A few years ago, I was sitting at brunch with my family of three. Our 1-year-old daughter sat chatting in the high chair while my husband and I enjoyed some much needed mimosas on a late Sunday morning. It was early spring but the sun was so hot that I had to run down the street to find some sunscreen in a nearby store so my strawberry blonde, blue-eyed bobbin wouldn’t fry.
After chatting with a group of baby-clad ladies at the table next to us, I offered them the bottle of lotion. Their babies were all smaller and newer than mine. Having never used sunscreen on their porcelain skin before, they hesitated, scanning the label for parabens, the same as I had done a few months earlier. We talked for a few minutes about babies and the band Phish (one of the babies shared their name with the lead singer and our daughter’s name is a song by the band). Then one by one each baby got fussy and all three mothers began to nurse.