All the hoopla about Greg Beyer’s article on Brooklyn Blogging and the other article about Park Slope in Sunday’s Times, Park Slope Parent Trap, practically fell under the radar.

Except it didn’t.

Even up here in Connecticut — and I don’t mean Connecticut Muffin. Diaper Diva called to tell me to read the article in the City section.

I finally got to look at it in a wireless room at the lovely "George Washington Slept Here" inn we’re staying at in Connecticut.

Love the photo — a stroller mom pushing up the Slope past Two Boots. Classic.

The article is by Samantha Storey, a long-time Sloper who became a mom in January. She’s finding out the truth about Park Slope. And it ain’t always pretty.  She writes.

I hated that my neighborhood was living up to its cliché of being chock-full of “annoying parenting types.”

Once her baby was born, it was time to write another "reasons to hate Park Slope" article. Well, having a baby does give you a new perspective on Park Slope.

Joining the scores of 30-something couples who seemingly move to
Brooklyn to breed, I discovered a whole new dimension of Park Slope.
With my son’s birth in January came three months of maternity leave,
and I got to see the neighborhood on weekdays.

I wasn’t surprised by the gangs of mothers, but I was shocked by the sheer numbers  — they were everywhere.

It’s true. There are sooooo many mommies. Back in 1991 we used to joke about stroller gridlock. But what were we complaining about? Comparatively it was so minimal.

But now….

I love Storey’s description of a breast-milk-klatch at Two Boots. To some it will sound weird. Barbara Walters would find it disgusting. Storey herself seems a little uncomfortable with it. But if you’ve ever breast fed, you might appreciate the open minded attitude toward breastfeeding that exists in Park Slope. I for one was grateful for it.

I had stumbled upon an assembly of breasts, mine
included, as I nursed my own baby. While I struggled to manipulate my
son’s head to cover as much of my breast as possible, these women took
their comfort with nakedness to a whole new height.

One woman had
her shirt completely unbuttoned, her pretty pink, lacey maternity bra
on display. Another had one breast lopped over the top of her tank top.
The third had twins. She wasn’t wearing a shirt — or a bra for that
matter — just a hoodie sweatshirt unzipped with a baby at each breast.
She walked around the restaurant with them in her arms, her body
swaying in a comforting dance.

If only I was a 14-year-old boy!
I admired their lack of self-consciousness but had to admit I was
uncomfortable — it was as if I had landed in a private living room, and
it felt as if I were privy to their intimacy unbeknownst to them.