Feel Free to Feed |
Article by Various |
These are some of the Feel Free to Feed entries received by MyChild Magazine. They are stories of breastfeeding mums sharing their experiences of breastfeeding in public.
ISSUE 7 ENTRIES
Surprise… Boob!
Recently a friend and I went to the Australian Breastfeeding Association Hot Milk Conference in Melbourne, we are both trainees from Perth. Our last day in Melbourne was Saturday and so we didn’t have to trek back to the hotel after Hot Milk before heading to the airport, we decided to take all our baggage with us to the conference and leave it in the cloakroom. We had just handed our keys back and were standing outside the hotel getting ourselves organised for our 15 to 20 minute walk. It is important at this point in the story to set the scene – here are my friend and I, babies in slings, my bub Seth is seven months old my friend’s nine months old. Here we are both with large, heavy suitcases, prams, nappy bags and assorted paraphernalia. A taxi pulled up and two other lovely women from our hotel hopped into the taxi with their bags. They offered us a lift, which we declined because we were both travelling with our bubs and didn’t want them in the car without restraints.
The taxi driver, a sweet, older, very Italian man, got out of his car and started loading up bags, and the women hopped into the taxi. Just as the taxi driver was about to close the passenger door we asked if we could put our suitcases in the taxi to make the walk to the conference a little easier. They agreed, so this lovely driver began to load up all our suitcases and bags. It was at this point he lifted my very heavy suitcase and commented on what was in it, we had a bit of a laugh and he started asking me about my bub who was strapped into the sling with a blanket on his head. He had a blanket over his head because he had been feeding and trying to go to sleep, and all the excitement keeps him awake – also I am not very discreet when it comes to breastfeeding in the ABA sling.
Anyway, the taxi driver started rubbing Seth’s legs and in quite an accent saying, ‘Oh he is a-lovely eh? What a be-u-wdiful boy, hey, lovely, just be-u-wdiful eh!’ He then asked if he could lift the blanket to have a good look at him to which I happily agreed – he is gorgeous so why wouldn’t I want to show him off? The gentleman proceeded to take the blanket off and as quickly as he looked in he jumped back in fright and said, ‘Oh my! Oh! I am-a sorry love I did-a-not know he was-a feedin’, I am-a sorry!’ I hadn’t even given it a second thought, to be honest, the man looked a little embarrassed and taken aback so I reassured him and told him ‘Don’t worry, it is just a boob’ or something to that effect. With renewed enthusiasm and no longer put off, he pulled the blanket back and started to croon and talk to my bub, saying it was ‘the besta thing, it was-a great stuff, eh?’ He then patted me on the back and leaned over and kissed baby on the head – 2cm away from my boob! He was the sweetest, most gorgeous man, very naturally affectionate. In normal circumstances I would have been uncomfortable, but this man was a gentleman, obviously a very proud grandfather and a pro-boobie one at that. It was like I had made his day, he was all smiles and muttered to himself as he got into the car “ the best thing for them & it was lovely to see”.
Granted it was a little odd and I was a bit stunned at the time, but it made for a good giggle on the walk to the conference. I only wish I got his name so I could have thanked him somehow for making my day and being so accepting of breastfeeding in public.
Melanie Urlus, WA, mum to Kade, three, Josie, two, and 10-month-old Seth
Table Fed
When I am out at a restaurant or a café, I always feed my son at the table. I do it for my own convenience, but usually I simply do not have a choice as I have rarely seen a couch set aside or a little feeding space in the bathroom. After nine months of feeding in public I don't necessarily regard my breasts as super private anymore and although I have never experienced a negative reaction I often do sense a certain “uncomfortability” in others. It makes me wonder if it's anti-social to feed at the table.
Breastfeeding my son in public has been very eventful and has often put an awkward spotlight on us. Some moments have been pure comedy, but it leaves my company with a moral dilemma: do they ogle my boob and laugh along with me or do they prudently avert their eyes from my naked breast and leave me to laugh alone awkwardly?
When my son was just born we went to dinner at a flash restaurant for my partner’s work Christmas party. It was a small group and there was nowhere to feed. I didn't want to go out to the car as it was raining so I decided to stay at the table and covered myself up with a shawl. I was still learning to get the attachment right and it was a bit of a struggle to get my top undone with one hand and get the shawl right. My partner was helping me and the fuss caused the conversation at the table to drop off completely. Then, when my baby started sucking, he put on such a show. He rooted around and bucked his head back and forth, which made the shawl fall off, and his smacking and grunting noises were so loud that I felt the whole restaurant could hear. Nobody knew where to look and at that moment I actually wished that I had braved the rain.
