My daughter and I had to spend the first 5 days of her life in the hospital, so I was somewhat hostage on the ward to breastfeeding examination, evaluation and thus advice. Lots of advice. Conflicting advice. Well-meaning but terrible advice. An overwhelming amount of commentary on my physical form. You might, then, think that I was fully prepared to breastfeed in public, having been observed to within an inch of our lives. Not so…
The Looming Dread of the Inaugural Public Feeding
Among the many anxieties of early postpartum life once my husband had returned to work after his criminally short two-week paternity leave, BREASTFEEDING IN PUBLIC loomed large.
I had already been near sick with anxiety about taking my baby on the bus by myself. When I did, I prayed that she would magically remain asleep throughout the whole (very short) experience.
In truth, I was artificially shortening my café visits in hopes of sailing through in a sleep-filled haze. The first two times she did, which was wonderful, but which meant the pressure was mounting for the inevitable moment of the inaugural PF.
An Unintentionally Perfect (and Imperfect) Setting
Luckily, the inaugural PF took place in Marks and Spencer. Now M&S is a British institution, known for their traditional food – a scone and jam can always be acquired from Marks – and their trustworthy underwear. The two times I visited my Grandma’s cousin in New York, I took her gifts from M&S: I knew they’d be a welcome reminder of home.
My daughter woke up in M&S café and was clearly hungry. Hello adrenaline and increased heart rate (my old friends, you’ve come to have stern words with me again). In a panic I took her to baby changing, thinking that somehow a nappy change might save me, I took her to the baby changing area, thinking that somehow a nappy change might save me. It did not.
The Elevator Door Incident
There was a chair in the changing room, but the thought of first feeding her ‘out’ next to a toilet didn’t really appeal. I knew there were some cushioned chairs around the store that I could suitably feed from. In a delightfully ironic move, I managed to find a space which straddles public and private…
The chair was in an ill-lit corner next to the babywear section (on theme, at least, I thought).
However, though hidden from the shop floor, this corner was directly in front of… the elevator. I had inadvertently created a situation in which as the elevator doors opened on Floor 1: TA-DA! here be a breastfeeding mother!
What can I say? Own goals are seemingly my thing.
It Was Fine (Mostly)
In the end, it was all fine. My daughter remembered how to feed (funny that) and I managed to feed her despite rocking a presumably off-the-charts level of bodily tension. My sigh of relief was a bit premature, though: she awoke crying from post-dinner slumber and I panicked until I remembered I have a second breast…
The First Hurdle Is Just That: The First
It’s fair enough to feel anxious about feeding in public. It’s natural for it to take on a heightened significance. It is, though, just a first hurdle to clear (though admittedly I fell mid-race doing the literal hurdles at school).
Once the inaugural PF is behind you, countless more PFs await in varying locations and your prowess improves. Experience is a great help. So go forth and feed your baby! Oh, and try not to breastfeed in front of elevator doors.
Also check out: Nursing in Public: Why I Freed My Nipple
