Feeding Fiasco Fuels Fears

Disclaimer: If you are a guy... or if you squirm in your seat when women start talking about breastfeeding... then you may not want to read this post. You are welcome to keep reading - just don't say I didn't warn you.

Lisa called me Tuesday morning at 9:45am to invite us for a Chic-fil-A play date at 10:45am. I hadn't showered and the bags weren't packed, but quite amazingly I agreed to go. After all, I never get to see Lisa and Jack Everett loves to play with Zachary. Who am I kidding? Chic-fil-A has awesome sweet tea with unlimited refills. I quickly brushed my teeth, sprayed some body spray, and threw on my new uniform - a baggy shirt and my khaki maternity shorts, which I have lovingly named "elastic fantastic." Davis was pretty agreeable getting into the carrier and Jack dressed without incident. "Wow, this might just be an enjoyable experience after all," I jinxed to myself. (Here are the boys at the start of the play date.)

We sat at the table, got them situated with drinks, napkins, ketchup, etc. Just when I was ready to take my first bite, Jack Everett proclaimed, "I need to go pee-pee!" Naturally. Lisa stayed with Zach and Davis while I took Jack to the potty. The whole way there he was informing me, in his outside voice, "It's starting to come out!" I whispered over and over "Keep it in your body!" When we finally returned, Davis was starting to squirm... By squirm, I mean, cry and turn really red. I tried the ol' shake and shush method to no avail and scrambled to find the pacifier.

The big boys were ready to go play, so we let them go... even though they'd eaten about a fourth of their food. We positioned ourselves at a table against the glass with an unobstructed view to the boys. It was another first for me - BIG TIME - letting Jack go into the germ gym without me. I have admittedly scoffed at the moms who stay at the table and "watch" through the glass, leaving the playground refereeing to those of us on the inside. Now I was one of THEM!

At about this time, the sounds coming from the infant carrier are like those of a Gremlin who got ahold of some chicken after midnight. I think he was about to eat the pacifier. I looked at my watch. Davis was not 'supposed' to eat for another hour. I mean, I had timed this... if I thought I was going to have to breastfeed him at the table, I would not have come. I am just not ready for that. I am so private. Neither Mommy nor Davis are very good at it yet. I have no formula or bottles in the diaper bag - I am not ready for that either. All flustered, I look around and consider my options... feed him in the hot car, missing out on my time with Lisa, leaving her to watch my son... go to the restroom and feed him sitting on a toilet, or break down and feed him at the table. I wanted to cry. To make matters even worse, on the other side of the glass sat two men. One was a really good-looking Dad, and the other was a guy I used to work with at USAA. I am not kidding. Even worse that THAT, I was out of sweet tea.

As the crying escalated and people began to stare, I knew what I needed to do. I looked at Lisa, and she said, "Do what you have to do." I am sure this was not what she had pictured when she invited us for a relaxing lunch that morning. I told myself: "Women do this all the time. You can too." Davis was screaming and I was starting to sweat. The booth seat was WAY closer to the table than when I had last eaten there. I could hardly squeeze my post-partum tummy in the booth, let alone while holding a sweaty baby and a boob!

As if I wasn't hot and sweaty enough ("Where in the heck is that Sweet Tea Refill GUY when I need him!?") I had to cover myself with a blanket. A blanket! I sweat just thinking about it. Because I am a novice, there is the whole set-up process, during which I feel like the whole restaurant is bound to see my anatomy. Those of you who have newborns know... they go from zero to 10 on the angry scale in about a minute. Davis was rooting around, screaming, and starting to scratch his own face when I finally got situated, unhooked my nursing bra and got him latched on. I felt like when he finally latched on the whole restaurant would start cheering at the quiet. They didn't.

Poor baby Davis, he was absolutely starving. Since the booth seat was designed for little people and we were both sweating, he kept unlatching, screaming, relatching, quiet, gurgling, unlatching, screaming, rooting... It was such a noisy commotion. I mean, those of you who have done it know exactly what I am talking about. Those of you who haven't are probably reading this thinking you are glad you didn't.