Again, my boob and my baby were the centre of attention at a dinner party we were hosting. It came time to feed while I was happily chatting away at the table, I let my bra cup down, and ‘shhhhhhh’ – breast milk squirted up and out like a fountain onto the table. Then, when I tried to direct it towards bubba's mouth, he started drowning in it, coughing and spluttering, trying to get a breath. Just to make the evening a tad more embarrassing for our guests, later on I was getting quite animated in an interesting conversation, meanwhile bubba has drifted off to sleep and fallen off the breast. I was blissfully unaware of my partner’s urgent gestures at me to cover up my boob, which I realised had been hanging out totally exposed for quite some time.
Another time, we were out at a Thai restaurant with friends and my son was having his dinner while I was in the middle of mine. All of a sudden, a little arm shoots out onto my plate, grabs a handful of food and brings it to his mouth to eat. My chest and boob became a smorgasbord of red curry duck and I was left laughing alone while everyone else wondered where to look.
Obviously discretion is not high on my son’s priority list. His latest milk time antic is to stop mid-feed to smile at the person sitting next to him, or the person across from him, or even the person at the next table. Both my hands are full handling him and there's my boob, bare and exposed.
I feed in public with trepidation sometimes based on previous experience, but I will continue to feel free to feed because while it can feel anti-social when others feel uncomfortable, I think it would also be anti-social if I were to get up mid-conversation to search for a private corner, or to endure the tantrum if I was to leave my son waiting. So, I choose to bare the breast and laugh alone in the funny moments.
Mieke Nyssen, NSW, Mum to a one-year-old son with another on the way
Tandem feeding
Every day I take my three-year-old daughter and 10-month-old son out for a walk to see what the rest of the world is doing. We end up in a variety of places and on one very hot day I decided to take them to the local shopping centre to play on the air-conditioned playground. While my daughter played, I sat on the lounge and breastfed my son. Another woman sat opposite me and watched her eldest play.
My son finished feeding and shortly after my daughter ran over sat down and asked for her drink so I started to breastfeed her without even thinking. The woman opposite me suddenly looked surprised and asked, ‘Are you tandem feeding’ to which I responded, ‘Yes, I’m waiting for my eldest to wean, but she hasn’t decided to yet.’
I was preparing for her lecture as I had heard from many people, but instead she said, ‘Thank God I’m not the only one’ and laughed. She then called her eldest over and offered her a drink, which she gladly took. Then a friend of hers walked past and she called her over and said, ‘Take a seat, this lady is tandem feeding also.’ So she sat down and fed her bubs when a fourth woman came over and said how great it was to see other women also tandem feeding. We all commented how wonderful it was to know we were not alone and how so many women try to hide the fact that they are still breastfeeding children over two years. I’d like to end by saying that we continued a friendship beyond that, but in reality we all just finished feeding and went our separate ways, just a pleasant normal day caring for our kids. That’s what it’s all about, not a big deal.
I can’t help but wonder in the “big debate” about breastfeeding in public if we aren’t asking ourselves the wrong question. Instead of asking ‘Does a mother have the right to breastfeed in public?’ we should be asking ‘Does a hungry baby have the right to eat in public?’ Then let’s see how many people are on the opposing team!
T Hevey, Vic, mum of a three-year-old daughter and one-year old son
ISSUE 8 ENTRIES
I learnt a lot from breastfeeding my first child but I was to learn even more from not breastfeeding my second!
After an uneventful first delivery my daughter took eagerly to the breast. I was lucky in that she attached well and I was happy to demand feed her – often meaning feeding 2/24. We settled into a fabulous pattern (no routine) of feeding when and wherever we were – with her weaning at about 16 months.
