The Nursing Post

Multitasker Extraordinaire!

This is the nursing post.

I can nurse while doing just about anything…radio interviews, cooking, playing Chutes and Ladders, blogging…you name it and I bet I’ve nursed and done it.

And now I’ve just been spit up on while blogging! How cool is that?

The coolest part about nursing that no one talks about is how all the closet stripper moms can expose themselves legally wherever they wish. If you’ve always wondered what it’s like to bare your breasts to strangers then just become a nursing mother. Although don’t expect to make any tips.

Men can get pretty uncomfortable when they see breasts being used for something other than their pleasure. The funniest result is when a man comes up to speak to you, not realizing you’re nursing, and then does a crazy fast turnaround in embarrassment.

It never bothers me if people see me nursing, but perhaps that has something to do with my past.

I actually sometimes wish that someone would come up to me while I’m nursing in a public place to tell me to cover up. They’d wish they’d kept quiet.

“Cover up?! It’s my legal right to nurse in public! I’m feeding my child! Nourishing our future!”

Here’s to our multitasking breasts! Lovely to look at and nutritious to suck on!

Suck on!

Radio Time

In case you missed Stripper Mom’s interview today on WLW 700 am - Cincinnati, Ohio, here’s a link to the podcast.

Well, I thought it was a beautiful thing that you could hear Cole nursing in the background of the radio program today. It was pretty funny (considering I was talking about stripping) to have a baby attached to my breasts.

But it totally brings up one of my biggest points about the difficulty of being a mother AND a sexy woman at the same time. Eddie Fingers and Tracy Jones were talking afterwards about how it was “creepy” to hear Cole nursing during my interview.

Why creepy? Because it’s hard to imagine moms and sexual beings in the same thought? This is the dichotomy that mothers struggle with. We have social expectations to be a good mother, which doesn’t include being a stripper or even having been a stripper.

I’ve got news for you world—if we’re mothers, we have indeed had sex at some point!

And mothers who are strippers do indeed use their breasts for something other than as objects to be viewed.

Actually, if you want to talk about creepy and breast milk…I do remember one stripper at The Hideaway who was lactating who would put shots of breast milk into customers’ drinks. I was only eighteen and quite naïve when I saw this spectacle. I actually asked some customer at the bar, “What is she doing?!”

He thought this was quite funny.

I can’t remember if this was the same stripper who also put lit matches around her nipples and swung them around in flaming circles…

Ah, the good old days…

Stripper Mom’s Busy Day

A busy day for Stripper Mom!

I’m the featured poet on my cousin Alison’s awesome Haiku Blog…Provocative Haiku.

You know you want to read some stripper haikus!

And Stripper Mom was interviewed for a radio show airing this afternoon, WLW 700 am - Cincinatti, Ohio…3PM-6PM EDDIE FINGERS & TRACY JONES…For Mother’s Day - Eddie & Tracy support single Moms – and the strip-clubs where they work.

And you know what else? I’ve changed two diapers, nursed four times, washed one load of laundry (one more to go) and one sink full of dishes, dropped Genny off at school, and showered. Not too bad for an overtired mom.

The Thong Post

You know you’re no longer a stripper, but rather a mother, when you are getting dressed in the morning, stepping into your usual underwear choice, a thong, and your almost-five-year-old daughter says, “Mommy, you put your underwear on backwards!”

You spin your head around as she continues to say, “Your tushie! I see your tushie!”

When you tell the story to your husband, he says, “Perhaps it’s time to start wearing regular underpants.”

This freezes you in your tracks. Regular, uncomfortable, full-bottomed, granny panties? The ones you only wear when you have your monthly “visitor”? The ones that show panty lines in your jeans?

You briefly consider making the switch for sake of not wanting your young daughter to want to start wearing thongs, but then you realize, if you’re already feeling unsexy as it is, aborting g-string usage may just completely push you over the edge into wearing mom jeans and baking cookies.

So, right then and there you decide the only answer possible…you will only dress or undress out of daughter’s eyesight. When wandering the house in undies and a tee, you will give in and wear cute, low-slung boy shorts.

A compromise made…your thong is saved for another day!

Everyone’s Doing It

It’s the latest hot trend for the mom on the go: stripper pole dancing.

