On the way home from our camping trip, boo took two naps. One the minute we got in the car that lasted through about half of Joshua Tree National Park. He woke up crying and we toured a cactus garden with him. And then shoved him back into the hated carseat. He cried almost the entire way to the next rest stop (unbearable for his poor mama), where we got out and fed him avocados, carrot puree, rice cakes and boob milk until he was almost in a good mood again. Until the hated carseat. Then he moaned and groaned and had this really gloomy look on his face until he passed out for nap #2. Which lasted a good hour, before he woke screaming once again, with traffic suggesting that we had another hour and a half left of our trip. (What should ordinarily be a two and a half hour journey ended up taking almost six with the detour through the park, pitstops and horrendous Sunday late afternoon LA freeway joy riding.)
So, there seemed only one thing left to do. When we stopped for gas, I climbed in the back and took to entertaining the baby. With the few random toys we’d brought along, the zipper on his changing pad, my hand doubling as some amorphous animal puppet that says, “Hello Aidan! I love you, Aidan! Can I eat your ear?! Chompchompchomp….” Giggle giggle giggle. And then he started grabbing for my shirt, and the embarrassing part began. First he whined, then he cried, really cried, hard, so I sighed, pulled out a boob and leaned over the carseat to stick it in his mouth. He sucked contentedly, while the edge of the seat cut into my gut. I tried to pull away. He squealed and sucked all the harder.
It wasn’t the first time. It won’t be the last. But that doesn’t make it any less pathetic. All I can say is I hope passing cars couldn’t see my humiliating display and confess that I’ve also been known to flop a boob over the edge of the crib when the cries got unbearable. Anything for my baby.