Nursing

The back wall of our house is entirely windows, but that's never been a problem. The only time my privacy feels invaded in this giant fishbowl is when someone is at the front door. The sliver window there is one-hundredth of the size and a hundred times more revealing than the rest of the windows combined.

The placement of this window is between the door and the doorbell, ensuring that every person who comes to call has to lean over it and look inside the living room. And when they do they inevitably see me. Or rather, my shoulders and head above the back of the love seat that is adjacent to the couch I sit on while I nurse.

So delivery person or solicitor rings the doorbell while looking inside and seeing me sitting there. They don't see the baby attached to my chest - they just see a rude woman who refuses to come to the door even when they know she's just sitting on a couch fifteen feet away.

The FedEx lady actually threw up her hands and rolled her eyes at me.

In an effort to avoid insulting those that seek to sell me things (French encyclopedias, anyone?) and because I'm not Wile E. Coyote* I actually have taken to detaching the poor, hungry infant and taking him and his ensuing cries to the door. I figured at least with the screaming baby the sales people would leave me be and I'd stop buying things I don't need (why do I want to be able to eat my cleaning solution?) but it turns out it doesn't even phase them. They still insist on giving the entire spiel and I end up answering all their questions. Because, "I'm not interested" isn't an answer to, "Which night of the week is best for you?" and I can't figure out how to work it in.

Yes, I did make an appointment to have my windows checked and no, I don't intend on being home when the guy comes by to inspect them. I plan on being in the bedroom with the curtains drawn and the lights turned off.

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