March 29th was the first Thursday I had been back at work after taking a 2 month long maternity leave. It was also the day of a major awards ceremony at my shore command. Previously that week, I had tried to persuade my coworkers that the ambiguous phrasing at my joint command of the required uniform for the award ceremony could be interpreted as something OTHER than service dress blues. Unfortunately, no one believed me. So like a dutiful officer, I woke up Thursday and dressed in my service dress blues.
Let me put this in perspective. The last time I had worn my service dress blues was in 2009... on deployment... in France... long before I had two children. As it was, I was not one of those people who feel overly excited to wear their service dress uniform at the slightest provocation. My jacket is actually the same jacket I was issued when I was 17 at my ROTC (reserve officer training corps) unit. I'm sure I've mentioned this, but I'm sort of cheap about Navy uniforms.
Back to last Thursday. I've dutifully donned my service dress blue, carefully not stretching to reach for anything since my buttons will likely fly off and take out someone's eye, when I realize that Owen is eating yogurt for breakfast. And of course, he wants to give me a nice big hug and sloppy face nuzzle before I leave for work. I maneuver in to give him a quick kiss while simultaneously telling him, "Don't touch me! This is dry clean only!"
The workday flies by quickly. Coincidentally, I am in meetings nonstop until 1240, twenty minutes before the awards ceremony. I stop by my boss's office to ask her whether I really need to attend the ceremony because of two important facts: 1) I had not had a chance to eat lunch and 2) I had not had a chance to pump milk. Now if you were really unlucky, I could launch a button at you and spray you in the face with breast milk. She told me to go ahead and skip actually attending the awards ceremony and just watch it as it was being broadcast.
So I ran down to eat lunch, watching on the televisions on the cafeteria as other members in my office receive an award, before dashing off to the nurse's station to pump milk. About twenty minutes later and significantly more comfortable, I return to my cubicle. Just as I am about to log in to watch the awards ceremony -- did I mention this was a big enough deal they broadcast it not only on every television in the complex but also live over the internet and had flown in nominees and winners from all over the globe-- one of my coworkers yells at me, "Where were you?"
Now I go on high alert and demand back, "What do you mean?"
She explains -- as does everyone else who now realizes I'm on the floor -- "They called your name! You were supposed to go on the stage to be recognized. You were nominated for an award."
"What? I thought they said at the beginning they weren't going to name the nominees since they were in the program. I was down in the nurse's office pumping milk since I hadn't had a chance all day."
"At least none of the other nominees could say that. They were all men. And by the way, you were the only Naval officer nominated."
So to end my story, I continued the tradition of proudly representing the Navy by blowing off the Director of my agency, a 3 star General, and everyone else in my chain of command by not attending the awards ceremony after they had nominated me. But at least you know I'm a devoted mom since I chose feeding Anduin over the 3 star general. Now if only she would actually drink the milk I take the time to pump...
Lessons learned:
1. If you bother to actually wear the dress uniform, you should make sure to actually show up at said event.
2. Telling people you were pumping milk automatically gives you a pass for missing major events. Either it makes them super uncomfortable, or thanks to an aggressive breastfeeding campaign, makes them nod approvingly.
3. No one can tell if your skirt is nearly under your rib cage because that's how high you have to wear it in order to zip it up as long as you always wear your jacket or sweater.
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