A story for Karen…
Emily was teeny, maybe two or three weeks old, small enough that I could still nurse her and hold her with one arm. I hadn’t yet mastered the nursing in the sling so I walked around with her passed out on my forearm a lot.
It was the middle of the afternoon and our cable went out. (Acckkk!! I had a teeny baby, I never watched so much TV!) I called and was pleased that they could send someone right over. The cable guy comes to the door. I was even more pleased. Very, very cute… maybe 25. At this point in new momdom I have not seen a human being to whom I am not related in weeks. I look down and Emily is nursing away and my boob is pretty well hidden. I had not yet perfected the boob out the armpit hole of a wife beater (there is so much wrong with that image) that became my preferred method. So, instead of the zip up hoodie and tank top I later came to live in I was still regularly wearing one of three rugby style shirts that buttoned up the front. I had my boob popped out the middle.
I go out on the deck to let the guy know to come in downstairs. I run down and let him in so the dog doesn’t jump all over him, he chats with me for a second and I go back inside, still thinking how cute he is. He hollers upstairs that he needs to go in the back yard so I bring Fisher back inside.
Eventually, I had to sign the form so I met him on the stairs coming down from the deck. All of this with a three week old, eight pound baby asleep on my forearm. I could make dinner that way, change my clothes, pee, read a book, cross stitch. It was like I could almost forget she was there. I’m standing on the steps, several steps above the adorable Cable Guy. We are talking about the cable line and the adorable Cable Guy, he is staring at me. Deep, staring in to my eyes. So much so that I might have even blushed.
I am walking up the stairs thinking to myself, you know mama, you still got it. He was all about your fine ass, you got this… and then I went to open the sliding glass door. It stuck so I looked down to see if it was locked. And when I looked down I realized Emily had nodded off. Literally. Her head was rolled over to the side and my boob was just there, staring out my shirt, like a cyclops. The poor guy was staring in to my eyes because I was standing two stairs up from him, my nipple staring him in the face!! He was just trying not to look down!
I met him, the adorable Cable Guy, months later. At Hooters appropriately enough. Yup, he didn’t remember my face. I said “Maybe I should whip my boob out to remind you of who I am?” He replies, “Did you work here? ohh… no, you’re the boob lady with the baby.”