Meatloaf Has A Very Nice Pair

Bigfoot. The top of Mt. Everest. A member of the Osmond family with cavities. Dirty looks while nursing. All things I had never seen before and never expected to see. I sat down at Chick-Fil-A the other night about to enjoy the bliss of Food I Didn’t Cook when it happened. I set the big boys up with their nuggets and fries and then began to give the baby his dinner. That’s when I spotted it. A man and woman in a booth across from us exchanged a horrified look and rolled their eyes in my direction. Understandable since I was naked from the waist up and had shouted “It’s MILKING time” just before I latched my little one on.

Wait a second. That’s not what happened. I was seated in the corner of the booth with an ample-sized cloth (aptly named The Hooter Hider) draped over my body. I was practically dressed to go mountain climbing in Tibet. Was the objection that somehow the cloth would fly off, exposing my chest? Or perhaps that another human was attached and eating? I’m far from being a crunchy granola type but I find myself confused as to why anyone could object to the most natural process a human can experience. Do you ask pregnant women to hide their bellies because it announces to the world that she’s had sex? I suppose that’s what we used to do. Our ancestors had to go in “confinement” once their pregnant bellies became obvious and it wasn’t until Lucille Ball in the 1960’s that a pregnant belly could be shown on television. I just thought that here, FIFTY years later, no one would look askance at a woman nursing her child. I was wrong.

It wasn’t the first time it had happened either. I got some uncomfortable glances at the mall once when I had the audacity to sit in the food court with my family instead of finding a dark hole somewhere to nurse like I need to be ashamed of myself. This negativity is doubly ironic at the mall when everywhere you look is a young lady either flashing more flesh than fabric or squeezed into a garment clearly meant for someone a good deal smaller than she. Where is the outrage? Where are the long-suffering sighs and sideways glances? What is the obsession with boobs that produce milk?

Any nursing mom will tell you how lonely the business of feeding your little one can be. Too many times I have been enjoying the company of other adults (a luxury those of you without children cannot fully appreciate) when the time came for my infant to eat. Then, like a disciplined child, I gather my blanket and find somewhere secluded to sit for the better part of an hour, continually glancing at the clock and listening wistfully to the merriment taking place without me. Therefore, whenever I get the chance to nurse AND be a part of the action, I never pass it up. If you must roll your eyes at me when I do so, so be it. But, be advised, I’m not moved by your discomfort. I will not scurry away to make you more comfortable. To quote the movie Notting Hill, they’re just boobs. Every second person in the world has them. More actually. Meatloaf has a very nice pair.