Why, when it’s time to nurse, I’m like Superman looking for a phone booth

This past Sunday, I squished myself into the middle of the back seat of Joe’s Ford Edge – despite the fact that Lily’s car seat and Neve’s infant seat left me with little to no space there.

Why was I contorting myself into a human pretzel? Because we were at a public park, for one of Lily’s pre-school friends’ birthday party, and Neve was due to be nursed. So I let myself into the parked, empty car, nudged Neve’s infant seat into the space between the driver’s and passenger side seats (to make a little more room for myself, while also obstructing the view of folks in the park), and settled in for a feeding.

Yes, before we left our house for the party, I’d done a quick search of our basement, looking for my old hooter hider knock-off cloak, but I’d had no success. And honestly, even if I’d found it, I probably would have ultimately opted for the less comfortable, but more private, car option anyway.

Why? Not for the reason you think. Continue reading