I had to take Benedetto with me to Manhattan for my six-week postpartum checkup. I nursed him before we left the office, hoping we would finish our visit to the Mid-Manhattan Library before he needed to eat again. We walked at a leisurely pace down Madison Avenue until, around 43rd Street, he started screaming. Now, he usually doesn't do that. We try to feed him when he shows any of the classic signs of hunger. So I didn't expect the meltdown, and I didn't know where we could go to nurse. Then, it came to me. A women's lounge in Lord and Taylor! I hustled down 5th Avenue, threw open the door to L&T, and bounded up the escalator to a lounge on the 2nd floor. Success! I found a clean, comfortable couch, and after nursing for a few minutes, Benedetto was a happy, well-fed baby. As I was repositioning him in his carrier, a little girl approached us and exclaimed, "He's so cute! How old is he?" "Thank you!" I said. "He's 6 weeks old." She looked confused. "So...he's one?" "Well, no. He's 6 weeks old, so he won't be one for a while." She looked confused again, but then her face brightened. "OK. So he's one!" Before I could respond, her mother came over and said, "What a cute baby! How old is he? He must be a few months old? "Actually, he's only 6 weeks," I said. "Oh!" said the mother. "Yeah, I guess he looks about that age." They came closer and peeked into the carrier, and then they picked up their bags to leave. As they walked out the door, the little girl said, "That baby is so cute. He's one!" "No," the mom tried to clarify. "He's only 6 weeks old."
Can you guess what the little girl said? "Yes, I know. So he's one!"