Today we went to Ikea. I love Ikea and its tantalising dreams of tidy, clean homes with minimalist furniture and lots of light. I always want to be living in that catalog, really. Okay, I get that is quite a confession, as some people hate admitting they even own anything from their mass production plants, but there you have it. I am lucky, my tastes naturally run to the cheap and flat-packed, when it comes to furniture. What can I say – K got lucky with that!
Anyway, we got a bed for Anya (more on that later, perhaps). As we were arriving Anya had a mini but loud meltdown. Solution? Breastfeed her to sleep (we knew she was really needing a nap but rocking wasn’t settling her). So, I sat and nursed her in a cozy living room set as shoppers walked by.
I am a very comfortable and open breastfeeder, I have found. I don’t tend to cover up with one of those huge sheets (hooter-hiders?). I think ‘these are working breasts’ (a bit like a seeing-eye dog is a ‘working dog’ and you are not allowed to play with them…). I hope I am also not brazen or inconsiderate of others feelings toward public breastfeeding. I know the law is on my side (California law protects our right to breastfeed in public places); I feel it is a completely natural thing to do and yet I see no need to be pushy or loud about it either. We are just doing what we need to do.
Yet somehow it struck me as funny that I was sitting there in this mock living room nursing my little darling to sleep as passers-by went about their days. They are probably mostly parents themselves, though, Ikea being like Mecca to young couples.
Anya fell asleep almost instantly. She was that tired. We got back to taking down Swedish names and aisle numbers. All is well that ends well, in suburbia.