New Baby+Going to Target=Hilarity!

Isn't it amazing how much brain power you lose when you have a newborn in the house?

Oh wait. I guess it isn't that amazing. Only getting 20 minute stretches of sleep for a few weeks does a number on oneself.

And with that lack of sleep and decreased brain power, simple sentences are hard to produce.

In the first week or so Hannah was born, I was summoned to run up and get some supplies for Elli as it pertains to nursing the little one. Now, I don't consider breast pads to be along the lines of other feminine products, however I still wasn't overly comfortable with purchasing them. Don't ask me why, it's just because. Anyhow, it was a chance to get out of the house, which anyone who's ever experienced the first few weeks of new babydom, you jump on an opportunity to leave your domicile. So I loaded up Dav and away we went to Target.

I figured the item I needed would be over with the rest of the baby supplies, so we made a line for that area. However, upon getting to that section we discovered that we went at the very time they were in the middle of completely redoing that area. So stuff was patchy on the shelves and what wasn't out yet was loaded into boxes. Not wanting to experience the uncomfortable and awkward encounter that would ensue from asking an associate where the breast pads are, I set upon hunting them down myself. However, after going up and down each aisle about 6 or 7 times, I broke down and decided I needed to bite the bullet and ask. I hunted down an employee, hoping that it wasn't some younger person. But the one I found was just as bad, an older woman happily stocking more bottles on the shelves. The following is the conversation that took place, with the italicised words indicating what my brain was yelling at me while I was stammering on:

Jake: "Can I ask you for some help?"

Sales lady: "Of course, what can I help you find?"

Jake" I'm looking for..."

It is at this point my mind completely blanks out on the proper term for what I'm looking for. Not wanting to completely abandon ship and run away, I stagger on as best as I can:

Jake: "Ummm...I need, uh those things for Mom (Not YOUR mom dumbass! Dav and Hannah's mom!)...I mean, not MY mom! My daughters mom (but also Dav's mom! Make that point obvious so she doesn't think you sleep around with everything that walks and have dozens of illegitimate children), which is also {pointing at Dav} his Mom...

Sales Lady: {smiles somewhat hesitantly, probably wondering what drugs I'm on.}

Jake: "You know, those things that you put on for when {now makes universal va-va-voom gesture and quickly puts hands back down once he realizes he's gesturing boobs in front of an older lady stranger} you're feeding your baby (well she doesn't wear them while she's feeding them moron. How would the baby latch on with a pad in the way?)...I mean, not when she's feeding but when she's not..."

Sales Lady: {sensing great discomfort from me, puts hand on my shoulder and tries not to laugh too hard} "You mean breast pads. They're over here."