“Tracey? Tracey?”

I kept walking through Target, like the mom-bie (zombie+mom) that the lack of sleep and pallor from late night feedings- I knew looked like.

I heard it again: “Tracey, Trace?”  Recognition almost registered through my mommy-fogged brain. “Tracey? You mean me?” I looked around. I saw a friend. She DID mean me. I thought about pretending I wasn’t me. I was a mess and not exactly feeling like a “visit.” Besides, time was ticking and my boobs were filling. It was almost time to nurse again- if I went off the schedule there would be tears and a possible overflow. Which, I generally tried to avoid. I checked the baby in his seat.He was sleeping.

I decided to risk it. We talked for a few minutes, and I somehow felt like I’d been pulled out of my mom-bie ness. It wasn’t a deep conversation. Just a chat. With another mom. One who also happened to be between nursings and risking the public humiliation of leaking to talk to me….a sister in motherhood with a cart piled with diapers and wipes.

That few minutes of connection between nursings and the target checkout- refreshed me. It woke me up from my mom-bie sleep. It reminded me that I have a name.  Honestly?   (more…)