In 1997, my little bundle of joy was eight months old. Thankfully, I was creeping back to my pre-pregnancy size; but I had another wardrobe problem. I was breastfeeding. Not wanting to show up at grandma's house in a tee-shirt and jeans (which is what my entire wardrobe consisted of at the time), I decided to search the closets for something that would pass as my "Easter Best," but still be fully functional for feedings.
Dresses were definitely out, unless I was willing to sneak into a bedroom and practically pull it over my head. So I started looking for a skirt. The few I found were either too tight or too short for my post-pregnancy thighs and behind. Sitting on the bed, I looked around aimlessly. My husband was busy getting our three-year-old son Chris all dressed up, so he didn't notice my helpless look.
The weather was nice enough to consider wearing a jumper, but even though mine buttoned down the front, I would still have to be able to maneuver a blanket over my shoulder so as not to expose myself . Justin started to cry. I picked him up out of routine and latched him on without thinking. I was still mentally surveying my options.
And then, for a brief moment, I thought, "If I can just fill him up now, maybe he won't want to nurse at grandma's." My hysterical laughter brought my husband into the room. My desperation was obvious after I told him what I had just thought of. The child who likes to nurse every two hours looked up and smiled.
Most of my blouses were too tight, what with all the milk I was packing around, and the one that actually did fit was made of material that was easily stained - nursing pads aren't always reliable - so blouses were out.
I had one pair of dress pants that would suffice, so I picked through the last semi-dressy option: sweaters. Then I imagined nursing Justin in one. With the weather as nice as it was, his head (and my chest) would be sweaty. I am all for wearing pink on Easter - but not as a heat rash.
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