Britney Spears swears by it for exercise, but it seems a little freaky to want one installed in a schmaltzy hotel suite while on tour with her young sons.

"Britney loves pole dancing, it is her new favorite work out," says a source. "She gets the toning that she needs without having to hit the gym, and she wants to be able to do it in the privacy of her own hotel room."

When I first started as a stripper way back in 1989, there were no stripper poles at any of the dozen clubs I worked at in Connecticut. Imagine my surprise when I first encountered one in New York City.

“What am I supposed to do with that?” I wondered as I took to the stage.

I watched as other strippers athletically flung their bodies against the pole, rolling, flipping, and making awful thigh-smacking sounds. It was decidedly unsexy to watch. Not to mention the nasty bruises on their inner thighs.

I never became one of those gymnastic stripper pole dancers. I would just gently grasp the pole (that sounds kind of pornographic) and swing my body around it.

Another wonderful use of the pole was as a leaning device when the men weren’t tipping.

And there was a club across the street from David Letterman’s theatre that had a regular old swing. This, I liked. Once again it had nothing to do with the sexy-factor, which was again, non-existent.

When the club was slow or the customers were jerks, I would sit on the swing, close my eyes, and pump my legs (again, pornographic-sounding). My platforms’ toes would pop against the ceiling; a cool smoky breeze would rush through my hair-sprayed curls. I would forget where I was for a few brief, lovely moments.

So, before you run out and install a metal pole in your house, consider putting in the lesser-known (and less athletic) supposedly sexy strip club paraphernalia, the swing.

Better yet, just go outside and use your child’s jungle gym.

Now there’s a sexy workout for you.

Beauty Queen

Miss California USA Carrie Prejean has been quite the newsmaker.

I didn’t have such a problem with her pageant answer to how she feels about gay marriage as many others did. She spoke what she believed and I can’t blame her for being true to herself, even though I disagree with her.

But now racy photos of Prejean have surfaced and landed her in some more controversy. Her supporters will agree with the fact that they are simply modeling pictures, but her detractors are going to have a field day with an ultra-conservative Christian being photographed semi-nude.

The most ridiculous argument is that a Miss USA shouldn’t be seen in photos such as these. She has an office to uphold for young women everywhere. OK now, let’s get real. It’s not alright to appear in lingerie in some long-ago forgotten photo shoot, but it is alright to parade around in a bikini with fake breasts on national television? Somehow that’s being a good role model?

As a mother who would never be able to hide all the “racy” photos taken of her as a model over the years, I’m disgusted with the whole thing. The whole idea of female beauty as a show thing is the problem, not how much or how little of a woman’s body is shown.

Why can’t we use this whole tabloid sensational story to expose the real issues? The true question is not whether Prejean should lose her Miss California crown; the real question is why it is so important to women to be beauty queens in the first place.

The Two Pounds

Just when I think I’m totally over caring what my body looks like, I’m proven wrong.

Yesterday was a big body issue day for me. It began innocently enough when I decided to go with a pants and a shirt instead of a dress for Nick’s cousin’s baby christening. Little did I know that when I tried to squeeze my fine self into the aforementioned black slacks my body would have nothing of it.

Nothing. Of. It.

Or any of my other nice black pants. My thighs strained at the seams. My tushie was pushing at the fabric’s strength. And the zippers were all definitely screaming, “Ha, ha. That’s a good one!”

It dawned on me that I would not be wearing pants. We were already running late because Genny decided for some reason to have a problem with every dress she owns. The flowered one had “a line on it,” the purple one, which fits perfectly, was “too big,” and so on and so forth with half-a-dozen other dresses.

She went on to have a major meltdown while Cole joined in on the action. He hadn’t even had his diaper changed yet, let alone have an outfit picked out that would fit him (if you will remember, Cole is having similar body issues).

Thank goodness Nick came to the rescue, scooping up Genny and helping her find the one dress that was satisfactory, and taking Cole and changing him. This gave me five minutes to run into the bathroom to shave my legs, since I was now going to wear a dress and could not hide my Mommy hairy legs beneath slacks.

The easy part taken care of, I then had to find a dress that fit. Fortunately for me, my soft jersey, yellow dress fit fine with no embarrassing bulges or straining.

So what happened to my cool? I’ve been fine with my slight weight gain so far. It isn’t even really a weight gain; I only weigh two pounds more than what I was before I was pregnant.

