Facing a Storm of Negativity

by Carol Armbrust

I was 30 years old when I had my first and only child. My daughter in the story is today nearly 21 years old and is going to college. The story I am going to tell is 20 years old but regardless, profoundly affected my resolve to nurse her and may be an inspiration to some. I also want my daughter to breast feed when she has a baby and am so glad attitudes are changing towards the positive for this natural and best way to feed a baby.

Although married to the wonderful father of my daughter, I was alone with her most of the years that I spent nursing her in San Antonio, Texas. My husband traveled to different Air Force bases in a five-state area near Texas for his job and would be gone for three to four weeks at a time. From the moment our daughter, Melinda was born, I nursed until she was about 26 months old.

We had just returned from a trip to Ohio to visit my husband's family. It was Christmas. We were a week from celebrating Melinda's first birthday. His mother told me I should have stopped breastfeeding at three months because there were no benefits to the baby. She implied I was deriving some sick pleasure from the act of nursing and told me she would be embarrassed if she were me.

Back in Texas, because I was alone, I had to do the grocery shopping myself. I had a car, but it was not a very good one, and the air conditioner didn't work in it. To avoid nursing in a hot car, I would always nurse Melinda just before leaving, but this particular day, she was a bit cranky from an ear infection and wanted to nurse continuously. The refrigerator seemed empty. I had no milk (ironically) or other ingredients to fix a decent meal, so out to the store I went. After getting a food cart, I began strolling down the aisle in search of the items on my list. I hurried because of the feeling Melinda would start crying and making demands to nurse "any minute," I thought. Sure enough, she woke out of her sleep in the baby carrier strapped around my shoulders and being a year old and well-acquainted with the location of my breasts, immediately made a dive for her favorite nipple, which to her consternation was covered with a layer of fabric- my blouse! This did not set well with her. She started to wail. Although I was nearly finished shopping, I wasn't ready to check-out. I didn't want to abandon my cart and go to the employee's bathroom to nurse. Besides all that, my daughter's cry made my milk "drop" and she was clawing at my chest and... well, I threw the baby blanket over my shoulder, turned my face to the canned beets, unbuttoned my blouse and the crying immediately stopped. Whew! instant relief for Melinda and for myself was such heaven. Then, a woman in her mid-50s stopped, peered around the stack of canned corn and gasped. She asked me what I thought I was doing-- exposing myself. "Your baby is too old to be nursing!" she exclaimed, implying that nursing should be discontinued before a baby's awareness is more acute. "I am reporting you to the manager!" and off she went in the direction of the store office. There was no pulling Melinda off and shoving her back into the baby carrier now, I thought. I'd rather face an army of indignant "prim-and-propers" than my baby's cry. I didn't want to sit in a toilet stall, and I wasn't going to nurse her in a hot car either. I adjusted the blanket to make sure no one saw flesh and waited for the manager to ask me to stop-- or kick me out.

The manager at the time was Hispanic. He came around the end of the aisle with a flustered look of concern on his face, approached me in the most respectful manner I have ever seen from a man and asked me if I was okay. I admitted that I was nursing my baby but had no choice but to continue or she would cry. "Oh, no, no, no. That's okay. I just came to apologize for that woman's treatment of you. We could hear her yelling at you all the way up front." He told me I could nurse my baby in his store anytime I needed. While Melinda suckled away in the canned foods aisle, he told me his wife nursed all of their children, his mother nursed him and his siblings and so on and on. Then he helped me finish shopping, helped me at the check out counter, double bagged my groceries and loaded them into my car. He told me that to avoid being yelled at by customers who didn't understand, I could nurse in the store's office the next time, "or anytime," he said.

It was 1982. The tide of misunderstanding was turning. The LeLeche league was winning over one mother at a time. Although I had started thinking about weaning Melinda, the way I was treated by the manager at the grocery store changed my mind. I let the natural course of her needs run itself out. I believe it was the best thing I ever did for her and for our relationship as mother and daughter. I believe nursing is something a child can't remember but one which writes an indelible imprint of human connection and sense of security into the mind of a child forever. I hope all babies have the chance mine did.