Picture this. You’re at the mall doing some shopping, you walk around until the hunger pains get to be too much, then you head over to the food court. You order some food and go sit down. Just as you are about to take a bite out of crime, your eyes wander upon a woman sitting down with a BABY attached to her BREAST.
What do you do? What do you do?
…
ABSO-FUCKIN-LUTELY NOTHING, that’s what.
How about go about your business? How about stop staring at someone else eating and worry about your first world problems, such as the money burning a hole in your pocket or your inability to choose a freaking handbag? How about worrying about the mystery meat in your pseudo-buger instead of being completely repulsed by a MOTHER who is MOTHERING her baby in public. Fine, you don’t have to be a fan of it, but you sure as hell don’t need to be making a scene about it either. You could, I don’t know, maybe go sit somewhere else? Take your shit home and eat it? Become a hermit and order delivery for the rest of your life? I don’t care. Whatever you do, just please take your shitty attitude with you.
I’ll let you in on a little secret. I don’t like breastfeeding either. That’s right! I’m not some hippie mom walking around with a five year old attached to the boob. No way jose. I remember being in the hospital post c-section and squirming around uncomfortably because I can’t fart, despite them asking me every 5 minutes if I’ve passed gas yet. “Nope,” I would say and off they would go. A few minutes later one of the nurses returned and was carrying my little bundle of pure omg-first-time-mom-I-cant-do-this with her and says “OK, so are we ready to try feeding?”. I am like, “Well, duh, what did you think I was going to do with him, not feed him?” As she is walking towards me, I am looking around for a bottle and don’t see anything in sight. “I don’t have a bottle,” I say, and she smiles and says “Of course not, you are going to breastfeed.” The second she said those words, reaching her bony hand towards me like a bad horror flick, I ACTUALLY threw up in my mouth. Full out like chicken noodle soup and crackers vomit.
I swallow. “Excuse you?” She replies, “We encourage all patients, especially first time mothers to breast feed so let’s get you started,” and proceeds to place my babe in his little plastic cot and start trying to get her feel on.
The fuck you will.
We spend the next 5 minutes arguing about how that is a giant “hell no, stop asking me, I said no…I said NO!” back and forth until finally she huffs like I’m the biggest failure in the world and stomps off to get me formula.
I, even to this day, am completely put off by the thought of myself breastfeeding. I can’t handle it. It’s not for me. Nope. #TeamFormula right here! It wasn’t something I asked to be put off by, I just am. And guess what? That’s OK!
So I get it. Kinda.
But the fact of the matter is a mother has to provide her child with FOOD. And where better to do this than in the FOOD court? If you can cram your double big mac sandwich down your throat, ketchup dripping down your chin, and grease staining your shirt, why shouldn’t a kid be afforded the same privilege? You eat that shit when you want, how you want and don’t care who has a problem with it. Those hungry little beasts should be able to do the same.This isn’t a battle of pro tit versus anti tit versus jealous because you’re not getting enough tit at home.
It’s about food. So stop being an asshole already!