With the delivery of my second child – Nicholas – we also got off to a great breastfeeding start. A healthy 4.3kg home delivery he was at the breast immediately after birth and never looked back. He fed 3/24 or whenever he needed it. I had planned to feed as long as possible as this would be my last baby and my last opportunity to enjoy breastfeeding. All was going to “plan” until Nicholas turned six and a half months old. I remember the day, the month and the date. I had gone out for morning tea and attempted to feed Nicholas – as per my usual routine. When I attempted to feed he cried – pushing me away and not even attempting to take the breast in his mouth. After several failed attempts I resettled him to sleep assuming he would feed when next woke. A further attempt once home resulted in the same outcome – pushing me away without even attempting a feed. By now my breasts were full so we were forced to express in the hope that he would perhaps try to feed later. By now though I started questioning why he wasn’t feeding. I headed straight for the shower – figuring perhaps I had accidentally put perfume on or near my breasts, or had some smell passed from friends to my clothes when greeting them, that was putting him off feeding. A further attempt after showering proved to no avail. My six to eight breastfeeds a day baby had not had a feed since early that morning which was very out of character for him. That evening after many failed attempts to feed, including squirting milk at him, over my breast, attempting to force him on the breast, gently coaxing him, nothing worked and I was forced to syringe feed him the milk I had expressed. Unfortunately he was too old to cup feed, attempting to grab at it rather than drink it. He had never had a sipper cup or a bottle and therefore did not know how to feed from them. He took 20-30ml from the syringe with a bit of effort and that was it. I decided that if he woke overnight my husband would retrieve him quickly while sleepy and I would feed him laying in bed as I had done for the previous six months. To my horror he came sleepily to the breast but when he realised what was happening he cried again and pushed me away. So again at 2am we tried to syringe milk to him and so began the process of expressing.
The next morning I decided that I would dehydrate him a little forcing him to get thirsty and therefore return to the breast – no such luck, two days later with dry skin and sunken eyes I knew I had to get serious. Tearfully I tried to understand what was happening. I wasn’t ready to relinquish the breastfeeding bond we had! So my checklist began – no new medication, in fact while breastfeeding I don’t take medication including the OCP (oral contraceptive pill), my period had not yet returned and I was not ovulating, no change to perfume, soap, washing powder or deodorant and I have always been strict about never spraying it on my chest while breastfeeding. Nicholas had never had a dummy, never had a bottle, never had formula or water, had been eating small amounts of solids for the last month but not enough to supplement breastfeeds. I was well myself and so as a precaution I took him for a physical with my GP. All he could offer was a little redness in his ears – so just in case this was why he was not feeding I reluctantly put him on antibiotics in the hope that he would again return to breastfeeding.
Over the course of the week I tried everything I could think of to get him back to the breast – laying down cuddling him and attempting a feed, spending time alone with him, not offering the breast at all, sitting outside while cold hoping he would snuggle into me and the breast, randomly offering the breast with no success at all. I have never found expressing to be easy – I find it time consuming and cumbersome and I was bewildered as to why my regularly breastfed baby could completely refuse the breast but take the EBM never to suckle at the breast again. I expressed for six weeks randomly attempting to put him back to the breast – in my heart hoping he would one day return but in my head realising he wouldn’t.
Unfortunately I had to relent and teach my baby to suckle at a teat and slowly as my supply dwindled replace my breast milk with formula. As a midwife I am a strong supporter of breastfeeding and as a result felt guilt in providing my baby with an artificial supplement. I would avoid feeding my baby in public so I could hide the guilt I felt offering a bottle.
Despite discussing with various lactation consultants other options – they were also at a loss to suggest something I hadn’t already tried. While frustrated I was in fact relieved to hear that in my emotional state I hadn’t “missed” something that may have been more obvious.
My son is now 10 months old and as a result of breast refusal is completely formula fed. Gone is the opportunity to continue the breastfeeding bond but I have found other ways to find a special bond with him. Life is always about learning for me and I have certainly learnt to be less judgmental of mothers I see out bottle feeding, while encouraging and supporting those who are lucky enough to successfully breastfeed for as long as possible.
Tanya Warne, SA
I was so excited when we found out we were pregnant with our first child, I always knew that I would breastfeed but there was something that I worried about right from the start of the pregnancy, inverted nipples.
So from the moment I found out I was pregnant I started reading all about how to encourage them out and how to breastfeed. At our antenatal classes the midwife told us about nipple shields. I listened with great intent and went out and bought a pair just in case.
