friday evening wedding in the hottest hot of the summer. Sometimes I think we were married on the 24th of July, because we did debate back and forth about a Friday wedding versus a Saturday wedding. But this is not the issue I discovered today.

Our wedding video was made by a good friend of ours, Christian. {SIDE NOTE: Christian is doing an awesome series on YouTube called "Street Food" about local food in China and you should totally check it out.} When he gave us our video, he let us know that he put the wrong year on it. It would have been a HUGE pain to go back and switch it, since he had already rendered everything and spent HOURS watching the documentary style footage we had filmed for weeks leading up to the big day. The date on the wedding video states we were married July 23, 2003. That would be 1 year earlier then the actual date. But this is also not the issue I discovered today about my wedding date.

The thing I discovered to today was a new tidbit I did not know about my own wedding date. Are you ready for it? I discovered that I actually DIDN'T get married on July 23, 2004. It was pretty shocking, let me tell you. As I was about to stuff the certified copy of my marriage license into the envelop to mail away with my passport, I happened to look down at the date I got married. It stated that I was married on June 23, 2004. June? What? I was not a June bride? The Office of Vital Statistics got it wrong. I pick up the phone and called. No answer. I try again, this time retrieving my original marriage license. I read over it and discover something.

My pastor wrote down the wrong date! And my maid of honor and Craig's best man signed it, with the wrong date! And the notary public notarized it, with the wrong date! And forever and ever amen, we legally were married on the wrong date! This is craziness!!!!

After 7 years of marriage, I have just discovered that while I thought I was married on July 23, 2004, according to the state of Florida, I was actually married in June 23, 2004. Wow. It was a little shocking to realize this mistake that has been in writing for 7 years. I laughed and laughed when I saw it, after I got over my shock. What can you do? Enjoy life and laugh about the little bumps along the way.

So, I guess Craig and I can now start celebrating two anniversaries each year!

It doesn't feel like Christmas

It really doesn't feel like Christmas yet. Not to me, anyway. Sure, our tree is up and the decorations are all around. I am sending out Christmas cards and holiday music is playing through the house all day and night. Most of our Christmas presents have been purchased and wrapping is about to begin. We are doing the advent calender with crafts every day for the kids. There is just one little problem with the Christmas season this year: I can still wear summer dresses in the middle of December!!! That is a HUGE problem in my book!

When I am singing about the frightful weather outside and the toasty fire, I shouldn't be in sandals and a sleeveless top. Honestly, isn't that a problem for anyone else? How can I enjoy a warm cup of hot chocolate if I still have my air conditioning on? It feels odd to walk around the neighborhood to look at Christmas light displays wearing nothing more then a t-shirt and shorts. Seriously, Florida, didn't you get the memo? Christmas is fast approaching and you aren't even making a hint of an effort to cool things off! Couldn't you just be a little kinder and maybe cool it off to the 50's? Is that asking too much? This non-Floridian girl thinks not.

The problem with the park today

There was a problem with the park today. The weather deceived me into thinking it was a lovely day and that fall was almost here. There was a faint breeze in the air as I stepped out of my house and the humidity had run away, possibly trailing hurricane Irene up the east coast. A faint smile spilled across my face as I buckled the children into the car, thinking to myself, "I love this time of year." I was grateful for the momentary relief and even asked at the Starbucks barista if pumpkin spiced lattes were back on the menu (they come back September 6th, in case you love them as much as I do). At the park we played in the cooler air and had a great time. Sure, the play ground equipment was wet, but the sun was hidden behind the clouds and we had the facility to ourselves. This was going to be a fantastic fall morning and I was thrilled!

Then things turned for the worse as we headed for a potty break. Little did I know that Florida had a cruel trick up it's sleeve as we entered the bathroom. Upon leaving the bathroom, I noticed my old enemy had reappeared: humidity. All of the sudden my shirt that had blown gloriously in the breeze began to stick to me. Little dots of perspiration started to show themselves through the fibers of the cotton and the temperature shifted into the hellish realms that we have been use to for the past 4 months. Right at the moment, two of my theatre friends showed up and I was drenched. My mascara was running under my eyes because of the beads of sweat cascading down my brow and my 20 month old daughter chose that moment to have me hold her.

Ugh and double ugh. My son's clothes were drenched from the wet playground equipment, but not his hair began to show signs of extreme sweating. "This can't be the end of August," I thought to myself. "Isn't September tomorrow? Isn't it time to decorate for fall? Apple picking? Pumpkins." Not here, my friends. Here in sunny Florida, we still must wear our bathing suits in public if we want to say cool.

Strangest Dream

For the first time, Theatre Baby had the stomach flu. Yuck! As a first time mom, this we a scarey experience. You never want to see your sweet little baby going through something like that, but Rockstar and I rose to the challenge and took care of our baby with flying colors. We were pretty sleep deprived yesterday, so Rockstar suggested I take a nap (how sweet, huh?). Here is where the dream part comes.


I went to sleep and my imagination led me here:

I lived here. In a corner loft apartment with tons of windows...

...but the floors by the windows were made of ice, so it was hard to walk around the apartment. You always feared for your life!

And I owned a polar bear that looked like a grizzly bear. I released him into the wild and he was very angry at me for doing this. So...

...he climbed to the top of the windmill right outside my window. But the windmill...

...looked like this. The bear climbed to the top and was terrorizing the town. It was getting pretty ugly, not to mention...

...I was expecting my 2nd child.

I was very concerned about the placement of the table with the 2nd one on the way because...

...it was too close to the ice ledge by the window. Never mind that I had...

... A GRIZZLY BEAR OUTSIDE MY WINDOW!

When I woke up and told Rockstar about it he busted a gut! He thought it was the most hilarious thing ever! His immediate suggestion was to expose this dream to my Facebook posse. I declined. Did I really want my close friends and family knowing how crazy I was? So instead, I decided to share it with all of you! Even though some of you know me in real life, I hoped my blog buddies would be more accepting of the crazy inner workings of my mind.


Thanks for letting me share!



What is the wierdest dream you remember and are willing to share?
I'd love to hear all about it!!!

Summer is here

It is officially summer here in the sunny state of Florida.


You wonder how I know that? This is why:


1. I sweat when I blowdry my hair.


2. My make-up has melted off my face from my walk from the door to the car.


3. My hair is constantly frizzy, no matter how many products I put in it.


4. Upon the return to my car after grocery shopping, I find a sauna instead of my car.


5. Theatre Baby's hair is drentched in sweat just from sitting in the car seat.


6. I am longing for turtlenecks (or at least the cold weather that would allow me to wear them).


7. The tourist have gotten wise and have stopped coming.


8. My air conditioning doesn't know what a "break" is.


9. The playgrounds are sparse because the metal slides could bake cookies.


10. I wake up in a puddle of sweat in the middle of the night because I have a sheet on.



Hope the weather is nicer where you are!

The first breast pump

I'm a proud breastfeeding mamma' and I attend the local La Leche League meeting every month (more for friends then anything else). Don't worry; I am not one of those "whip out your boob anywhere because it is for the good of my baby" kind of people. I do breast feed in public, but I use a wrap for discretion and I always try to find a secluded spot.


That being said, I was sent an article from The New Yorker about the subject, and you can check it out here. In this article it had this picture that I just HAD to share because it cracks me up!

Was this socially acceptable to have an illustration of a breast at that time period? And does anyone else notice what Rockstar pointed out to me: she is wearing a corset? Pumping with a corset does not seem every comfortable.



Boy, am I glad I don't have to do that!