Free Maternity Leave (9781466871533) by Julie Halpern Page B

chicken,” my mom informs me.
    â€œDo you mean I’m no spring chicken, or are you calling me a chicken for some other reason?”
    â€œYou know what I mean.” She flaps her hand dismissively.
    â€œTheir clothes are cute and cheap. I don’t know how long I’ll be this size, so I don’t want to spend a lot of money.”
    â€œI’m paying today,” my mom demands.
    â€œYou don’t have to, Ma,” I protest.
    â€œI want to. Let me do these nice things for you before I become an invalid and you have to spend all of your money on a nursing home for me. Or you could always add a wing to the house.”
    â€œMa! You are not going to become an invalid. At least not anytime soon.”
    â€œAnd don’t waste your money on a fancy coffin for me. In fact, just cremate me. It’ll be cheaper.”
    â€œMom! Macabre much? I’m not going to cremate you. Isn’t that against Jewish law?”
    â€œI think God would understand me not wanting to be a burden on you.”
    â€œOy. Let’s just shop, shall we?”
    â€œFine. But if you do cremate me, at least find a pretty little vase with a secure lid. I don’t want to be in one of those tacky tins they put pets in after they die. Sweet Nebbie gone, and they return her to me in a coffee tin covered in whimsical paw prints.…”
    â€œGot it, Ma, no dead dog coffee tins.”
    I successfully manage to tuck Sam into my Moby Wrap, and I find myself feeling rather smug as I spot other moms pushing their babies around in strollers. They’re probably thinking, Look at that woman, how bonded she must be with her little one. How sweet. Or maybe they see through the charade to read the exhausted, blotchy expression on my face, the result of crying half the night as my husband lay snoring next to me.
    â€œThat’s a nice one.” My mom pulls top after top off the racks, and I try not to veto every single one. It’s baffling how my mom manages to sniff out the matronly items available at Forever 21. “Ready to try on?” she asks.
    â€œHow am I going to try on clothes? I’m wearing the baby.”
    â€œTake him off. I’ll hold him. You want Grandma to hold you, don’t you, Sammy?” Mom coos at the baby.
    â€œIf I take this thing off, I’ll never get it back on. Plus, he’ll probably start crying, and then I’ll have to rush and stress out. It’s better we just buy them, and I can return the ones I don’t like.”
    As we’re paying, Sam starts fussing. “He’s hungry.” I deflate. “He’s always hungry.”
    â€œI made you that lovely nursing cover. Why don’t you use it? We can find a quiet spot.”
    â€œI’m not ready for public nursing, Ma. I can barely do it when I’m sitting in a soft chair with ten pillows behind me, a nursing pillow under him, and my bra on the floor. Let’s just get him home.”
    â€œBut we’ve only been here a half hour,” Mom protests.
    â€œUnless you want him to suck on your boobs, we’re going home.”
    â€œIn my day, they didn’t even encourage us to breastfeed. I couldn’t figure it out. My doctor was all, ‘Meh, that’s why they make formula.’ And you turned out fine.” She likes to say this.
    We walk toward the car, trying to carry on a conversation with Sam screaming in my face. “Ma, are we really going to have this argument again? I want to breastfeed him. Period.”
    â€œI just wish you weren’t so hard on yourself.”
    I’m starting to get that a lot.
    FACEBOOK STATUS
    Note to self: Probably best not to purchase ten size small t-shirts four weeks after giving birth without trying them on first.
    34 Days Old
    Zach wants to go out to breakfast today, a Sunday, which I am vehemently against. Breakfast restaurants are always annoyingly packed on Sunday mornings, and I flash back to the ridiculous