When our first child Lorelei was born her first feed went great, she attached well and looked satisfied, I was relieved, maybe I won’t have any problems I thought. Over the next three days that I spent in hospital she would feed but it would hurt so I knew that she wasn’t attaching correctly and the feeds were never that long. I had a great nurse that was there for those days, she had so much patience with me and would always help me out when feeding time came around. What made it even better was that she had a daughter who had inverted nipples also, so she had some experience in the situation.
So we left the hospital still not having used the nipple shields and I was ecstatic, but then my milk came in. My breasts felt like they were filled with concrete, now feeding became difficult for Lorelei. She just couldn’t get near what little of my nipples that were sticking out. She got upset and I got upset and then the moment had arisen where the need for the nipple shields had come. It worked! She was able to feed so she was happy and so was I. I didn’t ever want to give up that quickly. As the engorgement continued for a couple of days I continued to use the nipple shields, days passed, then weeks, and then months and I was still using the nipple shields. I had tried to wean her off the use of the shields but she had become so used to the feel and use of the shields that she would get very agitated when they weren’t there.
Now I had started to become self-conscious about the use of the nipple shields, and it made breastfeeding a little more trouble, making sure we always had nipple shields with us that were sterilised and handy. I thought that people would look down on me because I was still using them but I thought to myself that at least she is being breastfed! I should never have worried as I had plenty of support from my husband, family, friends, the clinic nurse and all the lovely women from the Everton ABA group. This made me feel at ease with my decision to continue to breastfeed even if I was using nipple shields.
When Lorelei was around four months old I fell pregnant again, I thought do I have to stop feeding but with all the support from the ABA and family and friends I continued to breastfeed. I decided that I would let Lorelei decide when to wean and she did this a week before her first birthday. As much hassle as it was I was disappointed as I was looking forward to tandem feeding when the second child was born.
Seven weeks after Lorelei had weaned herself our second child Xavier was born. The big question running through my head was would I be ok without the nipple shields?? And yes I was. Lorelei, even with the nipple shields had done a great job pulling my nipples out and Xavier has had no problems at all feeding, in fact we call him our little milk monster as he feeds so much. Second time around I think that it also helped being more relaxed and learning not to worry about the clock and just feed whenever he is hungry. Lorelei was never interested in feeding again even when Xavier was born. I thought she might like to have a little of mummy’s milk like the baby but no.
My breastfeeding experience has been a great one and I hope that it continues. It has been a lot easier with all the support from my husband, my family, friends and the lovely mums at Everton ABA. I fed my first child exclusively on breast milk for almost 12 months and even though I had the aid of nipple shields I am extremely proud of this fact and hope that anyone else out there in the same situation feels the same. I am giving my children the best start in life and a great gift that no one else can give them and you know what ¬– I did it my way!
Kristy Blacker, mum to Lorelei Ellen and Xavier Michael
ISSUE 9 ENTRIES
The Universal Mother
Drums were pounding and dancers leapt in the air. Crowds of people moved through the outdoor arena under the hot African sun. I stepped out of the cool hotel interior and felt dazzled by the heat and light. There was so much activity, so much to see, yet my eyes were drawn to a quiet corner just to the left of the entrance, where a young woman sat naked to the waist. Her brown skin glistened, her eyes were downcast, transfixed in a warm and loving gaze with the newborn suckling at her breast. Rich swirls of amber, gold and deep, blood red radiated out from her central figure. The colours spiralled up and away, enveloping not only her and the child, they burst right off the canvas and straight into my heart. She was the universal mother and I loved her immediately.
‘Oh, Johnny, look!’ I said mesmerised by the painting. My husband gave a gentle nod of appreciation and scooped up our toddler to make a closer inspection of a large elephant painting nearby.
‘I have to have it. Can I have it? She’s so beautiful.’
‘Listen, we’ve just arrived and it’s the first painting we’ve seen. Let’s go around and see everything else first.’ He was the eternal pragmatist. And probably right. I lingered at the painting with our eight month old baby cradled in my arms. Perhaps it was just hormones rushing through my system?
The artist stood nearby watching people file in and out of the exhibition. Had we been elsewhere in the world, I would not have expected such a touching tribute to a mother’s love captured so poignantly by a man of only 17. But we were in Tanzania, the homeland of my husband, and a place where women and mothers were respected and revered. Here the role of suckling and nurturing the young was as necessary for survival as it was natural. I loved the way babies were seen attached to breasts on crowded buses, at bustling market places and beneath colourful umbrella’s along roadside stalls. Sure artificial feeding was used by some, but for the majority, the human breast still provided the easiest, fastest and best food for baby.