It’s the squishiness factor that creeps me out. I miss being more solid. More firm. More…”me,” or more the “me” I’ve always seen myself as.

Suffice it to say, I’m sure no one at the christening thought I looked any differently than I ever have. It’s all in my mind. Well, not ALL in my mind…there is the matter of those extra two pounds.

Our Garden, Part Deux

Our garden is planted.

Genny was so looking forward to gardening until she saw how much hard work was involved. It took all day Saturday to prepare the ground: ripping out onion grass, hand tilling the soil and then realizing we should rent a rotor-tiller, which we did at Home Depot, and mixing in the fertilizer and peat moss.

This morning was all about the planting, but unfortunately Genny realized this involved dirt. She didn’t want to walk through the dirt after about half-an-hour, so she retreated to the yard.

We will see what grows.




Gardening can really bring out your issues. I was faced yesterday with all the hoeing and weeding and wanting to run away. It’s been a long time since I needed to do such hard physical labor, but I stuck with it and my body is good-sore as a result.

Tomorrow Cole and I start our first Itsy-Bitsy yoga class. I will definitely need a good stretch by then.

On the Verge

I almost lost it completely in the car today.

Cole only napped for an hour. I tried to rest, but did not succeed. I tried to get work done: dishes, cleaning, organizing, writing…but did not succeed.

I managed to be depressed and cranky. Perhaps it started with Gen’s insistence on getting dressed downstairs this morning. Or with Nana’s fifth request if I had gone to the bank yet for her (for a completely trivial matter).

After picking up Genny from school, going to the bank, and heading home, Cole started screaming. I turned on the radio to try to soothe him and then Genny said in a snotty voice, “Both Cole and the music are too loud!”

The urge to screech to a halt and scream was overwhelming. Somehow I found my happy place and made it home. Only to step out of the van and be greeted by Nana at the door, “Did you go to the bank for me?”

Happy place…happy place…happy place…

God is in the Details

“How will I know where to go when I drive?” Genny asked from the backseat as I drove her to school.

“By the time you’re old enough to drive, you’ll know your way around well, or you can use a map.”

“But how will I know where to go if you die?”

And thus begins another one of our death conversations. They tend to happen on our drives to school.

“More than likely you’ll be a grown up with your own children by the time I die. You’ll have learned everything you need to know from me by then.”

I’m always careful to not say, I won’t die before you’re old, because I can’t lie. What if I did die all of a sudden? I don’t want her hating her poor dead mother.

“I don’t want to die.”

“I know, Honey, and hopefully you shouldn’t until you’re very old. That’s why Daddy and Mommy want us all to eat well, exercise, and take care of ourselves, so we can live a long healthy life.”

“I run—that’s exercise,” Genny said.

“Yup.”

“God is everywhere, right, Mommy?”

“Yes, God is love and love is everywhere.”

“Even in the trees, and the sky, and the road!”

“That’s right.”

“And the garbage can, Mommy! God is in the garbage can!”

“Yes!”

“What’s in my lunchbox, Mommy?”

And so the conversation turns.

Trailer Park bride

A 16-year-old girl who lives in a trailer had a $200,000 wedding paid for by her father.

Read the whole article here!

What was most shocking to me was that this girl looks more like a stripper in her wedding dress than I ever did in my stripper attire.

I try to remember back to when I was sixteen and wanted to be noticed, but somehow I can’t seem to remember wanting to wear something like that. And at sixteen she wants to be a “glamour model.”

Perhaps this could be the first young lady for Stripper Mom to go and have a talk with, although she does seem quite happy with being photographed dressed like that. But maybe Stripper Mom might be able to dig a little deeper and find out if any other dreams lie hidden beneath the Swarovski crystals.

I tried to find an update on Missy Quinn, but alas, I could find no mentions of her besides her wedding day.

The Mundane

I am so beyond exhausted tonight. I drove to the city to visit with a friend; I hit I-95 traffic going in and coming home, turning two hours of travel time into four.

Cole, of course, came along. Since I’m breastfeeding and not pumping, I can’t be separated from him for more than an hour or two. For the past four-and-a-half months I’ve only been away from him twice.

He was very good in the car until he wasn’t. The traffic on the way home wore him down and so did the 90 degree weather. For the last 45-minutes of the drive he was screaming and crying. I reached over into the backseat so he could suck on my finger, which usually calms him. Not so much today.

