You haven’t lived until you’ve nursed your four-month-old under a Hooter Hider next to an unknown bearded man in coach. No sirreee, you have not.

We were all wedged together in the second-to-last row of the plane, next to the lavatories. Tucked under my seat, my diaper bag exploded with spare bibs and nappies and creams and potions and dibby dops (more on those later) and balled up baby socks and two round apples in plastic sacks. Propped up in my lap August drooled into his bib.

My neighbor was gnarled with a frizzly, grizzly ponytail. I was close enough to see his ear hairs (clipped) and he was large enough to require that the armrest remained up throughout the flight. We were cheek by jowl doing the Delta Air Lines economy-class dance. It was terribly romantic. He kept his hands folded in his lap, his nose directed toward the window. August looked at him and yowled.

Truly, Michael and I tried our best to keep August entertained with bouncing and songs and stories but even a four-month-old is wise enough to know that flights — even short flights — are borrrrring. I slung August over my shoulder so he could sleep. But then he was awake. And he wanted food.

Nursing is a clunky business at best. Nursing under a nursing cover — a flowery cape slung around my neck to hide baby and breast — turns it into a full-blown comedy. It was dark and stifling under my super-mommy cape. August poked his head up out of the top to get some air. He looked around. He snuffled and snorted and yanked. He bat at the folds of cloth. We worked at it for five minutes until neither of us could stand it any longer. August shouted and screamed. That was the end of that meal.

Meanwhile my neighbor expressed deep, deep interest in the view out the window.

And now I know why they call it cattle class.

Tags: Feeding, Nursing