"Maternity" by Picasso. (I wrote about it here.)
Anyway, this time my little baby boy actually started to fuss. No wonder, since he was used to me feeding him whenever he wanted to. Well, I just didn't feel comfortable feeding him here. On the chairs next to me, on both sides, were important-looking businessmen. Suit, tie, tapping away on their laptops, and I'm sure I could physically feel their occasional sideways gaze, and their frown, which read "I really hope she doesn't even think about breastfeeding here, next to me!"
My baby continued his fussing, starting to search against my chest, bobbing his head, desperately trying to tell me that he wanted to eat, and I tried to hold him differently, up on my shoulder, but now he starting crying - for real. I got up, rocked him in my arms, whispering to him "I'm so sorry, but you'll soon get your milk". My eyes hurt, and I had to fight back tears. This was awful.
After a while he was calmer, and I sat down with him. The suit man on my right looked at me in an annoyed way. This was not fun. This was new mother hell. Couldn't they just start that boarding! My baby, who had been drowsing off for a few minutes, suddenly startled awake and started searching again, frantically this time. Like a little wild animal. This wasn't him, not the baby I was used to. And, this wasn't me...
In the end, my instincts won over me not being comfortable around these New England businessmen, so I snapped open the clasp on my shoulder strap, stuck my baby underneath my t-shirt, where he happily, and with a big sigh, started to eat.
My face was all red. I looked down on my baby, all at the same time making sure no flesh was to be seen.
Somebody cleared his throat, in a somewhat noisy way. It was Mr. Suit. "Well," he said, and when I shot a glimpse in his direction, I realized he was looking straight at me....
I braced myself. And, then he said,
"It was about time you fed that hungry baby!"