Stuffing The Bra
Kids under the age of 18, listen up.
I've found the boy for you.
He's cute, he's sweet and he didn't blink when I hijacked a change room at SportChek from the BF the other day and ran in with a massive bag full of discounted Halloween Smarties and breast pads.
We'd gone shopping to get a jump on Christmas shopping.
Halfway to the mall, I started to think, "Darn, I feel thinner. My breasts feel smaller. Yup, all that working out is working out for me."
Then, I realized that for the first time since Aug. 30, I was without my pads.
I'd forgotten to tuck the oh-so sexy breastpads into my bra.
"Do you think I could take my socks off and stuff them in there?" I asked the BF.
His look said, "NO. NO. NO."
(It's not as if I haven't done it before around the house when I've been too lazy to go all the way back up the six steps to our bathroom but this was out in public. It seemed too risque. Still, don't tell anyone.)
I was in a panic about the pads until we got inside the shopping centre and I saw the setup for the Santa photographs. Soon, I was thinking only about putting my Little Man on Santa's lap and having all the elves coo about how my son is a cutie patootie.
Soon, we were in shopping heaven until I felt that familiar sensation. It's a dull throbbing that signals the flood gates are about to open in a few minutes.
I left the BF in the sock aisle (sorry, kiddies but everyone gets a pair of socks for Christmas) while I ran to get new breastpads.
Then, I got arrogant. I checked my shirt. Nope, no saucer-size stains.
"More shopping!" I declared.
It was off to SportChek. It was buy one item, get one for 50 per cent off.
Just as the BF picked up a few things to try on, I felt it.
Niagara Crosbie Falls.
My shirt - just on the left side - was soaked.
"Ask the guy if you can try something on!" I said to the BF.
"Now!"
The nice sales guy opened the door for the BF and I rushed in with my bag of orange and black Smarties and one massive purple box of breastpads.
I don't know what he thought I was doing in there. I didn't have anything to try on so I can only assume he thought:
A) I was going in there to stuff my face full of chocolate;
B) I was trying to shoplift something;
C) I was looking for a private place to, well, toot. (Hey buddy, you smelt it, you dealt it);
D) I was a new mommy who, for the very first time, soaked through her shirt in public.
I thought when I came out, and the BF went in the changeroom to actually try on some clothes, the sales guy would tell us to come find him if we needed any help. Instead, the guy took an interest in my baby. (What teenage guy is interested in some chick's child?)
"Cute kid."
"Thanks," I said, crossing my arms so the spillage wasn't visible, making me look very hostile for a woman out Christmas shopping and holding a very cute boy.
"Boy or girl?"
"Boy," I said.
"Maybe he'll be a hockey player?"
"Nope," I said, "his dad and older brother play hockey. Too many practices and games. And it's expensive."
"It won't be expensive if he uses his brother's equipment," he replied.
OK, normally I'm all for the chitty chat but the guy had to see my boob stain and you don't really want to talk when you're dripping milk down your shirt. So I decided to shut him up.
"Actually, I'm really hoping my son will grow up to be a flautist."
"Ha ha! I win," I thought.
The sales guy looked at me and smiled. I thought it was time for him to walk away.
"That'd be great," he said, "I love music. I'm a big jazz fan."
I smiled to myself. Yes, this was perhaps one of the most awkward moments I've ever had, but I also realized that I'd either found the most suave teenage sales guy in all of Kingston or a potentially hot boyfriend for a sweet kid.
He asked me about my baby. Engaged me in a conversation about children's hockey. Likes jazz music?
How to find him? He's the kid with the eyebrow ring.
(And kid? Thanks for not making me feel all weird and stuff. I'll buy my next pair of running shoes from you.)
I've found the boy for you.
He's cute, he's sweet and he didn't blink when I hijacked a change room at SportChek from the BF the other day and ran in with a massive bag full of discounted Halloween Smarties and breast pads.
We'd gone shopping to get a jump on Christmas shopping.
