Another Moooooo Post
On Saturday, we are attending my cousin's bar mitzvah, and as it takes place in Miami, I didn't have anything to wear, for while it may be snowing right now at home, here in lovely South Florida it's been in the upper 70s and lower 80s, which means none of my turtleneck/wool skirt combos would go very well.
So while Doodles napped under the care of his grandparents, Adam, Sweetie Pie, and I had a leisurely lunch and then headed to Ann Taylor Loft so I could pick out an outfit for the bar mitzvah.
(A necessary aside: at this bar mitzvah, the hosts will be serving coconut shrimp and bacon and cheese potato skins at the reception. Nice and kosher. For the record, the bar mitzvah's non-Jewish mom was horrified that this was happening, but the Jewish father--my cousin--didn't see any problems with this. Now, normally I'd say something witty and biting about him, but the thing is, he took us out for a ride today on his very nice 45' boat [an aside to the aside: I often confuse the " of inches for the ' of feet and had it not been for a quick Google, I would have had us riding on Ollie's 45 inch toy boat] and as I am hoping for future rides, I'll simply keep my mouth shut, or my fingers still, as the case may be.)
On the walk to the store, however, it occurred to me that I was not suitably dressed for trying on clothes. Today, I walked out in a pair of shorts and a nursing tank, which has the bra built in. So I had no bra on to try on clothes with.
Not a big deal. Except that 1) clothes look better with the bra on (and the sales associate did point out that a shirt I didn't like "would look better when I wore a bra." I desperately wanted to tell her, "I do! I do wear bras!" but that seemed kind of pathetic), and more importantly, 2) I'm a nursing mom. Lactation happens.
So, of course, I'm trying on all sorts of lovely dry-clean-only shirts, and Sweetie Pie starts to wail. Those of you without kids won't understand what this means, but all you nursing moms (and those living with nursing moms) know what a crying baby can do to a nursing mom.
"Oh no!" I think to myself. "Don't start, don't start." I try to block out the sounds of Sweetie's cries. I change clothing as fast as I can. What is it the guys do? Oh yes. I start to think about baseball. And nuns. And nuns playing baseball. But as a Jewish mom who really doesn't like baseball, this is not helping. I will myself to not let down. Luckily, I got my own clothes--nursing tank with pads, thank you very much--on in time. No awkward explaining of the odd wet stains on the clothes I was trying on.
And, I'll have you know, I did get my outfit. So now I can lactate all I like. Moo.
So while Doodles napped under the care of his grandparents, Adam, Sweetie Pie, and I had a leisurely lunch and then headed to Ann Taylor Loft so I could pick out an outfit for the bar mitzvah.
(A necessary aside: at this bar mitzvah, the hosts will be serving coconut shrimp and bacon and cheese potato skins at the reception. Nice and kosher. For the record, the bar mitzvah's non-Jewish mom was horrified that this was happening, but the Jewish father--my cousin--didn't see any problems with this. Now, normally I'd say something witty and biting about him, but the thing is, he took us out for a ride today on his very nice 45' boat [an aside to the aside: I often confuse the " of inches for the ' of feet and had it not been for a quick Google, I would have had us riding on Ollie's 45 inch toy boat] and as I am hoping for future rides, I'll simply keep my mouth shut, or my fingers still, as the case may be.)
On the walk to the store, however, it occurred to me that I was not suitably dressed for trying on clothes. Today, I walked out in a pair of shorts and a nursing tank, which has the bra built in. So I had no bra on to try on clothes with.
Not a big deal. Except that 1) clothes look better with the bra on (and the sales associate did point out that a shirt I didn't like "would look better when I wore a bra." I desperately wanted to tell her, "I do! I do wear bras!" but that seemed kind of pathetic), and more importantly, 2) I'm a nursing mom. Lactation happens.
So, of course, I'm trying on all sorts of lovely dry-clean-only shirts, and Sweetie Pie starts to wail. Those of you without kids won't understand what this means, but all you nursing moms (and those living with nursing moms) know what a crying baby can do to a nursing mom.
"Oh no!" I think to myself. "Don't start, don't start." I try to block out the sounds of Sweetie's cries. I change clothing as fast as I can. What is it the guys do? Oh yes. I start to think about baseball. And nuns. And nuns playing baseball. But as a Jewish mom who really doesn't like baseball, this is not helping. I will myself to not let down. Luckily, I got my own clothes--nursing tank with pads, thank you very much--on in time. No awkward explaining of the odd wet stains on the clothes I was trying on.
And, I'll have you know, I did get my outfit. So now I can lactate all I like. Moo.
1 Comments:
Oh that gave me a giggle. That letdown feeling is unmistakable. I used to have problems when I'd hear other babies crying too. I always thought that was weird.
The skirt is so cute!
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