Bosom Buddies…

I am trying to devise a plan to avoid nursing car-seat baby the night of my brother’s wedding and have just over a month to make my dream a reality.

I am shaking in my newly purchased, adorable, metallic heels that I may never have the chance to wear because the baby will simply NOT take a bottle, sippy-cup, coffee mug, thermos, champagne flute or extra large Mr. Slurpee of breast milk and is glued to my nipple with no hope of graduating University without my then lengthy, nearly detached, futuristic, breast tucked neatly under her cap and gown.

People are confusing my interest in weaning the baby with wishing my life away. My wish for this baby is to attend grade school without having to fashion a sling-shot contraption connecting my breast to her knapsack. I don’t see how this is wishing my life away. Recognizing that at just under seven months, I have not yet entered that, “wow, your baby looks too old, can no longer fit on your lap without spilling onto the next chair” phase, but we are close.

A friend suggested I nurse her only in the morning and at night in the privacy of my own home. Why, if it’s not something I should be ashamed of should I have to hide? Are my nipples really that ghastly to the naked eye?

Wedding attire now becomes an issue. If I can encourage, convince, negotiate, plead, bribe this baby to drink something (anything!) out of a twisty straw and allow me to go to the wedding, I can wear a dress.

If she refuses all liquids aside from milk from the jugs, I will be forced to wear a church-basement-Sunday-tea-sandwich ensemble of button down blouse, long skirt, thick, dark, knee socks and white sneakers, so she can gain access to the goods.

How does one wear a dress and still nurse a baby?  I would have to un-zip, completely disrobe and feed her wearing nothing but my doubled up, rolled down, unitard spanx and a pashmina cape.

I’ve already been warned by the Officiant, this behaviour is frowned upon.

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