A Recalcitrant Wife and Mother Tells All

Tag: tammie

That time I sprayed breast milk all over my dentist

Have I ever told you about the time I accidentally sprayed breast milk all over my dentist?


Oh honey. Pull up a chair—this is a juicy one… so to speak.

Honestly, I would have rather been at home cradling my newborn son’s sweet little blue face to my beach-ball-sized bosoms, but I just couldn’t wait another day—I had to get to the dentist. It was an emergency.

I’m a “woman of a certain age.” Oh fine, I’ll tell you. I’m 43. And like most of my friends born in the ’60s and ’70s, my teeth are falling apart. I don’t know if it’s because we didn’t have the same preventative dental care back then or because I didn’t do a very good job brushing the Razzles and Now and Laters off my teeth, but by the time I was a senior in high school, every single one of my back molars was more filling than tooth. (Sorry, Mom.)

And the metal fillings from back then? They had a shelf life. By the time I was 30, every single one of those fillings had needed to be replaced.

All that drilling and refilling takes a toll on the old chompers.

I got my first crown when I was 35.

And then when I was pregnant with Bucket Head, it was obvious that I was going to need another crown.

But I was pregnant! And going to the dentist is the only time I get the good drugs! It would have to wait.

I bided my time for the rest of my pregnancy, chewing only on one side of my mouth and avoiding anything too hot, cold, sweet, or crunchy. It sucked. And then apparently while I was giving birth and biting on that leather strap out in the woods (not really, but that’s what it felt like) I cracked that compromised molar somethin’ fierce. I would need to get to the dentist as soon as I could remove the ice-pack from my nethers.

My husband had to work that day, so I called my neighbor and BFF, Tammie, and asked if she would be so kind as to drive me and newborn Bucket Head to the dentist and hold Bucket Head in the waiting room while I got my new temporary crown. “It will take two hours, tops.”

She agreed, God love her.

We timed it perfectly, or so we thought.

We got there a little early, and I nursed baby Bucket Head in the waiting room. Then he fell asleep in Tammie’s arms as I waited to be called into the back.

I was really scared. I hate having dental work done. It riles every single one of my freakishly heightened senses and I usually get prescribed valium for the night before and the morning of my procedure.

But I didn’t want to do that since I was nursing. I was drug-free and more nervous than a virgin at a prison rodeo.

As luck would have it, the dentist was running behind, and our perfectly timed breast feeding was for naught.

I’ll never forget it as long as I live. There I was, fully reclined in the dentist chair—mouth wide open, eyes tightly shut against the bright light, suction tube slurping away while the dentist drilled… and drilled… and drilled. I had my iPod rocking in my ears so I wouldn’t hear any of it. But the song ended, and in that 3 second lull between songs, I heard my baby cry.

Game over.

The tingling started. Then I felt the slightest bit of wetness in my ginormous nursing bra. I squeezed my eyes shut harder and prayed my breast pads would soak up the run-off.

The drilling persisted. My dentist, also a mother, kept stopping every few seconds to ask if I was okay, “Do you need me to stop?”

“No, keep going! He’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure? Do you want to go see him?”

“NO. The Novocain! It might wear off. Just do it. But hurry. I’m starting to leak.”

Suddenly, Bucket Head’s cries were the only thing I could hear, even over the drilling and the music on my headphones. My sweet little baby needed me, and my milk bags were responding to his hungry pleas.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I glanced down and my shirt was soaked. Actually, it was my husband’s shirt, since I had just had a baby and all I could fit in was one of his old button downs.

Behold, a dramatic reenactment:

That time I sprayed my dentist with breast milk by The Bearded Iris

The milk flow was so strong and steady, it soaked clear through the paper bib resting on my chest.

Y’all, there was milk everywhere. It was dripping down my back onto the chair!

I could smell it.

I was absolutely mortified.

Everyone worked at lightening speed to get me up and out of there. (And not just because of the milky mess I was making in their dentist chair.) The microsecond that temporary crown clicked into place, I was on my way back to the waiting room, unbuttoning my shirt like Clark Kent on his way to the phone booth. I could not get that baby onto my boob fast enough. Poor Tammie—I practically ripped her arms off taking that wailing baby from her.

Thankfully, everyone in the dentist’s office was so sweet and understanding. “Bless your heart!” they clucked repeatedly, and not in the stereotypical Southern “Oh you pitiful idiot” kind of way. It was more like, Solidarity, sister! We salute you and your overactive milk ducts! They were women helping one of their own, and I would be forever grateful.

Talk about the milk of human kindness.