We wandered on among the canvases as our toddling elder daughter chased balloons. The sun’s heat was fierce, sweet smells of Swahili spices filled the air and the drummers continued to beat out a rhythm only Africa knows how. Our baby was tired and thirsty. She tugged at my shirt and I scanned the open air venue for a shady place to sit and feed.
In the distance, I spotted a large dome shaped tent. We snaked our way through the crowds, food stalls and brightly dressed dancers to the welcome haven. Inside were many other families as mixed as we, some light-skinned, some dark, with chocolate, coffee and milk coloured babies to match. We smiled knowingly to each other – mama to mummy, baba to dad – joined in a secret pact of parenthood and pride. The babies were contently feeding, the toddlers meandering, and fathers supplying cool drinks all round.
As we sat and relished the cool breeze blowing in from the Indian Ocean, I thought back over my mothering experiences. Our two daughters had been born in my homeland, Australia. They were joyous births, made even more special by the love and support of my family and local community. Breastfeeding our children was a natural choice and one we found both enjoyable and valuable. It was also very practical, as we moved often between countries and cultures. Both our girls were exclusively breastfed until they were six months of age meaning that wherever we were, they were fed. They’d breastfed in supermarkets and in doctors surgeries, in transit lounges and during “take-off”. They’d fed on the beach and on our farm the bush, in the car beside busy highways and beneath silent star-filled skies. Breastfeeding became our constant comfort and companion in an ever changing world.
I’d been breastfeeding continually for almost two and a half years – our first daughter enjoyed her last feed as my womb trembled with contractions that would soon deliver her sister. Our experiences in Australia and beyond were always those of support and acceptance, except for one busy pre-Australian departure day.
The crowded shopping plaza near my home town was bustling and full of activity. I sat quietly with a host of other mum’s on a bench in the queue for our professional baby photo session. When our time came I dressed and undressed our daughter for various shots. The young ladies pulled faces and blew bubbles in the air, busily snapping pictures until the camera’s memory card was full. As they took a break to fiddle with the camera, I snatched the opportunity to breastfeed our daughter. The younger of the two women glanced up, looked mildly embarrassed and quickly resumed her job. The other slipped away to get coffee. I was sitting on the dais where the babies posed and realised I was in the perfect position to have a photo of us feeding together, so I asked if she would take some shots. Her young face flushed bright red and she stammered for a response.
‘The other lady is in charge here. We’ll have to wait until she comes back.’
The “Boss” lady’s face lost its permanent grin when I asked for the pictures to be taken. Unable to find a reason why it couldn’t be done, she said with more than a cool edge in her voice ‘Nobody’s ever asked for this before!’ and gave some curt instructions for lighting before disappearing behind the counter.
I continued to feed and the photographs were taken. Two weeks later they were ready to be collected. A “courtesy” phone call from the company was answered by my mother.
‘Yes, my daughter had some photos taken of her baby two weeks ago. Yes, we’re coming to collect them tomorrow.’
‘Do you really want the ones with the “exposed breast” included in the package?’ asked the company representative in a sniffy tone.
‘Exposed breast?’ My ever-polite mother stifled a laugh. She knew how modest I was. It was lucky it was she who’d answered the phone, I’d seen more exposed breast on advertisements in my local supermarket! At first I felt angry then saddened by their remarks. The caller and photographers had no idea the joy and special bond I felt when breastfeeding our child. Their photograph would be there to remind me when our beautiful breastfeeding days were done.
That shopping mall was now 8000 miles away and I laughed to myself as I looked out at the sparkling sea. My feeding was always discreet in accordance with the myriad cultures, traditions and religions we encountered, but it was by no means an embarrassment.
Belly full, our girl sat up and chortled to her sister nearby. Refreshed and rejuvenated we made our way back to the exhibition area. The music continued and a new batch of colourful performers took the stage. There were so many pictures, all delightful, all reflecting a love or interest the artist had for his or her life and land. We weaved through the partitions appreciating the art and artists as we went. I was anxious to return to “my” painting. To gaze again on that beautiful image and have it wrapped up ready for me to take home.
