Hooray for Boobies!

In spite of the nurses strict instructions to AVOID LARGE CROWDS, we took the Ninja to the mall. We are a trio of rebels now. Considering her bubble isn't being breeched by people coming in for a greasy diseased kiss, I feel at ease going to the mall and continuing with my life.

On this, our first mall outing, it was inevitable that a feeding needed to take place. In public. For the first time since the 2004 Stanley Cup run, my boobs would have to see the very public light of day. We had made the grievous error of leaving our stroller at home. So we had her car seat in a shopping cart. Since I am one of those people who doesn't like taking up much space, I opted to take her into the unknown sans carrier equipment. Now I know better.

I left Wade in the food court and followed the signs to a room that I had only spied on my visits to the washroom. I had imagined that there was some sort of fight training going on or loud explosions, behind the mysterious closed door. The alternative would be a calm and serene environment. Perhaps with water treatments, a Zen rock garden and women in meditative states. Now the day was upon me. I had to walk through the door that had caused my already over active imagination to spiral out of control.

The Ninja and I took a deep breath. Then we pushed/booted the door open. The sight that met my eyes was so much worse than I had in my mind. It was like a sugar fuelled birthday party with boobs. There were children running amok. Mothers feeding younger siblings of the silly monkeys jumping on the comfortable looking chairs. I picked a chair next to a shopping cart on steroids. It had Thomas the Train playing on an LCD screen. When did shopping carts get TV? There was a fussy little girl whining to be let out of said cart. Or unleashed as I would soon discover.

After digesting that I was apparently transported to a Chuck E Cheese (sans ball pit), I set about the business of feeding the Ninja. I am apparently less about showing off the girls in this crowd than on a very rowdy 17th Avenue. With the skill that would confuse most men waiting for the hooter shot, I covered up and started feeding. Once I was settled in, I had another look at my surroundings.

The amount of activity in this room was not relaxing. At all. I like being laid back and undistracted when I am in this sort of feeding situation. Having under parented kids bouncing merrily on chairs that are meant for mothers who need a place to relax and get the feeding done is neither relaxing or low on the distraction scale. Their mothers, however, seemed pretty relaxed and uninterested in what their kids were up to while they were in their National Geographic-esc (think of the issue with the African ladies letting it all hang out) type of bubble with their immobile bundles of joy.

The Thomas the Train video continued to drone on next to me, having been abandoned by the whiny girl in favour of turning this room into her own personal jungle gym. Another lady appeared out of nowhere with a frozen bottle of milk. She broke all the rules of frozen milk I had read/been lectured about and popped it into the microwave. To each his own, I thought to myself. There are 2 change stations that were occupied and all of a sudden the room with so many empty chairs became standing room only.

Of course the Ninja would opt to fall asleep. So I was forced to button up and change her to wake her up. This elicited several looks and oohs and ahs at her tiny (yet deadly) size. Only one woman was bold enough to ask her age, while I was mid-change. I politely respond but carried on what I was doing. I don't like dealing with foot vs waste issues. I also didn't get into her life story about being 6 weeks premature.

I went back to feeding her and took a look at the TV mounted on the wall. For some reason, a poker tournament is the only thing on TV at that time of day. I may have rolled my eyes in dramatic fashion. It probably went unnoticed since the people in the room didn't seem capable of pulling their eyes away from the little miracles dangling from their breasts. Even if it involved keeping their older children under control.

After 40 minutes in the chaos and magic that is the mall breast feeding room, I staggered out to the food court in need of food and a martini. A really big martini. Sadly they are not on the menu right now. I settled for Jugo Juice and a car ride home. To my sanctuary, where the Thomas the Train invasion has not yet occurred.

If you read to this point and don't have kids yet, your welcome. Your reproductive organs are no longer functional.