I would have stopped and nursed him a bit, but I was running late to pick up Genny at school.

Then it was a double bath night. Cole went first, nice and quick, and then I let Genny play for a half an hour in the tub. I allowed her to stay up late until Nick came home and so she is still not asleep. She’s waiting for me to come back upstairs and lie down with her. I’m hoping she’ll be asleep in a few minutes so I can crash out for a few hours.

It felt good to go into the city, but I knew I would pay for it tonight. With exhaustion.

Is it worth it? Is fighting to keep some of my old life alive possible and worth it? Of course. Of course.

But, oh, am I tired.

Stripper Savior!

Nick, Cole and I went to Nick’s cousin’s wedding this weekend while Genny stayed with my father and stepmother.

On our ride home in the minivan we were throwing around ideas of what our reality television shows would be if we had one. Which one would have the most chance of making it? Where was the drama?

We realized that Nick’s doing flash design (sitting at a computer all day and eating) might not make for very exciting television. But Stripper Mom? Hmm…some potential there.

I quickly nixed the idea of Stripper Mom returning to stripping across America to see how American men would react to a late-thirties, out-of-shape mother taking her clothes off. True, drama might ensue, but I’m not sure the kind I would want to deal with at this point in my life.

But Stripper Mom traveling to strip clubs and trying to convince strippers to get out of the business? Hmm…possibly. I was quick to point out to Nick that I have nothing against women stripping if it’s what they really want to do, but from what I’ve seen, there aren’t too many women who fit into that category.

Perhaps I could have a big bus with some slogan painted on the side…Stripper Mom—Saving Strippers Across America!

I would stage interventions where I helped exotic dancers figure out why they were stripping…I would offer new possibilities…money to fulfill and pursue their real dreams…

Wow, how cool if the Stripper Savior had rolled up to a club I had been working in.

Of course, I might not have as much to write about now.

So...what would YOUR reality show be?

Power in No Shame

I don’t know who Beth Ditto is besides that she’s a plus-sized singer not ashamed of her body, but I totally love this quote from her on Perez Hilton.

Girls in general have really nice things to say—especially big girls. It’s mostly men who aren’t as open. I think men fear me sometimes. I played in Greece last summer and, I swear, when I went into the crowd, people actually ran away from me. But things like that make me really happy. You make a decision: if you are going to participate in the music industry and put yourself out there, you have to know that it’s all full of shit.

There is a lot of power in the shock of being unashamed. A friend told me that flaunting a big girl body in a punk-rock way is kind of a libertine thrill, like a drug.

It’s kind of like a drug… it’s a performance. It’s funny how something so normal and mundane that you see every day—your body—can be controversial. The shock value is intense. It’s like carrying an art piece around with you all the time.

I most like the part about power lying in not being ashamed. I would like to make this a motto to live by. It won’t be easy, but it’s what I think is so important.

I can say, yes, I was a stripper, yes, I’ve got lots of issues that I’m trying to work out, and, yes, I think it’s important as a mother for me to be honest in a way that’s appropriate to my children’s ages and stages.

I never want to be ashamed of myself again (unless, of course, I do something that is really shame worthy…but I guess I’m the only one who knows what that would be for me).

The Secret to Marital Bliss

Well, I knew it had to be true and now there are scientific facts. Having kids is the worst thing for a marriage.

According to a study reported by MSNBC, 90% of couples had less marital satisfaction after the birth of a first child’s birth. And supposedly the satisfaction only gets worse. The article doesn’t explain precisely what is meant by “marital satisfaction,” but I imagine they mean it in a general sense.

What does this mean for the Stripper Moms and Dads of the world? It means we better get real with our spouses and talk about our marriages.

If this much dissatisfaction is rampant, we need to be prepared and be proactive. The best way to handle relationship issues is to talk about them.

I’m thankful every day that I have such an open, talkative, and loving husband.

Only this morning I woke up and realized I was angry at Nick. Why? Get this—because he can’t lactate! Yes, it’s crazy, but true.

I’m the one who has to get up three times a night to feed Cole. I haven’t had a halfway decent night’s sleep in almost five months. I know Nick would gladly give Cole formula in the night, but I really want to only breastfeed. And if I don’t want to pump, which I don’t, then it’s up to me.

