It's 8PM. I'm sitting in the drive-thru of CVS waiting for my prescription while hubby is home trying to get the baby to bed. They always seem to be busy, and so I wait...
It's 80 degrees out, but I pull my baggy sweater closed. I hope that he will not notice that I'm wearing my pajamas. Are they still pajamas if I've been wearing them all day? My trusty sweater camouflages this nursing tank top into a conscientious fashion choice; layers are always in. That is admittedly my go-to wardrobe right now, which explains why the sweater is stretched to oblivion. Luckily, that extra billow hides the ice packs that I tucked into my top right before I left. Breastfeeding has been a war zone lately.
I look to the window for a sign that he's found my prescription so I can be on my way. I notice that Sick Baby has slimed my left shoulder. I dab it with a wet kleenex and make a mental note to drop the sweater in the wash when I get home. Ah, finally, there he is. I reach for my credit card, and I am reminded that Baby spit up on me after her last feed.
He hands me my card back and smiles. Not a pity smile, not a "why is this stinky homeless woman picking up prenatal vitamins" smile. Just a regular smile. For a regular customer. This feels like victory. It smells a bit like spoiled milk, but it certainly feels like a victory.
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