Feeding from what?

Chloë's last day at daycare was yesterday. I delivered cookies and a card (with picture and gift card) in the morning, and Eric watched Miss Mindy beg for "one more hug," before he took her away in the evening. "I'm sorry for Mindy," Eric said. "And I hope Chloë will be okay." Daddy Daycare opens on Monday.

Today, we went to the mall for haircuts and books. Chloë was irritable and eventually I realized this was probably because she was hungry, so we sat down on a cushioned chair near the food court to nurse while Eric paid for books.

A boy, maybe twelve years old or so, wandered by and peered at us. "How old's your baby?" he asked.

"Ten months," I said.

"What's it doing?" he said.

"Nursing."

"What's that?"

"Feeding," I said.

He moved a little closer. "Feeding from what? There's no bottle."

"Feeding from me." A couple of his friends had joined him and were looking, too, and Chloë chose that time to let go of the R.I.N.D.S. and stare at them. I pulled down my shirt and said "Could you--?", waving my hand to indicate they should go.

They moved off, and I resettled Chloë on the R.I.N.D.S. I'm not sure whether the boy genuinely didn't know what was going on, or was just looking for a chance to ogle and/or get me to say "breast." I've had to explain what I was doing before to the kids at daycare, but they're three. Either way, he's probably lucky Eric wasn't there.