Maya was getting restless as my mom and I were having lunch out at a local restaurant. She was getting hungry, but was hesitant to nurse at the table with all of the buzzing and whirling energy around. After going semi topless repeatedly over my butternut squash soup with no happy baby results, I ask the server if they happen to have a quiet place I can go to nurse. “Uh, not really, but you can go in here”, he tells me.
Well, Here is a utility closet. A tiny one. With buckets of dirty water, wet mops, tubes connecting soda lines to the back bar, and servers’ purses and backpacks scattered about.
As he opens the door to my private nursing suite, the server mentions, “don’t steal anything, okay?”
There is no chair in this janitor’s closet. So I sit on a tall cardboard box labeled “forks” and whip out my breast as a musty wool coat tickles Maya’s head from above.
It is dark and quiet, however, and Maya eagerly though reluctantly begins to nurse. She proceeds to have one of her longest nursing sessions ever, of course, and the box of forks begins to slowly buckle under the weight of this moment.