I suppose, if I've ever really been all that offensive to you, you'd have stopped reading long ago. Since I get more hits every day I can only assume that I am just saying out loud what you would like to if you were as mean and nasty as I am. Ah, who am I kidding? I'm a sugar plum.
This however, may get to you. If I cared I wouldn't write it. Ha ha. I guess, if you find yourself with panties bunched up tightly in a wad, you can call the La Leche League or something, because I'm sure they'll get their ten year old nursing bras all twisted around when they hear about this.
Yesterday, thanks to the incessant rain, we found ourselves with nothing to do and a nearly lethal case of cabin fever. Even though he hasn't been a big fan lately, we took Josh to the Children's Museum, thinking that at least we'd get out of the house. Well, get out of the house we did, but we also got just a little bit more than we bargained for. In the form of a 38DD in the face.
I nursed. Oh yeah, you bet. I nursed for about two weeks after Josh was born, until he was losing weight left and right and my ahem felt as though they'd been ground with sand paper and then run over by a cement truck. So I know all about breast feeding. I'm a proponent. I mean, I'm not going to wear a sandwich board or anything, but I don't care if you nurse your baby, even in public. Just please, for the love of God, GET A BLANKET.
This case of the Children's Museum Boob Caper was especially sordid, because well, this woman seemed quite proud of her, ah, assets. She could not content herself with (a) going around the corner for privacy, (b) strategically placing a blanket over her nursing child, or (c) keeping a shirt on. Since the floodgates of heaven had been open for the previous few days and Bozeman looked to be on the verge of requiring an Ark, the museum was full of kids. And dads. I'm not sure if this woman was expecting tips, but I'm sure these men felt like maybe they needed to quick get some singles to place, um, somewhere. She didn't have a lot of clothing left on to slip a dollar bill into.
Men and boys alike had a hard time looking away, and strangely so did I. It was kind of like an especially gory train wreck. No one wants to look, but for some reason it is nigh impossible to tear the eye away.
This problem, for me, was compounded by the fact that the child she was nursing was like four. Seriously, what the hell? I cannot be the only one who thinks it's a little creepy to nurse a kid that can speak in full sentences. In thirty years this kid will be speaking full sentences to his flotilla of psychotherapists, talking about his mommy issues. What will this mother do next year, when her child goes to kindergarten? Whip off her bra in the lunch room? I simply do not get it.
This is an example (albeit extreme) of why it is ridiculous, even dangerous, to make a cause out of everything. Yeah yeah yeah, we have the right to feed our children; I've heard the militant chanting. Of course I agree with that. We also have the right to public washrooms, but that doesn't mean we do our business on the floor. The problem with making breast feeding, which should be a private as possible bonding experience between mother and child, a matter of public outcry is two fold. First, we get nut jobs who take it to the extreme and disrobe in front of God and everybody. Second, we have moms who can't nurse made to feel unfit.
I was unable to nurse; and I have since given up all feelings of inadequacy, no thanks to the saggy bra La Leche Leaguers. I tried. I tried so valiantly. We stuck it out for two weeks, and it just didn't happen. I believe I mentioned the unimaginable pain it causes, so that was a biggie, but more importantly, Josh was not getting enough to eat. He was starving all the time. It came to a choice between formula or starvation. We chose Similac. Guess what? Josh survived his horrible mother feeding him formula! He grew just as big, he's just as smart (who am I kidding, he's the smartest kid alive), and he's never had an ear infection or the flu. So all of the "formula is evil" scare tactics didn't prove true with my wonder child.
I've mentioned before that I plan on having three more children. So I'll give this breast feeding thing another go. I won't, however, lobby congress for the privilege of flapping my chest in people's faces, scowl at mothers with bottles, or forgo weaning until Driver's Ed.
So nurse on, moms with babies, but don't be surprised if, when you forget your modesty, I cover you with my jacket.