This post, and my 13-year-old son’s future therapy bills for having to take that reenacted photo of my leaking fun-bags, were both made possible by the International Breast Milk Project. Their vision is that every infant in the world have access to donor human milk as a first choice when a mother’s own milk is not available, and they aim to create awareness for the need for donor human milk, mobilize donors, and provide donor milk to infants in need. 


Bridesmaids: A Movie Review by Iris Beard

I like to think I know a thing or two about what’s funny. And I have to tell you, the movie Bridesmaids is, without a doubt, the funniest movie I have ever seen in my entire life. Really. I’m not exaggerating this time.

Melissa McCarthy, Wendi McLendon-Covey, Ellie Kemper, Kristen Wiig, Maya Rudolph and Rose Byrne.

Now granted, I’m partial to physical comedy and bathroom humor, so if that isn’t your bag, well, this movie might not rock your world as hard as it’s rocked mine.

But honest to God, there is one scene, no kidding, that had me laughing so hard I was shrieking like a banshee. And then the shrieking morphed into uncontrollable tears. Weeping, actually, but in a good way. I had to take my glasses off and wipe my eyes and face with my greasy popcorn napkin. I was THAT gone.

And here’s something you need to know about me… I’m a tough crowd. It takes A LOT to make me laugh out loud. And not just because I’m one of those people with a silent but convulsing laugh, which I am. No, it’s also because my tolerance is so high… like a lush who requires an extra big glass to get buzzed.

When my date Tammie and and I were leaving the theater, I was still giggling about the scene where Maya Rudolph’s character is leaving the bridal boutique. I don’t want to spoil it for you, but I was acting it out in front of the theater when two women sitting on a bench nearby said out loud, “Oh, you must be the ladies who were laughing so hard! Wasn’t that movie hilarious?!” And that was AFTER a woman had stopped us in the ladies room to ask what movie we had just seen, because then too, we were giggling our asses off.

And I can’t stop thinking about it. In fact Tammie just called me a few minutes ago to rehash some of our favorite scenes, and she was still cackling like a hyena. She also asked me to research the topic of asshole bleaching because neither of us had ever heard of it. Christ, I’m so glad I’m an old married lady and not dating anymore… the crazy shit the young girls do today! I mean really?! Who cares what color your butthole is? I thought you couldn’t get any more extreme than Brazilian bikini waxes, but apparently you can. Damn. Imma have to ask my husband about this one. Can’t you just hear me, Hon? Will you watch the kids Saturday morning so I can run up to the salon? I made an appointment for a mani/pedi. Oh by the way, while I’m there… should I make my chocolate starfish vanilla?  What. The. Fuck.

Anyhooo, I told Tammie I want to watch Bridesmaids about 20 more times and study it to learn how to write a successful {romantic} comedy screenplay. I really think there could be a college level film class based on this movie and why it works. But I’m looking forward to speaking with some of my film buff and movie making friends to see if they agree.

It wasn’t just the writing though, which I just read Kristen Wiig and Annie Mumolo completed in six days. The casting was absolutely magical. The way the women play off each other is a sight to behold. I have to say my favorite was probably Wendi McLendon-Covey, who plays Rita, the exasperated mother (go figure.) And it’s not just the ladies… the guy who plays the romantic lead, Chris O’Dowd, is flat-out adorable. And Jon Hamm as the booty-calling dickwad? Perfect.

I was shocked to learn that the “explosive” bridal boutique scene wasn’t part of the original screenplay but rather was something Judd Apatow convinced them to add during the filming. He’s the wickedly funny producer of Superbad (one of my favorites!), Knocked Up, and The 40 Year Old Virgin. I was kind of hoping that Kristen Wiig had written this scene because I think it’s about time we ladies claimed a share of the bathroom humor action. We’ve seen it a million times before from the menfolk: Dumb and Dumber, Along Came Polly, Austin Powers, etc. But kudos to Apatow for recognizing that it’s EVEN FUNNIER coming from women. And major props to the cast for absolutely nailing this scene. Unexpected and brilliant. Truly.

My only issue is that after watching this movie, I am afraid for the future of comedy. The bar has been set so high now – I can’t imagine it getting any better. And also, now that the barrier of anal bleaching has been breached, what else is there? Shoot, remember when Charlie Chaplan was funny? And then Jack Lemmon? And then Mel Brooks movies? After Bridesmaids, what else is there? And based on this trend, how much more will it take to make our kids laugh when they’re our age? {Sigh.} Take my word for it, movies are just going to get grosser and grosser from here on out. And personally, I say bring it!

Just go see it. Then we’ll discuss.



© Copyright 2011, The Bearded Iris.

© 2021 The Bearded Iris

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