I am currently 7 months pregnant with my second child and I have a long list of things that I need to make the transition from one child to two children as smooth as possible. First on the list: a comfortable nursing chair. For my first son, I bought an adorable little chair from Crate and Barrel that went perfectly with our décor. Unfortunately, the back wasn’t high enough so I couldn’t really relax or fall asleep in it when I was up all night nursing. It was pretty, but useless. This time, I knew what I needed. 

With the perfect chair in mind, I set out to visit the La-Z-Boy showroom in SoHo. Yes, SoHo. You see, La-Z-Boy has done a lot over the past few years to mend their image as the frat boy’s chair of choice. They’ve streamlined their designs, updated their textile choices and put some pretty nice furniture in the marketplace. La-Z-Boy’s new line of chairs promised the perfect marriage of comfort and style. As I perused their website, I noticed that they had retained their classic, tacky line of leather recliners along with the newer styles. I laughed and laughed thinking about all of the people out there who still buy those chairs! Hysterical! Gross! 

So what happened when I walked into the store?

I don’t know. I remember that I was hungry. My back hurt. I had to pee. The usual. 

I walked straight past the new models of discreet and streamlined recliners and weaved my way back to the out-of-sight section showcasing the most delightful puffy leather clouds of comfort I had ever seen. I sat down. My back stopped hurting. My shoulders were cradled. My feet swung up at the perfect angle. My credit card came out. Details were exchanged. Arrangements were made. The rest is a bit fuzzy. 

The chair was delivered on Tuesday. Visually, it is, as my sister described it, like a giant nurse’s shoe. The oak lever emblazoned with the La-Z-Boy logo taunts me. When I sleep, I feel the chair’s presence like a big, fat, giant, heavy-breathing circus clown crouching in the corner of my room. My friends must never see it. But when I close my eyes and walk backwards to melt into its impossibly pillowy seat, I don’t care what it looks like.  It is my big, tacky, buffoonish, smelly friend who will give me all the support I need to make it through the long night to morning. And I love him. And yes, I respect him, too.