Halfway to the mall, I started to think, "Darn, I feel thinner. My breasts feel smaller. Yup, all that working out is working out for me."
Then, I realized that for the first time since Aug. 30, I was without my pads.
I'd forgotten to tuck the oh-so sexy breastpads into my bra.
"Do you think I could take my socks off and stuff them in there?" I asked the BF.
His look said, "NO. NO. NO."
(It's not as if I haven't done it before around the house when I've been too lazy to go all the way back up the six steps to our bathroom but this was out in public. It seemed too risque. Still, don't tell anyone.)
I was in a panic about the pads until we got inside the shopping centre and I saw the setup for the Santa photographs. Soon, I was thinking only about putting my Little Man on Santa's lap and having all the elves coo about how my son is a cutie patootie.
Soon, we were in shopping heaven until I felt that familiar sensation. It's a dull throbbing that signals the flood gates are about to open in a few minutes.
I left the BF in the sock aisle (sorry, kiddies but everyone gets a pair of socks for Christmas) while I ran to get new breastpads.
Then, I got arrogant. I checked my shirt. Nope, no saucer-size stains.
"More shopping!" I declared.
It was off to SportChek. It was buy one item, get one for 50 per cent off.
Just as the BF picked up a few things to try on, I felt it.
Niagara Crosbie Falls.
My shirt - just on the left side - was soaked.
"Ask the guy if you can try something on!" I said to the BF.
"Now!"
The nice sales guy opened the door for the BF and I rushed in with my bag of orange and black Smarties and one massive purple box of breastpads.
I don't know what he thought I was doing in there. I didn't have anything to try on so I can only assume he thought:
A) I was going in there to stuff my face full of chocolate;
B) I was trying to shoplift something;
C) I was looking for a private place to, well, toot. (Hey buddy, you smelt it, you dealt it);
D) I was a new mommy who, for the very first time, soaked through her shirt in public.
I thought when I came out, and the BF went in the changeroom to actually try on some clothes, the sales guy would tell us to come find him if we needed any help. Instead, the guy took an interest in my baby. (What teenage guy is interested in some chick's child?)
"Cute kid."
"Thanks," I said, crossing my arms so the spillage wasn't visible, making me look very hostile for a woman out Christmas shopping and holding a very cute boy.
"Boy or girl?"
"Boy," I said.
"Maybe he'll be a hockey player?"
"Nope," I said, "his dad and older brother play hockey. Too many practices and games. And it's expensive."
"It won't be expensive if he uses his brother's equipment," he replied.
OK, normally I'm all for the chitty chat but the guy had to see my boob stain and you don't really want to talk when you're dripping milk down your shirt. So I decided to shut him up.
"Actually, I'm really hoping my son will grow up to be a flautist."
"Ha ha! I win," I thought.
The sales guy looked at me and smiled. I thought it was time for him to walk away.
"That'd be great," he said, "I love music. I'm a big jazz fan."
I smiled to myself. Yes, this was perhaps one of the most awkward moments I've ever had, but I also realized that I'd either found the most suave teenage sales guy in all of Kingston or a potentially hot boyfriend for a sweet kid.
He asked me about my baby. Engaged me in a conversation about children's hockey. Likes jazz music?
How to find him? He's the kid with the eyebrow ring.
(And kid? Thanks for not making me feel all weird and stuff. I'll buy my next pair of running shoes from you.)
Labels: BF, breastfeeding, Christmas, hockey, Little Man, sexy Sarah, shopping, SportChek
2 Comments:
Ok, so this totally happened to me the first freakish first time out with baby trip from hell at WalMart. A stain emanated from my left boob WHILE I was talking to a salesperson WHILE my colicky baby cried. (I had stopped rocking the stroller for a minute.) The salesperson looked at the stain, at me, at the stain with eyes a bulging.
2 more babies later (the stain would now emanate from somewhere around my navel :)) and I learned that when you feel the tingle, cross your arms in front and hold tight for a minute, it usually staves it off.
The joys.......
lol
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