All the little boobies

My days of being a part-time stay at home mom (I guess I should use the proper vernacular here: SAHM) are numbered. Until the day of reckoning (33 to be exact), I decided I should drag Junior to as many play dates/get-togethers/what-have-yous as possible.

I didn’t do this from the beginning. Instead I bugged the bejesus out of my retired father to take walks. Ditto for my stay at home mother, Linda, my grandmother, aunts, brother, his girlfriend, friends who work but won’t call in sick even though it’s gorgeous out, etc.

When Junior was a mere babe I had high hopes of play dates, I really did. I even tried to join a local mommy group. But the activities depressed me. Who the hell wants to meet at a run-down mall to push around strollers of whining, snotty babies? And then ferry them off to the indoor playground to watch them lick germ-infested furniture and playground apparatuses while the mommies sit around and discuss their child’s inclination towards runny bowel movements?

Am I painting an overly unflattering picture? Yes. But I realized I preferred my father’s obsession with bird species (“Oh look, a common grackle!”) to organized stroller brigades.

Anyway. That wasn’t even the point of this post. The point is that I finally dragged Junior out to a local drop-in playgroup at a store everyone in the area has raved about, Papoose (good luck getting the links on their website to work).

As there was no one participating in the playgroup—which was fine, Junior fell asleep on the 45 minute car ride there—I had ample time to peruse the store’s goods. I didn’t even know they made teething necklaces for babies. Apparently the amber has a natural analgesic power. I'm more James Randi than not so I'm going to have to say phooey.

I decided on an organic cotton shirt and stood patiently at the register. I cleared my throat and coughed a little but the cashier was no where to be found. There was no bell to ring, nor crystal ball to tap, so I peeked around a corner and found the cashier and another woman sitting next to each other on the couch.

Breastfeeding.

Suddenly a song popped into my head. Way up high in the apple tree, four little boobies smiled at me. I shook that tree as hard as I could. Down they came…

Just what exactly is the etiquette when the cashier is in the midst of breastfeeding?

“Excuse me, could you…remove your child from your naked, exposed breast and ring me out?”

I didn’t say that. Instead I gave the women a lame, awkward wave, put the shirt back on the rack and headed out. And do you know that on the way home a blue jay landed on my hood while I was sitting at a stoplight? I kid you not.