A few weeks ago when we went to our local amusement park, Kennywood, I knew at some point I would need to feed ‘lil Man. For me, the solution was simple…I’d wear a flexible top and tuck him into the Moby Wrap, find somewhere secluded, and get to work.
But, as you know, babies feed when they want to, not when we find it convenient. There we were, smack dab in the middle of the Kiddieland area. My old faithful, the Mother Goose house, had been torn down and replaced with a bathroom/semi-healthy food kiosk.
I had really hoped I could go in the house, find a rocker, and enjoy a memory. Alas, this was no longer an option, so I was just going to feed him right out in the middle under a tree.
By the time I got him wrapped up, he fell asleep:
Two other mamas sat down on either side of us and nursed their nurslings, which was a pretty cool moment–none of us realized that there was still a place to nurse! When we got on the train, I realized that there is a new spot at the back of that replacement building that is for nursing mothers (and a statement on their website, “Our Kiddieland area provides parents with a quiet area to feed and nurse young children. The rest room also includes a diaper changing station.”–helps if you read ahead, huh?). Oh well, we did what we had to do and didn’t get any flack for it–glad society is becoming more accepting day by day!
(Excuse the focus–I realized almost too late that this existed!!!)
The year was 1983, my thoughts were short, my hair was short. It was baby Mama Burgher’s first trip to Kennywood, a 3 month old babe with her parents, grandparents, and aunts and uncles. My Grandpap P’s Union Railroad picnic became an annual tradition for baby Mama Burgher during the years she grew up in the Burgh. Although those first years primarily consisted of train rides and the carousel, they were memorable.
As I grew, my ventures expanded to the baby swings and cars. Oh how I loved going to see the garbage eating lion in KiddyLand! Days that were too hot for my little self, I would veg out with my grandparents under the carousel while my brother was off enjoying, learning to love roller coasters and thrill rides (which I to this day could care less about).
The older I got, the more excited I was to watch for the yellow arrows, leading us to fun. Looking back, I know why we only got to go that one time of year, but I didn’t understand it as a kid. Eventually, in my teen years, I fundraised my way to go with clubs, band, and youth groups. Times were still fun, and memories were still made.
Potato patch fries with cheese (eventually with buffalo chicken strips).
Dodging the moving walkways in Noah’s Ark.
Soaring through the sky on the swings.
Swooping down in the paratroopers.
Jamming to DMB on the Musik Express.
Riding the Racers with my band director and realizing why I hated coasters.
Playing skee ball, fish pond, and duck pond.
Cotton candy on the ride home.
Peeling soaking wet clothes and shoes off after the Raging Rapids.
Today, as we drive across the Rankin Bridge, my heart and mind will remember what it’s like to be a kid again, and my eyes will watch in awe as A and E enjoy my work picnic with my parents and family. I cannot wait!