Tuesday 13 July 2010


So there is a celebrity over here, names aren’t actually important cause to be honest, it’s tenuous as to what she is famous for…anyway, she has said she had to stop breastfeeding out of fear of being photographed by the paparazzi if she gets caught out in Starbucks or the post office. So at three weeks she decided to call it a day. My first thought of course, was breastfeed at home you silly cow then go to Starbucks. Or, send your assistant or husband to get you your caffeine fix. I’m sure your partner would be more than happy to flee the house for some fresh air and silence. Come to think of it, my partner is already making lists of all the things he can help me with outside the home. Curious that.

I think the subject of breastfeeding is an interesting one in terms of how society still views it. I believe that here they just passed a law (could be an ordinance, never really understood the difference) that protects a woman to be able to do it in public places. And to take it a step further, some shops/restaurants can even advertise themselves as breastfeeding friendly places. It’s hard to believe they even had to pass this thing, but I think by now we know the times we are living in and not much makes sense. Here’s the thing, it’s a natural act, no? (and in my opinion far less annoying or offensive than cell phones!) And I’m not saying you should whip out your chest out in the middle of dinner and let them fall into the bread basket, but with discretion the act can be carried out quite discreetly and not to mention, it's kind of adorable - that could be my hormones talking. And seriously, at this point, are people still ruffled by the idea of a woman feeding her child through means of what her body biologically gave her?? Get over it prudes! If you have a problem with it, turn your head, or use your cell phone. It’s not like the kid is going to stop, burp and let out a long lingering sigh followed by a ‘god damn that sh*t is good!’ Then again, I think that would make the process all the more amusing.

I went to a class the other day where they set about teaching you how to do it. Trust me, it’s not as easy as it looks. Firstly, the woman teaching it was downright scary, she was keen to teach the tough love approach to make sure you really got the message. In short, breast feed your baby, or face the consequences – she knew our addresses so I wasn’t going to chance it. It was all doom and gloom on the formula side of things (and damn near child abuse according to her), and I left there thinking I was a criminal if I even attempted to feed my kid out of a bottle. According to her, if you’re doing it right – and it’s all angles and placement from what I can tell (yeah, tell me that at 2 in the morning, my breast is just getting shoved on in there!) then there shouldn’t be a problem at all. In fact, she says it should be a “100% pleasurable experience.” Her words not mine. Um, yeah, okay Nazi hippie. I’m not sure there is anything on the planet that is 100% pleasurable. Okay, ice cream…and well, sex ranks pretty high up there. But breastfeeding? Me thinks you protest too much. Not to mention some of my friends are literally in tatters and tears after one week of trying to breastfeed. I’ll make sure to tell them they are doing it wrong. They’ll love that.

She then went on…and on…– the dead horse was beaten to the point of mince at this point (what a barbaric saying, ‘beating a dead horse,’ no???)– to say that in the UK the rate of which women drop out and switch to formula is alarming and epidemic in comparison to the rest of the world. Breastfeeding in other countries - brace yourself and your chest – carries on in some places till the child is 7 years old. Yes, you heard me, SEVEN...listen, if I was in a village somewhere in Africa and there was limited food and resources, I get it, it’s a lifeline. But otherwise, there is no reason I can see a seven year old ‘latching on.’ In simple terms, if my kid can talk, chew a steak, and ride a skateboard, it’s not getting near my chest. Sorry lady, but I have my limits.
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