When he finally got the hang of it, there was a commotion inside the germ gym. I realized that Ex-coworker and Hot Dad were both right there... on the other side of the glass with a birds-eye view to my... feeding arrangement. They were motioning to us to come in there. I thought, 'If they tell us that Jack peed on the slide again, Lisa will have to take me straight to the loony bin.' Luckily, Lisa went in and refereed. While she was in there, I completed the awkward and revealing task of switching sides.

When she comes back to the table, she looks on the ground, and there lies a breast pad... on the floor of the restaurant. How embarrassing. I guess it flew out in all my frenzy. Almost banging Davis' little head on the table, I quickly reached down and scooped it up, wondering how many people saw it and wondering why I cared so much. It was apparently all Lisa could take. She busted out laughing. I finally had to laugh too. It was all I could do to keep from crying.

Here is Hot Dad on the other side of the glass. You can see my embarrassed face in the reflection trying not to make eye contact with him. Oh, and this picture is actually of... um... of... Zachary... way in the background. Right, Lisa?

At the end of the ordeal, when I had finally gathered myself, cooled down a bit, and was feeding my sweet baby, a couple sat at the booth next to us. Lisa had gone in to wrangle the boys and gather their shoes. The man said to his wife, "Great. I should have traded places with you. That lady just whipped it out to feed her kid."

My heart sank and it took all I had not to burst into tears. Did he think I couldn't hear him? I told Lisa what he had said. I asked her to take a quick picture of me. I wanted to see how it looked to other people for me to feed my hungry baby. Was it offensive? Should I have gone to the car? Is it appropriate at a restaurant? Why did I even come here today with a baby this young? Should I care what he thinks? Am I really cut out for breastfeeding? Why is this so hard for me and so easy for others?

I was truly and deeply embarrassed. I hugged Lisa goodbye, and finished feeding Davis. By the time I re-packed Jack's lunchbag, burped the baby, strapped him into the carrier, bussed the table, and got one last tea refill, I was exhausted and starting to cry. I loaded and buckled both boys, and we finally drove off. Jack asked me why I was crying. I told him that sometimes people say mean things that can hurt someone's feelings. I told him Mommy got her feelings hurt at the restaurant. He didn't say another word.

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The messages about breastfeeding are strong. There are sides taken, lines drawn in the sand. Women are passionate about it. One way or the other. We judge and feel judged. We judge ourselves. The "lactivists" act as though you are a bad Mom if you don't and a SuperMom if you do. There are pamphlets and images of nursing showing it as a beautiful, natural thing... and it is. They just make it look so easy. Here are just a few. Google "breastfeeding in public" and you will find millions more.



I mean, the lady on the left did NOT just have that baby. Look at those abs. Also, her triceps must be like the Incredible Hulk if she can stand up holding that baby for twenty minutes per side. Not to mention, if that were Davis, he would have pooped in her hand by now. Where is his diaper, and why is she in a field? The lady in the middle - can you say heat stroke?! As for the lady on the right - I bet that's not coffee in that mug.

Unlike the images we receive, breastfeeding is not super easy for me. I want to do everything in my power to lower Davis' chances of developing food allergies and I want to boost his immune system as much as I can. However, I am an extremely private person when it comes to my body. Additionally, I like to measure, schedule, and plan. I don't want to feel selfish when I say that.

Most days are wonderful. Some days are hard. And that's okay. I cherish the intimacy and nutrition that nursing provides, and I miss the extra sleep and convenience that formula provides. The bottom line is, like all Moms, I just want to do what is best for my baby. Sometimes I don't even know what that is. In the meantime, I would just ask society for grace and support. If you have ever stared at a nursing Mother or made comments about a woman feeding her baby in public, I hope that you will make sure they are your last. Be a source of encouragement for Moms who are nursing, and encouragement for those who are not. I have been both.

Last but not least, if you're out at a restaurant and you see me feeding Davis, please stop to say "Hello" ONLY if I have makeup on, look like I might have showered, and my sweet tea glass is full. Those are tell-tale signs that you have caught me on one of the good days. If you see me looking like I do in the picture above, however, just keep walking. Act like you don't see me. By this simple gesture, I will know that you truly care... and I will know that you read my blog.