I edged through the crowd, unable to spot the artist or his work from the heads of people. I became restless, eager to see and left my husband behind in the throng. With a daughter on each hip I struggled and looked up as the masses cleared and the partition wall came into view. It was totally empty. All the paintings were gone – the striking large elephant and of course, my beloved universal mother.
My heart sank. I scanned the area for those carrying parcels. Surely one of the brown paper squares tucked under an arm was really mine? I looked to the artist – his first exhibition was a sell out success. His young brown face was proud and beaming, it took me aback and I realised that this was his day, not mine. That painting had come from his heart to remind me and others how extraordinary mothers are and how precious and perfect the art of breastfeeding can be. I smiled at him, hugged my daughters tightly and turned away. I didn’t need a painting to remind me how special our bond was. The “universal mother’” is within us all – from the womb to where ever in the world we end up. We left the exhibition empty handed and returned home, to a photograph on the wall of a woman gazing down at a baby suckling peacefully on her breast…
Chandu Ngomeley. mum to two girls
My story comes from the archives of my breastfeeding days. I have four breastfed sons, some of whom are grown men and still are strong breastfeeding advocates. This story pertains to my 15-year-old son Liam who is a front row Rugby Union player, having grown big and strong on a solid of foundation of breast milk alone for the first six months of his life.
Liam was not an easy baby, but, being my third baby, I started off confidently, with my Breastfeeding Counsellor Training completed and a good knowledge of how breastfeeding “works”. Liam had a tiny little mouth and could not attach to my breast, which did not become any easier as my milk came in and my breasts were rock hard. My confidence started to slowly dwindle away and I asked my doctor for help and he suggested I call “Nursing Mothers”. I was Nursing Mothers, what was I to do. Keep persevering, breast is best, weaning was not an option.
I did call on the support of my fellow breastfeeding counsellors and we decided, as my nipples were about to fall off due to poor attachment, that the only answer was to express my milk and feed Liam with a bottle until his mouth grew a bit and my breast engorgement settled down. After four weeks of expressing and introducing the breast one feed at a time, Liam was feeding fully from my breasts.
Liam and I were to face many more challenges with our mother/son relationship, with my supply forever waning due to my under active thyroid condition, (we found out later). Oh there was that biting thing, Liam resorted to biting me and everyone who came in mouth shot until he finished cutting all his teeth and yes, did I mention that Liam was not fond of sleep? He preferred to be comforted by the breast at night.
Liam became very fond of breastfeeding and when he was coming up to his second birthday I decided that it was time to start sleeping through the night and give the booby away. Oh no, Liam was not giving up on a good thing, he obtained great comfort from the breast and he could not see any reason to give it up. It’s like trying to get a boy to have a bath, you can’t get him in and then he doesn’t want to get out. We began the process of cutting down on feeds, one feed at a time, one day at a time. We had many set backs.
When Liam was coming up to his third birthday he was almost fully weaned. This is when my breastfeeding in public story plays out. We were at touch football watching Liam’s brothers play. Liam often became tired at Friday night touch as the older boys’ games were quite late and refusing to give him booby at touch had always been a continuous issue. We had been discussing the fact that Liam would have to wait until we were at home for booby and if he was tired he could have a cuddle, but no booby.
We had just moved fields and we were setting our chairs up to watch the last game of the night and Liam noticed we were sitting next to a lady with her new baby. We all had a look at the little baby and admired his cuteness, being fast asleep in his capsule. The baby was a great distraction for Liam and he found a second wind. He was playing around talking about how he wanted a baby. Ha, no thank you, fully cured after you my lovely, I said lovingly.
After a while the baby started to fuss, so Mum picked up baby and tried to comfort him, maybe thinking that she could hold him out for a feed until she was able to get home. Baby was getting very fussy so Mum decided she would have to feed him there. Mum was a bit apprehensive, apparently she had not been successful breastfeeding her older son who was playing touch and she was not comfortable feeding yet. Liam was very interested in what this lady was doing and as she started to open her top and prepare to feed her baby.
Liam exclaimed, ‘What are you doing? You can not do that here!’ The lady looked at me with a look of disgust, so I asked Liam why she couldn’t do that here.
Liam replied, ‘Mummy you know, you can only have booby at home.”
