From Leery to Lactivist
I rarely go looking for trouble, but one night this week I did, and I found it.
I follow The Lactivista on Twitter. As the name suggests, The Lactivista tweets about breastfeeding issues, and I like her style. One night this week, I saw that she was chastising individuals who had randomly tweeted complaints about women nursing in public. I was moved by her commitment and passion and seriously disturbed by the comments folks were sending out into the atmosphere. So, I did my own twitter search for “breastfeeding.” I found the words “gross,” “sick,” “awkward,” “disgusting,” and references to “skanky fill-in-the-blanks.” And my head proceeded to explode. What was wrong with these people? How incredibly juvenile.
And in the midst of my anger, I reflected on my own journey with breastfeeding. A few years ago, I couldn’t fathom actually bringing a baby to breast to nurse. It seemed invasive and uncomfortable and, well, maybe, yes, a little gross. I thought it would mean the total loss of my body as anything other than udder, and I couldn’t bear it. But I understood the health “benefits” and figured I would just pump.
Famous last words.
When I found out I was pregnant, I started reading and reading and reading and reading. It took no time at all to convince me that I needed to very much get over myself and just do it. I understood that “just pumping” wouldn’t be as easy as it sounded and wouldn’t give my baby all of the benefits of breastfeeding.
And then I read and read and read some more, and I realized that I wouldn’t be giving my baby “benefits.” I would just be providing what she needed. I reached that moment of understanding that breastfeeding isn’t beneficial. It’s normal. It’s, for me, mandatory. That was it. I committed. And now that I’ve breastfed exclusively for four months (not without some difficulties, I might add), I’m sold on breastfeeding as biologically imperative.
Sure, it’s challenging. But a lot of normal things are challenging. Parallel parking, geometry, and using a fitted sheet come to mind. And it can be inconvenient. Like needing to use the bathroom in the midst of a wedding or needing to sleep at all. It can be tedious and require some organization. Taxes, laundry, health insurance. And unlike these other “normal things,” it is really kind of amazing.
Never ever did I think I would say that last part. I would nurse to give my baby comfort, nourishment, sustenance, but I couldn’t imagine getting anything from it myself. Four months later, I try to give my baby a bottle of pumped milk, and it feels bizarrely impersonal. It feels distant and cold. I know that giving a baby a bottle is a loving act, but it’s just not the same.
Having become fully persuaded that breastfeeding is normal and awesome, I nurse anywhere and everywhere. I breastfeed at Reds games, in restaurants and parking lots, at friends’ houses–wherever. I try to do it somewhat discreetly, but I’m just not that concerned about it. It shouldn’t be gross, or awkward, or disgusting. (And, frankly, I regularly sit across the table from adults with eating habits that are perfectly described as gross, awkward and disgusting, so even if you feel that way about breastfeeding, a baby‘s gotta eat.).
In the final stages of my head exploding from the gross/awkward/disgusting comments about something that’s part of my everyday life, I thought about how many women in Cincinnati I’ve observed nursing in public: Zero. I’ve seen a lot of babies and no nursing. So, I will nurse even more, and when I see a woman nursing in public, I will support her in some way. I will do what I can to make breastfeeding too pervasive to be disgusting.