Downtown Girls

If my boobs could talk, they’d probably tell me they were going to start regulating show times and charging me.  Yup- you guessed it.  I had to whip them out in public again.

Today’s agenda was a trip downtown to the textile district.  In order to save a whole bunch of money on the very extravagant drapes and crib bedding I wanted for the nursery, I ordered the fabric wholesale from Italy and found a guy downtown to make them for me.  I felt brave enough to head downtown alone with Quilla to pick them up today. The last few days she has been taking these long afternoon naps, so when she fell asleep this afternoon, I quickly packed her up in her car seat and jumped in the car.  She slept the whole way to the shop, and she never even flinched as I fastened her car seat onto its stroller base in the parking lot. 

I was so excited to see the finished product.  I had forgotten how beautiful the fabrics I had chosen were as I examined the silk drapes.  Then I realized that the ties on the bumper for the crib had been sewn on the wrong side.  As if she could somehow sense my disappointment, Quilla woke and started to cry.  As her cry escalated, the shop owner tried to explain even louder why he thought that the ties should go where he had sewn them.  If I could have heard him at all, I probably would’ve been annoyed, but all I could hear was my daughter who wanted to be fed, and all I could think was “how fast can I get my boob out?”  

I picked Quilla up, found a chair and a quiet corner, and sat down to feed her.  I faced the wall to try and be as discreet as possible.  It’s so strange to me how breastfeeding freaks some people out.  I’m convinced that the same people who can’t so much as look in my direction and talk to me at the same time while I’m breastfeeding are the same people that go home and order Girls Gone Wild on PayPer View.  It’s so backward! 

Anyway … so, there I was- downtown, hiding amongst spools of fabric as patrons reached around me for trim, tassels and fringe while I alternated which boob I would terrorize someone with next.  It was hot, and I could feel beads of sweat starting to trickle down my back when suddenly I felt something moist on my hand. Apparently, Quilla needed to be fed AND changed.  There was no hiding the poop explosion that had just claimed her new white ruffled skirt.  Crap! …. Literally.
After I finished feeding her, I covered the poopie part of her skirt with her blanket, and asked the shop owner if I could use their restroom.  I grabbed her diaper bag and headed into the tiny 4 x 4 closet that housed the commode and a tiny pedestal sink.  I laid a plastic trash bag on the uneven floor and her diaper-changing pad on top of it.  Quilla didn’t seem to mind as I assured her that “it’s OK honey” and crouched down on the concrete in the dim light to change her.  It was even hotter in the unventilated bathroom than it was out in the shop, and I noticed my face was all red & sweaty as I juggled the baby and washed my hands.  I hoped Quilla didn’t feel as miserable as I did in that moment, or surely she would not be happy for the ride home.  I quickly gathered up the drapes and crib bedding, and hurried to the car before something else happened. 

She fell asleep on the way home!

… thank goodness-

I’m exhausted!