I waddled into the mall's food court, sticking my pregnant belly out, a big old license to binge on multiple teriyaki chicken samples. The Hispanic women handing them out on toothpicks either didn't notice, or pretended not to notice, my return trips. I bought a sweet tea from Chick-fil-a, gestational diabetes be damned, and retreated to the family bathroom, to the breastfeeding alcoves.
I tried to breastfeed my first baby but I ended up pumping breast milk for six months after I couldn't get her to latch on properly. I mourned this failure until I became pregnant again.
"We'll get it this time," I told the little girl in my 20-week ultrasound picture, tapping her little upturned nose with my finger. "I won't blow it again."
A few weeks later at the mall, I sat in an overstuffed pleather chair in one of the alcoves and drew the curtain across. I've never had much luck trying to sleep sitting up, but I was desperate for a nap and couldn't think of anywhere else to go. Most of the hotels I checked were way out of my price range, and I decided not to risk trying any of the really cheap places.
Besides, I knew the family bathroom was clean, smelling of flowers with just a hint of disinfectant. I was positioning my head on the back of the chair to find the most comfortable angle when someone threw my curtain open. We both gasped.
"Darby?" I said, recognizing the woman holding a pink swaddled bundle propped on her left shoulder.
"Oh my God, Ellie. I'm so sorry. I didn't think anyone ever came in here," she said quickly. She was wearing sunglasses. The rest of her face was flushed pink, and her auburn hair was falling out of its pony tail one strand at a time.
"It's OK."
I started to get to my feet, using both hands on the arms of the chair.
"No. Don't get up. I can use this other one right here," she said, throwing my curtain back in place. I heard the woosh of the curtain covering the alcove next to me and the creaking of the chair as she settled herself and her baby, Melanie or Melissa or something like that, into the chair.
"How's little um...your little one?" I asked, not really feeling like talking but even more afraid of the silence or worse, the little sucking sounds.
"She's fine," Darby called out. "Just hungry and fussing at me because it's lunch time. I can't bear to breastfeed in a hot car. Can you?"
I slumped down in my chair.
"Nope," I said glumly.
"And anyway, Melody likes riding around the mall after lunch. Lulls her right to sleep. How's your little girl?"
"She's doing good. She's at home with her daddy and I'm searching for a place to get some rest."
"Lord, I know girl. Being pregnant takes it out of you. I can't imagine being pregnant and already having a 2-year-old to entertain. I'm sorry I disturbed you."
"You didn't," I lied. "I just wish I could find somewhere to lie down and sleep. I can't sleep at home because of Lauren. Even if her daddy's home, she just stands there and cries until I get up and hold her."
"She know's competition's coming. I expect it will only get worse after she's born," Darby said.
"Mmmm hmmm," I said, rolling my eyes.
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