"Just call me Audrey," I joked.
We window-shopped and had lunch at a restaurant that has been open since 1921. Though it looks a bit shabby now, the dark wood booths and patio tables sitting on tile floors beneath wide-bladed fans teemed with the ghosts of stylish people having cocktails. The husband and I joined them, toasting ourselves with good beer and strawberry pie in the midday heat.
And then, just to keep things classy, I pumped in a parking garage. Nothing like parenthood to keep you grounded in reality.
In other, somewhat related news, The Lad has two teeth. His bottom front teeth popped out over night just in time for our anniversary. (Such a thoughtful kiddo, that Lad.) You know how you scrape your teeth along a fork to get the last crumbs of cake? Well, The Lad has done that twice to me after a feeding. The first time I was so shocked, I did nothing. The second time, I will admit to tapping his cheek out of reflex and yelling. The yell scared him, and at the next feeding, I was safe. But that also might have been because I was monitoring every suck and, at the first sign of a wriggle, unlatching him.
We call the Lad our little Beastie. You long-term breastfeeding mommas have any good tips to ward off a mauling, should The Lad decide to live up to his nickname?