So we were out of the house yesterday for 8 full hours. Yes, folks, 60-minutes, 8 times in a row. That's the longest I have been out of this house for the past 6 months (not counting, of course, all the time I spent in Hotel High Risk and delivering the little man). And to top that off, we spent those 8 hours without the security of a bottle. Oh no. I was feeling bold and I just packed up my boobs and took them along instead. Living on the edge. And I'm thrilled to report that
a.) my child did not starve to death, and
b.) no one got a free boob show
Of course, before you go nominating me for "public breasfeeder of the year", I must confess that my audience was comprised of in-laws and close friends in the privacy of their homes. It's not as though I whipped them out on the subway or in the Cheesecake Factory. But that is the dream, my friends. That is the dream.
Now for the "one step back" segment of the post. I grocery shopped at 6am this morning. After some lovely bonding (which consisted of more rocket-launched poops--his, not mine), I tucked the little man into bed with the big man and skulked out of the house for a little "me" time at Harris Teeter. I recall a day when "me" time consisted of pedicures, a leisurely perusal of the paper in Starbucks, maybe taking in a movie in the middle of the afternoon with the pleasure of my own company. Now it is roaming the aisles of a grocery store at an ungodly hour hair in a messy ponytail and wearing my husband's t-shirt. The deli people weren't even working yet. There was one check-out lane open, and with a chatty-Cathy cashier--annoying.
The last time I was at a grocery store at that type of obscene hour I was a drunken college student, jonesing for a box of "chicken in a biscuit" crackers. I bumped into my 1800's American Literature professor in the same aisle. As she was reaching for a box of animal crackers, I can only assumes she was as wasted as me. Um, awkward.
The only people I encountered on my trip through the aisles today were young, sleep deprived parents much like myself. Some had their spawn with them, and some of them were just recognizeable as new parents by the look on their faces---the dark circles under the eyes and the vague expression of an escaped mental patient; clearly lost and aimless, but hoping they don't get captured and sent back to the ward.
One thing I've never realized about grocery stores is how freaking loudly they play their muzak. Without the countless bodies of roaming shoppers to absorb the sound waves, the plinky plunky versions of Les Miserable and Celine Dion songs are enough to make me want to jam forks in my ears until I achieve the blissful peace of silence. Truly if muzak had existed in his time, Dante would have devoted an entire circle of hell to it in his Inferno--perhaps as "musical" accompaniment to his river of excrement chapter. Good times.
Not the quality "me" time I had been craving, but I did kill two birds with one stone; the few minutes in the car alone were fabulous and now we have cereal, soy milk and wine to get us through the week.