So far, I’ve done it in:
the cafe of the soft play centre
the park (on a bench, by the sandpit)
the school playground waiting for Zumba to finish
in the car whilst eating fish and chips, before popping to the park
during my son’s 2 year health check
on my mother in law’s sofa
in the cafe at Morrisons
in the Imperial War Museum, Manchester
at the hairdressers, whilst having highlights and colour…
You must know by now that I’m talking about breastfeeding, right?
When I had my daughter I was a complete ‘newbie’ at the whole breastfeeding lark. I used to go upstairs if we had visitors and sit there listening to everyone else having fun while I was feeding her. I spent many hours on that first Christmas day doing that. She wouldn’t take a bottle so even if I had been able to express, there was nothing I could do with the damn milk anyway! We admitted ‘defeat’ and threw the bottles in the bin. Only now do I know that it wasn’t defeat at all.
We gave my son a bottle of expressed milk when he was four days old. He happily switched from breast to bottle for four months (about the only thing he did do happily). I used to take bottles if I was going out somewhere, to save me the ’embarrassment’ of having to *gasp* breastfeed in public.
This time around, I’m certainly older and I’m not sure about wiser but I definitely don’t really give two hoots where I breastfeed at all. We half-heartedly tried to give the baby a bottle a couple of weeks ago but she refused it. I was secretly glad. The baby is working wonders for my long, drawn-out healing process and breastfeeding is proving to be one of the most precious things I have right now.
Perhaps that is why I don’t care where I do it these days. I’m keeping my daughter alive. I’m bonding with her. I’m breastfeeding her.