It’s a beautiful May morning in Austin; temps are uncharacteristically low (in the 60’s). Mister takes the morning off work to celebrate Bunder’s second birthday at the Austin Zoo Goat Farm. Our family of four tours the entire zoo in less than an hour, including a stop at each petting zoo pen to feed the animals goats. Luckily, I like goats, and the train ride begins at 11.
First in line at the train station, Bunder eagerly climbs aboard. Kiki starts fussing with Bunder narrating, “Kiki’s crabby.”
I squeeze onto the miniature train car with Mister and Bunder while pulling out Kiki’s milk supply. Mister looks quizzically at my juggling to which I reply, “She’s hungry, so I’m going to nurse her.”
Mister asks, “On a train?”
I reply, “I can nurse on a train.”
Perhaps I’ve read one too many Dr. Seuss stories in my day, or perhaps I was feeling frisky with the fresh smell of goat in the air. Whatever it was, I couldn’t stop myself – the words started flowing just as the milk did.
I can nurse on a train. I can nurse in the rain.
I can nurse on a boat. I can nurse with a goat (plenty of goats here to choose from).
I can nurse in the house. I can nurse with a mouse.
I can nurse near and far. I can nurse in a car (a parked car of course.)
I can nurse at the park. I can nurse in the dark.
I can nurse lying down. I can nurse standing up.
I can nurse around town. I can nurse into a cup.
I can nurse on the run. I can nurse in the sun.
I can nurse here and I can nurse there.
I can nurse Kiki anywhere.
All kidding aside, I have nursed Kiki in the places listed and then some (the most awkward was nursing her while pushing Bunder in a swing at the park). So many aspects of parenting change for the second child. Poor things. I remember Bunder would only nurse in privacy with absolute quiet. Kiki knows she has to eat when it’s offered, even if it means keeping one eye on her brother at all times.