I wake up thirsty, and there's no water. One thing you may not know about breastfeeding is, it makes you dehydrated as hell. The minute he latches on, I'm freaking out thirsty.

There's no fresh water in the house, so as soon as The Bug has eaten we're off to the grocery store. I harbor all these fancy notions of grabbing a Subway while we're there, and a Starbucks (tall decaf nonfat iced latte, one sugar).

On the way there, he starts freaking out screaming. He's struggling, maybe to poo, maybe he's uncomfortable in his carseat, but through the windshield I watch all my cute notions fall away.

In the parking garage, I get in the back seat, probably showing more up my skirt than a drunk Janice Dickinson, and try to figure out why The Bug is losing his marbles. I change his diaper, no small feat in the backseat of a car while wearing a jean skirt. Nothing doing - he's still unhappy. So I go to Plan B, which is Stick Yon Boobie In, and always works.

I hate breastfeeding in public. People in Los Angeles are fucking rude in the best of circumstances. Hell, people in general are rude these days. My dad forwarded me a letter from this M.D. who volunteered in New Orleans in the wake of Katrina. He talks about being generally harassed and treated like shit even while he was giving people free food, water, clothing, bedding, whatever. It's too early to Snopes it, but I believe it anyhow. People make me sad. Everyone's so goddamn entitled. Anyhow, it makes me worry about feeding him in public, even in my car. I just know some freak of nature asshole will tell me his personal rights are being violated by it.

I'm too used to the Boppy; my arms were killing me by the time I put The Bug back in his seat. I didn't bring the stroller, so I carried him in the seat to the Subway. This is where I came to the conclusion that the kid is too heavy for this now. Holy crap. What's coming out of my nipples? Whipped cream?

So, panting and lurching around the seat, I arrive at Subway. I order the wrong sandwich on accident. The man standing behind me compliments The Bug and we have a small laugh. For a moment, I take back that part about people being generally mean these days, then I remember that this exchange is so outstanding because it never happens. Plus, you just know that if the conversation had continued another minute it would have turned into a pitch for Amway/Born Again Christianity/The Healing Power Of Mail Order Vitamins/Scientology.

I get my sandwich, which is wrong, and go to the store. Even more lurching occurs during this part because I am also carrying my wrong sandwich. Fuck Starbucks; I have no free hands.

At the grocery store, I am relieved; the carrier snaps nicely into the cart and away we go, my mind spinning on dinner and rewarding myself perhaps with an ice cream sammich. Oh yes, and I need shave gel.

I get dinner. I get the sammich. I get grapes on sale. The gel is vanilla scented, and I am on a vanilla kick right now. On the way out to the car I read my reciept and I have saved eight dollars by getting sale items. Way to go.

At home, while balancing all my things plus Bug in my arms, I realize

I

FORGOT

WATER.