Lactose Intolerant

Step into the SJG Time Machine with me -- don't worry, we serve coffee and bagels -- and let's return to the early '90s, when I found myself in a room full of men at a network meeting. I'd just given birth to the youngest only weeks before and was wearing the only non-maternity dress that fit. It was my first TV movie gig. I was associate-producing. I needed to sound coherent in that room. One hour in, I was on fire. I had it going on. I couldn't quit articulating about this, that and the other. All the dudes were nodding in agreement. Uh-huh. Hmmm. Oh, yes. Good point. At least, that's how I remember it. This is my flashback and if I say I conducted myself, professionally, I darn well did. 

Until the second hour, when my twin lactation specialists needed a word: "We're filling up with milk." "I can't hear you." "Deny all you want, but this is going to be a situation." "I'm in a meeting here. I'll call you back later." "What part of 'an  explosion is imminent' aren't you getting?" "I'm begging you, no leche, por favor." "It's not nice to fool Mother Nature." "Can you at least stall her?" I started to fidget. I prayed really hard. "Dear God, don't let me have a letdown and spray this room full of men with breast milk. It will be very bad for my career, God. Very bad. Hello? Are you listening up there? We're talking 911 emergency."

The rest of the meeting is a blur. At some merciful point, it ended. At some point, I stepped onto the elevator. I made it to the parking lot, and as I hurried toward my car, the floodgates opened. I proceeded to have a biblical letdown of epic proportions. The entire front of my dress turned soggy with milk. But no one was there to witness the SJG, fully drenched, and for that, and so much more, I'm eternally grateful.