Please.

I was in the cry room at church last Sunday, nursing Ruthie. Finally, I was let out of my quarantine and made my way out to R. As soon as I got to the aisle, I noticed something was amiss. So I looked down (Naturally. As about 1 out of every 3 embarrassing things that happen to me involve my chest in some way.) and holy schnikes, one side of my nursing bra was hanging out for all to see. Apparently, I forgot to pull my shirt back up. (For the record, I had to look up how to spell schnikes and, look, it’s got its own definition: A non-cursing expression of amazement and/or surprise. It’s pronounced schnaik-ees, not schnaiks.)

I sat down next to R and whispered, “Well, I gave the whole back row a show. That outta bring ’em back next Sunday.” He looked puzzled but I didn’t elaborate, because I was already in the middle of thanking God that at least my bra had been pulled up.

You’d think I’d learned my lesson, huh. Nope.

Ruth and I were listening to the KSU football game and I took a photo to remember that special moment. And it is indeed special now.

The nursing pad gave it a glamorous touch, I have to say. She’s appalled.

This is going in her baby book.