How To Nurse A Room of Male TV Execs

Or not. Your call.

As a lifetime member of the Society of What-Iffers, I've spent countless hours imagining the worst-case scenarios, all variations on the same theme. In each episode of What-Iffery, my fears take over.  My mind goes blank. I fall apart. I lose control. I laugh and snort. I hyperventilate. I bolt for the nearest exit. It's an oy vey of utter humiliation. Fortunately, not one of these eff'd up mini-dramas has ever happened in real life. Of course, I've had to work very hard to keep my anxiety at bay. I've self-hypnosed. I've behavior-modified. I've soul-searched. I've self-medicated. I'm cured! Sort of. Still, there are moments I look back on now, when things I never could've what-iffed in a million years actually occurred, and yet, I managed to live to tell the tale.

Take the time in 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. Picture the SJG in the only non-maternity dress that fit, holding my own with the big boys. 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. Not a trace of panic or self-doubt. The SJG 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. For all I know, I may have had lipstick on my teeth and/or experienced an attack of post-pregnancy gas, but this is my flashback, damn it, so I believe I conducted myself, professionally. 

Or leaving.

Until the second hour, that is, 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? This is an emergency."  

The rest of the meeting is a giant blur. At some 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 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.