Saturday, January 16, 2010

If She Read This Blog

Your teachers lied to you. They told you there’s no such thing as a stupid question. I’m setting the record straight by saying that there are, indeed, very stupid questions.

For example, when your mother is in the middle of telling you, in her trying-to-be-calm voice that your behavior in the furniture store, where she went to buy bar stools after you and your friends destroyed the old ones, that your behavior, (deep cleansing breath to keep from screaming) when you were crawling under the bathroom stalls, on your belly, in a nasty germ swarming public bathroom, that that behavior is unacceptable and gross and will probably give you some Ebola type virus that no one has a cure for. And you asked, in the middle of your mother’s fury, if you could listen to the radio, well, child, that was one stupid question. You probably figured it out when your mother said, “That’s a really stupid question.” But, if that didn’t clue you in, maybe the entire week without any sort of media, no screen at all, if you want to be entertained write a letter apologizing to me and see how much fun that is, maybe that sort of week will let you know that not only was the stall-crawling wrong, but so was the question.

Another stupid question? How about the “Can I have dessert now” question that came right after you threw away the poached salmon and baked kale I made for dinner? Your mother’s response to that question? “How long have you lived in this house, now? And who do you think your mother is?” Dessert, indeed. I’ll show you dessert, right after you fish the fish out of the garbage and eat it, kid.

Those are just two examples of the many stupid questions I could hold up as poster-children of stupid questions. But, I’m going to Yoga myself into a higher realm of existence where enlightened souls have answers, not questions.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Baby Talk

The baby has stopped nursing in order to have a conversation. This is my favorite part of breast feeding. I love looking down at the child, all smiles and coos. I love when he curls into me, so excited at having my attention. This is the part that I’ll miss when he weans himself. Would it be wrong for me to randomly nurse other people’s children? I mean, if I’m going to be that crazy old lady who embarrasses her kids, I might as well do something I love in the process.

My church has a “mother’s lounge”. That’s euphemistic for “stinks like poop with ratty old chairs”. The one in this building comes in the form of a completely sound proof, tiled room which stays nice and cold in the winter. It also has a resident mouse. I appreciate the efforts of those who thought of putting in a nursing room. I refuse to use it. Not only do I get enough rodent life in my own home, but the idea of being topless in a room that never gets above 60 degrees really makes me want to hit someone. I thought briefly about nursing in the room where all the old men meet to talk about whatever it is old men talk about, but then I decided it would be smelly in there, too. So, I nurse in the room with all the little kids. I figure, I’ve got a wrap-around-your-neck blanket (alternately called a nursing blanket or a Hooter Hider, depending on how stiff your starch is) that effectively hides the baby and me. I sit in the back, singing with the rest of the kids, and it’s all a very happy Kumbaya moment.

I’ve been known to walk around stores with the changed-my-world blanket draped over the kicking, chatting, occasionally-nursing baby. It’s all very effective: I get the grocery shopping done, the baby gets Mommy-time and we’re all very modest.

Except when the baby wants to talk. He’s good with his hands and can move the blanket aside now. I’ve started putting the blanket over my head, too, so that we’re both inside. We have lots of talks this way and have become very close since he started using his words. When he’s done, and has finished his meal, I take the blanket off. I’ve noticed several polite “not looking at you because that’s embarrassing” stiff-postured people after I’ve uncovered, especially when I’m in a store. What I don’t know is: are they embarrassed because I’m nursing, or because I’ve just been having a conversation under a blanket with a 4 month old?