Turn Off the Flashers!


Picture this:

A fairly busy medical waiting room filled with women and quite a few well-behaved children (thanks to the cartoons). I walked in, had a very pleasant chat with the check-in clerk, and shuffled to the back of the seating area to an open seat. I turned, sat, and FLASH!

3 feet from my face a poster proudly displayed a new mother breastfeeding her baby. Okay, that’s fine. I am in support of breastfeeding and its awareness…I just wasn’t quite so prepared to be aware right at that moment. As I proceeded on with the appointment’s activities I saw multiple posters from a safe distance in expected regions of billboards. Still, these posters seemed to be everywhere.

I went to have the mandatory appointment potty break, shut the door…FLASH. Hello, Dolly! I mean, really. There are some life events here that when at all possible should be done separately and with a bit of privacy! Breastfeeding and making a tinkle are two such events!  

The thing is, I saw more photographed boobage in 1 hour than in all the billboards and media advertisement the rest of the day. I know debates are raging about the natural beauty of the body’s intended functions vs sexual exploitation, but it felt a bit like I had walked into an adult magazine section of the hospital. Every wall seemed to have something on it- trying to get an ultrasound was like being trapped in a pornado. There was no escape.

There is just something about seeing nudity when you aren’t expecting it that naturally shocks. WARN a person before dropping trou, for the love of Christmas carols! If you unexpectedly flash me with the headlights, expect a deer in the headlight look.


Okay, I had to take a break from blogging to answer a phone, at which point I became informed via Facebook that August 26 is National Go Topless Day. Well, I appreciate the written notice. I will prepare accordingly.  

By the time I left the clinic, even though I am all about supporting the breastfeeders, I felt like quoting Delta Burke from Designing Women:

“I don’t know why Charlene insists of breastfeeding this baby. It’s like some kind of epidemic. Anywhere I go, anytime of the day or night I see these women whipping themselves out and acting like public filling stations. They act like just because there’s a baby attached, it’s not a breast anymore! Can you see me unleashing these things outdoors? All Hell would break loose!”

Again, the kid’s gotta eat…no problem there. Hypocricy in society? Oh yeah. Still, these posters had a major problem. They were AIRBRUSHED. There is no justice.  

The babies were lovely and clean, the mothers had on clean, fashionable shirts of a non t-shirt or nursing nature and free of any stains, hair was perfectly coiffed, and each mother was smiling and did not have a semblance of a shadow under her perfectly made up eyes. I bet these women don’t have cellulite either.

The deer in the headlights is now staring you down, Honey.  I know you are on the wrong side of this road. It’s one thing to pop up and pop out, but this was NOT listed in the “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” cliché list.

The regular clinics have inspiring prints of soldiers carrying fellow battle buddies or soaring eagles. Why not go with that theme? Moms teaming up to take on a play date or maybe an inspiring dream like…an organized diaper bag. A nice picture of a mother and child celebrating successful potty training moments? Or how about the “report a friend in need” posters… a picture of an exhausted mother sound asleep on the couch while her kids destroy the home and write on her face in Sharpie.

I am a MOM. I usually look like it in some form. Even on days where I am a cute mom, I have a diaper bag and stroller in tow…and usually crushed goldfish residue on my leg. I have come to terms with the fact that my bikini days are gone and that I will not ever look like I did pre-baby without some airbrushing…but when you flash your headlights at me and you’ve edited the look of MOTHERHOOD, prepare to be run off the road.

As I swerved out of the office I saw one last poster on the wall that read:

“Friends are like wedgies. It feels so good when you pick out a good one.”

So true.  

The place of wedgies, disrobing in front of strangers, an over-abundance of breast bearing is concerned with HIPPA and privacy acts. Okay then.

No wonder women group up and immediately delve into otherwise unmentionable topics; it’s our reality. It doesn’t have to be this way. Help a sister out.

Turn off your headlights and hit the hazards.



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