The Boobie Trap

Let me tell you a little bit about the highlight of my mornings.

Although they start unforgivingly early, they start with a mental snap shot that warms the coldest of daybreaks. Miss Moo lays parallel to me gulping away mouthfuls of Mummy Milk as fast as her sleepy cheeks will allow. Behind her, Miss Boo wraps her tiny arm around Moo’s waist and the other she extends up over the pillow and gently pats me on the shoulder. The pair holds hands and sigh as sleep falls away and they breathe in the start of a new day, already saturated in love and comfort.

As Boo so elegantly puts it, our day starts with ‘Boobie Snuggles’. 

In what I would love to ignorantly perceive as a progressive society, I would hope that an image such as this would conjure only feelings of delight and natural appreciation.

Not so. 

While many, many people amongst us would not bat an eyelid at the sight of a teeny bub suckling nature’s nutrients from her mother, others are just not sure how to take it. 

Now, I don’t intend to ignite an argument about the appropriate places for public breastfeeding. Nor do I intend to argue as to why I should hover in the corner under a blanket and never dare to have my nipples see the light of day.

As far as I’m concerned, that ship has sailed. Mother’s who are lucky enough to be able to breastfeed are going to need to do so. We’ve had thousands of years to numb this debate, and to date, evolution has not spoken in the favour of those opposed as clearly milk isn’t spurting out of anywhere other than my bosoms.

Sorry, nature has spoken. That’s how it is to be done, end of.

My main concern with the ‘comfort zone’, is that some people who have not been exposed to feeding since their own, are just simply unsure how to handle the situation when it arises. 

Our battle should not be fought arguing with these people as to why we have a right to do it, when perhaps all we need to do is make it known that it’s ok for them to be privy to it.

For a new Mum who has just had a human being push themselves out from her nether regions, getting her nips out in front of friends and family is daunting enough, let alone doing it in an environment where others are scrutinizing her for it.

Not to point fingers lads, but guys under and above the median age tend to do the nose scrunching.

Breastfeeding is hard. It takes the practice of two people who are both new to the sport. It takes dedication and it takes patience. Nervousness does not help the situation. 

Imagine if you will lads, that you have been asked to kick a winning goal in a sport which you’ve never played. Not only that, there is also a baby’s life and health wagered on that shot. And there is a catch - you have to take it with no pants on. 

Don’t you think it would be hard enough to concentrate your effort on scoring that goal for the livelihood of the child, without a huddle of people on the sideline snickering ‘I CAN SEE YOUR WILLY!!’

I respect any Mummy who has attempted breastfeeding, for any duration of time.  Whilst I whole heartedly understand that not every Mum is able to breastfeed and do not imply for a second that sitting in a quiet room with your baby bottle feeding is any less beautiful or bonding, I just simply don’t want anyone to feel like they need to approach feeding like poking a dead bird with a stick. 

It amuses me to no end that the same collection of young guys that would literally swivel on their heel and apologise for interrupting a feed as they run with eyes in the other direction, are usually the same gents that would happily sit in my lounge room and watch topless models prance about on scenes of 'Entourage' while holding civilised conversation. 

We need to immunise this demographic against looking at us like we’re taking public pap smears.

When you hear the click of a maternity bra unhinging, it does not indicate that this mother is about to adorn tassels and begin swinging around a pole. (Sadly enough, most would actually watch that.)

This is what these bouncy things are for. Believe us, leaking at random intervals and waking up with a set of rock hard tits that ache where they have been gnawed at is much more uncomfortable for us than, heaven forbid, making eye contact with you mid-feed. 

I adore, adoooooore that my darling family are so supportive of my breastfeeding. Neither of my brothers, or my father, would think twice about walking in, looking me dead in the eye and chirping, ‘Hi Dee!’ while I sit there with Moo attached. I hope with all sincerity that they realise how easy they have made my experience. 

Breastmilk is liquid gold my lovelies. Did you know that not only does it contain antibiotic fabulousness and nutrients, it also has a spectrum of healing properties? True story. Pimples, nappy rash etc, all susceptible to its powers. It stuns me daily that it doesn’t in fact have a golden sheen to it. 

Unless you are a skin abrasion, it will not, I repeat, will not, have kryptonite effects on you.

Not in all my three years of visiting parents rooms have I ever seen a lady strip from the waist up and skip about like a hippy. We have the process down to such a fine art that you probably have a better chance of winning lotto than you do of catching a glimpse of nipple. 

We’re not ashamed of what we’re doing, we love it. It makes us so happy to share these moments with our babies. Don’t look upon my child having her morning feed any more uncomfortably than you would do if they were sitting there eating toast.

At no point are we tempted to stand up and shout ‘MILK FIGHT’ and begin squirting it in your direction.

Look us in the eye and smile, we are not quarantined and are happy to hold a conversation with you.

Even ask questions if you want, most of us are thrilled to discuss the sheer awesomeness of the process.

Be brave, people! Be comfortable.

Don’t fear the feeder.