So Much for Discreet!

By Kati Haney

My goal used to be to nurse without letting anyone around me know -so much for that! It seemed, to me at least, that my son RJ nursed for the first six weeks straight through. When we first came home, there were several times (a day) when I just wouldn't even pull my shirt back down (or up, or over, whatever) after nursing. My mom, who was unflappable, finally worked up the nerve to ask me why I didn't cover back up again. I said, Eeyore-like - "Why bother? I'm just going to have to pull my boob back out again in 10 minutes anyway. At least this way, I'll remember which side I'm on." As a woman with large breasts even before the glory days of engorgement, I really felt like I was hauling my entire boob out for each feeding. I was so jealous of the women who didn't seem to need one hand (or more) to hold their breast and one (or more) to hold the baby. When we visited my in-laws with a newborn RJ, I was so grateful for the furniture arrangement in my mother-in-law's living room - one end of the couch was sort of behind the recliner that my father-in-law always sat in. That way, only my husband and mother-in-law (and their cats) could see me and RJ flop and squirm and wiggle.

Breastfeeding is a decorating decision, too. It took me a while to realize that the pale white stains on everything in my home, closet and car was breast milk - and that Armor-all will NOT remove it from the car's interior. RJ slipped off the nipple one day just after let-down and I sprayed the cat square in the face (that taught him to watch us from the coffee table). A few minutes later, my husband came into the living room and wanted to know why I was trying to nurse the pets as well. My friends who don't have kids all noted on several occasions that RJ must "be ready for your bath, little one. You smell like spoiled milk. " No, no, I said, he always smells like that, as do I, the couch, the blankets, all my t-shirts, the carpet, and apparently, now, the cats too. There's nothing like turning your head to look at something and getting smacked in the face with the smell of baby yarf from yesterday morning, because you STILL haven't changed shirts today. (And though I hear from my bottle-feeding friend that the stains and smell are much worse with formula, I can't even imagine it.)

And now, when my son is going to be 9 months old next week, I feel like we've settled into a routine. Gone are the early days of "tickling his lips with your nipple, to encourage your baby's rooting reflex." How could anyone do this discreetly? It used to take two people, three hands, a Chinese folding screen and thirty pillows to feed this child. Now, when he's hungry, he gives me the most subtle of signals. He starts to pant, then climbs up me using his prehensile toes, opens his mouth as wide as he can and chomps on anything that protrudes at all - a knee, a shoulder, or my nose (his favorite). I can now successfully hold him cradled in one arm, then unhook my bra, pull up my shirt, and support my breast with the other hand. Put him within a few inches of my nipple and he latches right on - it's so easy now.

I probably am a little more discreet than I was six months ago - I certainly flash fewer people now. But I think that the real change is in my attitude. Yes, nursing is very precious, and brings up strong feelings for some folks, both positive and negative. But, basically, I've decided that it's just the way that my baby gets his nourishment. Detaching those emotional hang-ups were harder than learning how to un-hook my nursing bra one-handed.

So, hypothetically, let's say, that RJ's latched on and I'm covered up. I've resumed my conversation naturally, acting as if my son is not sucking on an intensely private body part. And what does my son do while I'm congratulating myself on our discreetness? Well, now, he hums. That's right, he hums, as loud as he can, using the same sort of tune he uses to put himself to sleep, which tells me he must be content, but gosh he is loud about it! I brace myself for the day that we're out at the library and we get shushed because he's so loud. Or better yet, we're at the mall and some person approaches me: "Ma'am, why are stuffing your breast into that baby's mouth, he's trying to sing you a song?"