For nursing mothers, I imagine this fact is probably one of the major psychological reasons that we have issues with not being interested in sex after childbirth (besides the obvious reasons).

The baby needs us and then our dear husband who gets full nights of sleep wants us to feel sexy, too? And to have the energy to want to get busy?

When nighttime rolls around, there’s only one thing I’m thinking about, and it doesn’t involve heavy panting on my part; it involves the sound of silence.

But I do want marital bliss and I do love my husband. And I do want to feel sexy again. I AM Stripper Mom, after all.

From what I’m reading online, this sex after childbirth issue affects a lot of women. So, expect to hear Stripper Mom talking more about sex, or lack of, or attempts to get that sexy feeling back.

Octo Mom in the News Again

If you follow celebrity news at all, then you’ve probably already heard the latest on Octo Stripper Mom. You’ll remember that a few weeks back it was revealed that Nadya Suleman had been a stripper, but she said:

It's true that I was a topless dancer, but that's all. I went to a gentleman's club and performed as a topless dancer. But I only did it one night.

Perez Hilton reports today:

Turns out Nadya, or should we say ANGELINA, was a stripper for at least a year!!!

Of course, I don’t think it’s a problem she was a stripper…it’s a problem that she felt the need to lie about it. And for someone who’s now “famous,” it’s not like the public isn’t going to find out the truth.

Why do we feel the need to hide our pasts?

I don’t recommend going around just blabbing away to anyone you meet all your past indiscretions, but when you’re asked point blank in the media? And Suleman’s the one aiming for the media to cover her life (she’s supposedly in talks for a reality show).

I wonder how many women out there have a past that they’re afraid to talk about. And why?

Miracle Beans

It’s amazing what Genny will do for three jellybeans and some playground time.

I needed a new dress for a wedding on Saturday; I told Genny if she would be patient while I tried some on then we’d buy a small bag of candy from the overpriced mall candy man and then play on the indoor playground.

Eight dresses and two bathroom breaks later, I had a dress with no fuss from Genny. Cole woke up as we wheeled to the sweet shop. We bought about seven jellybeans for 51 cents and headed to the bizarre soft sculptured playground.

Genny told another little girl that she didn’t want to play with her because the girl was trying to tell her what they were going to do. I was proud of her for not being a follower. Later, the girl started following Genny and imitating her as she ran and jumped onto the bridge-slide. This Genny was fine with because it was on her terms.

I sat on the pleather couch nursing Cole wondering whether a mall cop might scold me for indecent exposure.

I gave Genny a 15-minute countdown to leaving, which she didn’t argue with at all. She even held it together long enough for me to stop and buy a new pair of shoes, too.

Man, those jellybeans were the best 51 cents I ever spent.

A Stripper Mom Booty Dancing

This video is what I imagine many people are going to be looking for the next time they google Stripper Mom.

Just for the record, that’s not me.

I think Stripper Moms should make sure their kids are in bed before they start shimmying around seductively in their underwear. But maybe that’s just me.

The Momentary Silence

I am feeling the darkness of the rain today. I’ve given in to it; there’s no sense in fighting this gloom.

Genny is hunkered down with a Care Bears movie and Cole is sleep-nursing on my lap.

I should be doing laundry, washing dishes, cleaning, figuring out dinner, practicing yoga, or being otherwise productive. But I am not. And the very fact that I am feeling guilty and depressed clearly means I have not given in to the darkness.


I know the video will end and Cole will wake up and I will need to be Mom again.

For a few moments, let me just be Sheila and sip my coffee in silence.

Our Garden

You would think starting a garden would be easy. You would be wrong.

Our garden area is infested with onion grass that we casually threw aside last year and since then decided it wants to live. The roots are deep and if we don’t get rid of them, they’ll just multiply.

Genny was gung-ho about gardening until she got outside and realized farming involves work.


“I want something cold to drink!”

“In a little while.”

“My hands are hot!”

“Take off your gloves.

“I’m tired!”

“Sit down.”




Instead, she woke Cole up in his stroller.





Nick was left to cultivate the ground with a pitchfork while I tended to the screeching and whining.

Nick made it about halfway through one row. We plan on having about one gazillion rows, so we have a bit to go.




Just a normal day of family fun.