I cleaned out the “baby” cabinet a few weeks ago, filled with mismatched bottle lids and sippy cups, and threw away some old pump parts which reminded me of the time I pumped in the Admiral’s Club. Soon after I returned to work from maternity leave last year, I had five or six business trips lined up in a row. I was on trip number three, which made it very challenging to maintain my desire to feed Miss C an exclusively breastmilk diet, especially since my original stash spoiled on New Year’s Eve.

On this particular trip, my flight left a 6:30am, and I woke up way too late to do everything I needed, including pumping. When I arrived at the airport for my four hour flight, I knew I needed to pump before we were wheels up. I asked the gate attendant for a suggested location, and she pointed me towards the family bathroom. I headed there, glad I was going to pump and dump, because I was yet to pump in a bathroom after baby #3. After my experiences with the boys, I now have a different approach and perspective. When I’m out of the home and need to pump, I ask business owners, “where is your mother’s room,” with confidence and an unapologetic attitude, and space is made for me. Six years ago, with Gadget, I barely left the house with him, afraid to have to nurse in public.

Disgusted by the germs in the bathroom, I decided when I landed I would pump in a cleaner, nicer environment. As I deplaned, I saw signs for the Admirals Club, which I vaguely remembered having access to via my corporate Airpass membership. I marched up the club’s lobby desk and asked for their mother’s room, and was shown to a stone lined private locker room, which was heavenly compared to the previous facility. Even though I had to pump standing up, it was an upgrade I appreciated.

Throughout my years as a mother, I have found the best places to breastfeed are: fitting rooms, the mother’s room at Babies R Us, the mother’s room in nice department store like Bloomies, private lockerooms, and drumroll please, the Admirals Club. I love the privacy they offer, but I am not ashamed to whip out my nursing cover and feed baby anywhere. It took several years to muster this strength. I never breastfed Gadget in public. Ever. But after living in Manhattan with two young boys, I decided it was better that strangers were uncomfortable instead of me, and I used my stylish cover to nurse the Lion on the go. With baby number three, I realize that finding a clean, safe place to pump is not at all unreasonable, and I expect to find one when outside of house. I assume I will be accommodated in some form, and this sense of expectation has worked well. I used to sheepishly, almost embarrassingly assume I should pump in the bathroom. But not anymore! I breastfeed Miss C until she was ten months old, and proudly look back at the experience and appreciate the confidence I gained by giving myself permission to feel comfortable pumping outside of the home without limitation.

Miss C and I ran two miles (rather, she sat while I pushed her in a borrowed jogging stroller) on Saturday. It was our first Mother Daughter run, and my first opportunity to share running with her. She enjoyed the scenery, but I think she preferred the post-run snacks even better.

My only Mother’s Day requirement this weekend was that I did not have to wipe any butts. Hubby changed all diapers which was so relaxing for me. I received cards, a pipe cleaner bracelet, a cake from Nothing Bundt Cakes and lots of love. I hope you enjoyed your day as well.

I was talking to a friend of mine about the sermon from a few weeks ago. It was on marriage, and the series was titled, “Unbreakable.” The sermon taught that marriage is the true test of Christianity. If one can die to themselves and lift up their cross, i.e. love their spouse, even when you don’t feel love in return, then you are loving like Christ love and died for you.

As I was explaining this, I realized that my friend is not Christian and I should explain how Christ died for me and what that means. I started talking about how Easter just kicked off with Palm Sunday, and that Passion week was underway. As I heard myself trying to describe the events that unfolded in a non-thouest-art-can’t-understand-scripture way, I realized I don’t have this whole Jesus story down quite the way I thought I did.

This week a lot of people are going to think about visiting church. They’re going to think about God, and if they ask you what Easter is all about, I want you to be a little bit more prepared than me. I know you know the story and the facts are buried in your heart, but I want them to be fresh, prepared and ready on your tongue, too. So, Google it, Wikipedia it, or go straight to the Gospels and fill yourself with the gospel. Now is the time.

I don’t know if it was all the talk about “pi” yesterday, or maybe it was seeing my POTUS share a real slice, but the holiday just for number 3.14159265359 had me craving pie. In fact, I drove several (read 40, one way) miles to Dallas’ Bishop Arts District just for a slice of pie. Of course, it wasn’t just any pie. It was the creamiest, sweetest, buttery graham cracker crusted, tangy lime-laced homemade key lime pie I’ve been able to find in Texas. Was it worth the drive? I’ll be back to Emporium Pies soon.