Yesterday we had to vacate the house in the morning, so I took the girls to J. Christopher's for breakfast. Annika was a dream. She drank her juice and ate her cheese and bacon grits and an english muffin with a minimum of stress. Dagny, on the other hand, refused to eat and did a lot of screaming. I tried to get her to eat, but to no avail. Everytime I put her to the breast, she freaked out. I had to remove the hooter hider and go uncovered because she didn't want anything on her head. Despite our location (back of restaurant, facing the wall), anyone who looked could have had a nice view of my boob. Maybe just my tummy and nipple, but still. In the parking lot at this restaurant, we tried to eat again inside the car. While I was attempting the feeding (in the driver's seat in full view of anyone who cared to look in my window), a woman parked 6 inches from my car and hit my mirror on her way into the restaurant. Imagine my delight when I found that I couldn't even open the car door enough to put Dagny in her carseat. After a brief temper tantrum in which I punched the woman's car and used various curse words (no damage to car, out of earshot of kids), we went to Target. Dagny screamed basically the whole time we were there. Then, we went to Annika's dance class. Dagny decided that she would skip that feeding also. My blood pressure rose and she cried during the whole class. On the way home, I got fast food for Annika's lunch because Dagny was STILL CRYING and then she fell asleep in the car. She stayed asleep until 2:30pm when we got to the doctor to see what was wrong with her.
What was wrong? Nothing. She ate fine once she woke up in the waiting room of the doctor's office. All nurses and docs at the office thought I was a moron because the nurse on the phone told me to bring her in and I did.
All day, I was "that woman" - the one who sits behind you in the restaurant with the screaming child, the one who whips it out in public, the one with spit-up on her shirt, the one whose child screams while she is shopping, the one who causes you to move to have a phone conversation because her kid is so loud, the one who feeds her kid nasty fast food, the one who goes to the doctor for no good reason, the one who can't keep her shit together.