On the road last Saturday, we stopped at a Chik-fil-A. This was a strategic plan. We'd spent 2 hours driving, and we were about to spend another two hours in the car with a realtor. I chose a place where we could eat, play, and have somewhere to nurse since we'd missed the usual before/after naptime feedings.
Sweating from the outdoor playground, we came back inside to a booth in the back of the restaurant. "Um, Martha?" Tom asks. "Do you just want to do this in the front seat of the car?"
It's August. In Alabama. In a heat wave, at the hottest part of the day. It's 103 degrees outside, and my husband asks in all sincerity if I would like to nurse our toddler outside in the car.
"Um, Tom, do you just want to bite me?"
In his defense, he didn't argue. He sat with me, and we talked of other things. A year ago, he would have continued to suggest alternatives while anxiously looking over his shoulder. We've actually come a long way.