renegade mom

I’d like to try to explain, or remind as the case may be, about how it feels when you start to venture out of the house solo after giving birth. First, I should mention this - When you are breastfeeding a baby weeks old, it is not as simple as just getting away, even when you have the chance. There is that little factor of the baby having to eat every couple hours. – At least that’s how often my little nursling guzzles. And let me clarify – that’s from start of feeding to start of feeding. In other words, if it takes about half an hour to get the critter fed, you get all of 90 minutes before you need to be back at your post – the boppy prison – exposing yourself to your newborn and any visitors that happen by. And in between snack time, from your new-found Barbie boobs, oozes the miracle of milk. It oozes onto your new blue top, your old silk blouse. It oozes in pretty wet patterns mysterious as crop circles.

But beyond the physical constraint of motherhood, there are the hormones. If you leave the room, much less the house, you feel as if you have betrayed your offspring and the rules of survival for your species. You feel they may die without you, or you without them, and, after only moments in front of the Suzy-Qs at the 7-11, you will be exposed for what you are: a fraud – posing as a woman entitled to five minutes alone – and a disgrace to humankind.

The first time I ever left my house without Isaac was a bizarre experience. It was a quick jaunt to the drugstore (for something for Isaac, of course). When I arrived, about seven minutes after I’d left my house, jittery and distracted, there were no parking spots in the lot. "See," an old inner voice told me, "Proof you shouldn’t be here." (Note to self: do not raise child under religion causing long-term guilt. = any religion?)

The next time I tried to get out it was to the grocery store. We had devised the plan early in the day: I would go shopping and Mike would stay home with the baby. It was simple, yet brilliant. I was excited all day in anticipation of my trip (I know, it’s sick. Just stay with me.).

The day wore on and I wore down until it was 8:30pm – 30 minutes before the store closed. I dashed away, leaving my baby tanked up on boob juice and sleeping soundly. I was feeling odd, but okay as I maneuvered through the aisles placing out of season fruits from South America in my cart.

I checked out right as the store was closing, having collected $60 worth of snacks. I chatted amiably with the checker as I swiped my credit card. …Declined. Re-swiped. Declined. My clerk buddy began to frown, all memory of the happy chit chat we had just shared now gone. Swiped again. Declined. Declined. Declined. Oh, fuck-a-roo-skis. The inner voice cackled into my ear, "Didn’t learn your lesson with the parking spots, huh? Well, screw with biological dependence and evolutionary schema and see where it gets you, Be-otch!" At least I had brought the cell phone leash and now I frantically called home to ask Mike if he had $60 in cash. The final nail in my coffin: I could hear my baby crying in the background. (RIP, you terrible mother, you) "$58.25…$58.50," my husband spoke into the phone as my son wailed on and on. "$59... $59.10…" (If there’s a god, you will kill me now! Kill me now!) The people behind me in line (oh, yes, there were people behind me in line) were expressing their annoyance freely and creatively by now.

Okay, we got it. Mike would be back with the money. I raced to the car, sans groceries, and started home. A couple blocks from the store I passed a cop. I’ll tell you all now, since I didn’t get to tell him, I don’t know how fast I was driving. In my rearview mirror, I saw him make a U-turn and my heart about crumbled. We’re talking my tiny little piddly town. My dull, quiet, whitebread town where your doggies are welcome in the bank. In other words – these cops are BORED and that means DANGEROUS! I have seen them give out tickets for stopping past the white line at the corner. These are the same people that as little kids, hit squirrels out of trees with homemade slingshots just to watch them fall. Shit!!!

I turned left. I turned left again. I turned right. I was lost in a neighborhood of skinny streets and lots of those holiday flags. Renegade mom. They would not bring me DOWN!

And so, yeah, as it turned out, copper didn’t catch up with me. Honestly, I have no idea if he was after me to begin with. But if he’d have caught me, I can tell you one thing for sure. It wouldn’t have been a speeding ticket I went home with. It would have been a citation for being a new mom away from her baby. Here’s an excerpt from the scene that would surely have ensued.

Cop peers in through the driver’s side window and, spotting the empty car seat in the back:
Do you know why I pulled you over?
I’m sorry, officer, I never speed, you see my credit card…
Ma’am, where’s the baby?
Baby?
Yes, the baby, ma’am. Didn’t you just have a baby?
Yes, I…
Where’s the baby, ma’am?
Where?
Ma’am, where – is - your - baby?
He’s, uh, at home.
I’m going to have to cite you for negligence.
Pardon? But, the baby is with his father and I just fed him.
Uh huh. (still writing ticket) Are you or are you not out without your baby?
Well, I thought…
No, ma’am you didn’t think. That’s the problem. It’s plain to anyone looking at you that you just had a baby and you have left that baby at home while you gallivant about town.
But I was just buying…
Save it for the judge, Lady. And by the way, you’re leaking.