From Bashful to Brazen: The Indiscreet Breastfeeder's Manifesto

By Sundae Horn
Issue 109, November/December 2001

Recently I read a sweet little how-to article about nursing discreetly in public. It offered all manner of well-meaning and socially acceptable advice, the gist of which was to make sure the breast never sees the light of day. The key to success is keeping covered. If all is done carefully, the article suggested, no one except mother and baby need know that breastfeeding is taking place.

This seemingly reasonable advice is offensive to me. I want people to know that breastfeeding is happening. I'm proud to say I have nursed my two children almost everywhere. We are not discreet nursers, and although I probably could have been more careful, I have chosen to let it all hang out for personal and political reasons.

Some of our indiscretions are built into the system. I have big breasts that are hard to hide completely while wrestling them in and out of bras and babies' mouths. My children have fought against having their faces covered (they want to see me), and both were born with the delightful habit of humming as they nurse. There's no disguising what is going on when the Mmmm begins. Everyone notices, even people who were trying very hard not to. As if that weren't enough, my 18-month-old daughter has named the act of nursing "boop," which she whines as she tears at my clothing. It doesn't fool anybody.

Then there's the issue of my wardrobe. I prefer to wear dresses, and my concession to nursing has been dresses that button down the front. I am comfortable unbuttoning my dress, opening my bra, and baring my breasts as needed.

I wasn't always this uninhibited. One of my first public nursing experiences, in a grocery store, was embarrassing and awful. I was a new mama with a screaming, kicking, purple-faced four month old. After trying to calm my son by singing, rocking, and plugging him with a pacifier, I desperately let him latch on. I was wearing a nursing dress that more or less hid my flesh, but it was still obvious what we were doing. An older woman came up to me and said, "Honey, I teach breastfeeding, and I always tell my girls to carry a tea towel with them, so they can keep themselves covered up."

"I'm trying to keep him covered," I replied meekly. "That's why I'm wearing this dress, but he won't let me cover his face."

"Well, honey," she replied. "You're making a spectacle of yourself. Nursing is wonderful, isn't it? Next time, you remember to bring a tea towel."

I knew that if I met her eyes or tried to speak I would lose control over the tears I was just managing to hold back. So I huddled over my baby and avoided eye contact with the other shoppers. Shame soon turned to rage however, and I began to seethe. "How dare she?" I thought. "How could she say she teaches breastfeeding yet be so unsupportive when I was obviously struggling and already embarrassed? How could I be a spectacle? He was screaming; now, because I'm nursing him, he's quiet. What does she teach her 'girls?' Shame?"

The encounter had the exact opposite effect on me than the woman had intended. It made me bound and determined never to use a tea towel--whatever that is. Her advice did not make me bashful; it made me brazen.

Since that day, I have nursed openly in some pretty amusing situations, including during an eye exam and while taking the written test for my driver's license. Neither the optometrist nor the DMV examiner asked me to stop. In fact, both were encouraging, if a little embarrassed, saying that it was a first for them, but that I should just go ahead and do what was best for my baby.

I have nursed while getting my hair cut and my oil changed. I have nursed in libraries, museums, and malls, at weddings and parties, in stores and waiting rooms, in line at the grocery store, and while waiting on customers in the bookstore where I work. Not to mention in restaurants, airports, parks, zoos, and the Morehead City Seafood Festival beer garden (I had juice, of course). Once I made myself at home on the patio furniture display at K-Mart. Another time I sat on the edge of the dairy case at the grocery store; a passing manager assured me I could sit there as long as I needed.