We tried this neighborhood adventure again, last Saturday. We got dressed up (basically wore shirts with no spit-up on the shoulders) and strolled the mile out to the restuarant in mid-afternoon ('cause then there'd be less people to bother if she did cry). We arrived sweaty, thirsty and ... we were greeted by a "closed" sign. Son-uva-bitch.
We walked home and decided to throw Evie in the car to go to "Mexico" instead.
The SECOND I crossed the threshold of the restaurant, Evie pooped. Fantastic!
I carry the car seat (with Evie in it) to the bathroom and bring the diaper bag with us. There's only 1 other couple and an older guy eating in the whole establishment. I walk into the bathroom and the woman (from the other couple) is in there brushing her teeth.
"I know this is kinda gross, but I have to go to work right after this," she spits.
"Well, I have to change this kid on the counter since there's no changing station." I tell her.
"OK, that's more gross," she opens the door to leave but not before finishing, "You know, I was in this Mexican restaurant in Houston once, and this woman started breast-feeding in the middle of the place! No thank you! That's gross."
Door closes.
I look at Evie who is starting to get fussy since she's been disturbed so much. She is, ...now hungry.
"Looks like we are eating in the bathroom stall, Eve." I pick her up.
I leave the car seat on the counter and bring her & the messenger bag into the VERY TINY stall. The kind of VERY TINY stall where you can barely close the door without knocking your knees. And, since I am juggling a very flooby 6-week-old, I can't check the cleanliness of the seat before I just sit down on it. *sigh*. I really hope I didn't just sit, in my skirt, on a seat full of pee (or worse).
Evie does the red-faced grimmace (the slow... CRY! Cry! Cry! That comes when you've ignored her gentle sobs long enough). I quickly lift up my shirt and get her settled (her feet kicking against the stall door as she gulps).
I reach for my cell phone in the bag on the floor.
"Hi."
"What's going on in there?" Rob eats a chip.
"Well, it turned into a fiasco."
"I thought it might have," Rob takes a sip of a drink.
"Just get me a water and I'll be there as quick as I can."
"Take your time," *crunch*, another chip eaten.
*click*
I pop Evie off before she gets her fill, 'cause this could take up to 30 minutes after feeding on both sides, burping, etc etc. I really don't want anyone else coming in imparting their nursing "horror stories" while I dominate the stall.
Evie is agitated and I give her the pacifier ("A poor excuse for a boob, mom," she shoots me a look).
I settle in the booth and this is what I get from her. Ah, that's my girl...
(Note: the $#@*! onesie was created for me by some gal-pals during a baby shower game. even MORE appropriate given the photo's subject matter)
No comments:
Post a Comment