You start out on the sofa, perched precariously between piles of pillows, maybe a horseshoe-shaped one in pink or blue gingham, bolstering your massive boobs, baby clutched to you for dear life, surrounded by snacks, drinks, remote control, books and magazines. You don’t move for hours.
Flash forward a few weeks, and all being well (which I fully understand it often isn’t) and you’re hoisting your top up on the top of a bus and shoving the baby under while you and others go about your business. A friend of mine told me how she found herself feeding while on her knees digging up the flowerbeds two weeks after having her second.
I refuse to stay at home during the entire breastfeeding period, which let’s face it can range from a few weeks to a few years, and I will feed my baby when he cries for food in public. I can honestly say I’ve never had a disapproving glance or comment, or if I have, I’ve never noticed. Choose your place wisely and everyone else will be too busy looking the other way. Empire State Building? Niagara Falls? Where have you done it? I’d love to hear other people’s boob-with-a-view stories.
To start things off, as an example, I have breastfed at the very top of Centrepoint in Sydney, with 360 degree views of the city, on a very cramped semi-submersible boat on the Great Barrier Reef and on a pedalo in London’s glorious Regent’s Park. The people on that under-water boat didn’t want their once in a lifetime experience ruined by a crying baby and neither did I. Boob in, job done. What’s the problem?