The first thing Owl wants when I pick him up at Daycare is booba.
“Sit, sit!” Daycare Lady always says, and I sit on the couch and nurse Owl for 15 minutes or so while she lists everything Owl consumed that day. She nursed her own children past the age of three, so it seems perfectly normal to her.
Not so for all of the kids at the daycare. The older ones tend to be curious about it.
“What is he doing?” a three year old asked me.
“He’s drinking milk,” I told her.
I don’t mind them watching, and Daycare Lady considers it good education for them.
But one little girl gets a little too up close and personal.
She’s just two, with golden hair and big, big blue eyes which stare in fascination at Owl’s face while he roots around and grunts in milky satisfaction. As I nurse, she draws closer and closer, a perplexed look on her face. She points to Owl, and to me, and I tell her “he’s nursing”.
Her big eyes look into mine for a moment, and then return to my breast. Her face draws well into my personal space, which catches Owl’s attention and he stops nursing to look at her in surprise.
Then, her tiny index finger comes out and gently touches my nipple.
“He’s having some milk,” I say.
I wonder – is she remembering her own breastfeeding days? WAS she breastfed, or is this an alien act to her? Maybe it is, because she looks like there’s something she wants to ask me.
Her earnest gaze catches mine, and she points again at my nipple with a smile.
“Tit?” she says, “Tit??“
Go away, kid.