So in a split second I had turned from an anti-breastfeeding individual, who tells her children it is inappropriate to feed your baby in public to a breastfeeding fanatic who was still feeding a three-year-old. Oh well, we know breast is best and weaning is not an option for us. (Little did I know?)
Jacki McCarthy
Feeding Miss Daisy
Rushing out the door for my first work meeting since the birth of my youngest daughter, Daisy, I felt more like a nervous graduate than a seasoned performer with 15 years experience. I was about to pitch for a juicy contract that would allow me to work from home in the hours of my choice, a breastfeeding mother’s dream job.
I left my lively two-year old, Ruby, at home with my husband but decided to take Daisy along to the meeting. ‘She’s a dream,’ I said casually. ‘And if she has a grizzle, I’ll just pop her on the boob.’
For some reason, I imagined the meeting would take place between me and perhaps one or two others in a spacious boardroom, where Daisy could play on the floor and I would have the space and privacy needed to feed her discretely when the time came. Imagine my surprise – nay, utter panic – when I was ushered into an office no bigger than a broom cupboard, with not two, but seven other people. We squeezed around the smallest of round tables and I was literally knee-to-knee with my prospective employers. There was no room for Daisy to play on the floor and no hiding the horrible fact that Ruby had somehow managed to draw on each and every page of my carefully prepared notes.
I tentatively launched into my spiel while all eyes were on Daisy who was perched on my knee and babbling excitedly at such a large audience. This was cute at first, but she soon slipped from happy to howling as only a six-month-old can do. My clients started to fidget and I started to sweat. I knew the awkward moment had come – time to give this little one a feed and get down to business.
Normally, never one to turn down a feed, Daisy was far too distracted to attach properly. Despite the chic new breastfeeding top purchased especially for the meeting, let’s just say her last minute aborts really left me hanging. When I finally got her attached someone would cough or comment and “smack”, off she’d go to twist around in delight at the source of the noise. Juggling my baby and my precious notes (complete with graffiti), while trying to maintain some air of professionalism plus a “hey, it’s no big deal to breastfeed in the workplace” attitude was bringing me unstuck – rapidly. “Smack”, off she’d go, then on again, back to the presentation and “smack” off again. Daisy teamed this on again, off again routine with glorious hair pulling, much grabbing and slapping of my notes and successfully pulling the pen out of my increasingly sweaty hands on at least three occasions.
I managed to blush a colour and duration not achieved since my gawkiest teenage days and seriously considered just apologising and making a quick exit before my tears fell. Instead, I repositioned Daisy one last time. At last, she was on for a good long feed. I nearly high-fived everyone in relief. Smiling broadly, I took a deep breath and the words and ideas began to flow. Soon, little Daisy was asleep in my arms and a quick glance around the table showed my clients were equally nourished by my flow of ideas.
Faced with these breastfeeding challenges, I draw strength from the physical and emotional ordeals I have overcome during my three and a half years of continuous breastfeeding. With my husband’s endless support I have conquered cracked, blistered and bleeding nipples, mastitis, weeks tied to a mechanical breast pump, nipple vasospasm, feeding through pregnancy and the fun and games of tandem feeding.
In return I’ve been rewarded by watching our contented newborns drift off into milky dreams, the quiet companionship of a 2am feed between mother and baby, and being able to sooth the tears and traumas of our toddlers with a comforting feed and cuddle. Best of all, I am rewarded daily by the health and vitality of our little ones and knowing this great start in life comes from extended breastfeeding.
With these feeding experiences under my belt, it’d take more than a disapproving glare or an awkward moment to put me off breastfeeding my children in public or at work.
To their credit, all assembled at the meeting did their very best to focus on my face and not on the entertainment going on at my breast. I was offered at least 25 glasses of water but felt I was taken seriously and not penalised by what can only be described as a breastfeeding exhibition. In the end I won the contract, in part for my ideas, but no doubt also to the multi-tasking performance I put on at the interview. And yes, I even took Daisy back for future meetings, including ones that involved breastfeeding.
Our long breastfeeding journey has thrown up challenges and rewards I never imagined possible. Along the way, I have gained a deeper confidence – and often a good dose of humility – as each challenge is embraced and tackled. These experiences continue to enrich and empower my life beyond breastfeeding. Do I feel free to feed? Just try to stop me!
Trudi Ryan, ACT, mum of two with another baby due in May
|
|
|
|
|