Today I went to a nurse-in at Target. Google "Target Nurse-In" to bring yourself up to speed. Hurry. This post will continue in 30 seconds.
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Just kidding. You have to scroll down, silly.
So I went as a show of solidarity. Anyone who talks to me on a semi-regular basis knows that I'm not opposed to formula if a mama needs it. Lucy had it for a few months, Claire has had the odd formula bottle (there are nights I'm just too tired to life my shirt up one. more. freaking. time.), whatever. Just keep the kid alive and thriving.
But for the 99%, I'm a pretty hardcore breastfeeder. I will say that it's not for the faint of heart. Claire and I are actually praying our way (and medicating - let's not get loopy, now) through a third round of thrush and I'm just about ready to scream. Well, scratch that. I've done my share of screaming over this whole mess, but there is just nothing that compares to feeding an older baby. For all you mamas of young babies out there who might be reading this, hang in there. The fun hasn't even started. Seeing Claire giggle as I whisper, "Mama gonna eat the baby" while I nibble on her fingers is just too rewarding to let a little thing like thrush keep us down. There is nothing in the world like nursing an 8, 9, 10-month-old. Of course, there are the gymnurstics to deal with, but we make do. Seeing the pure love between a crawler and her milk supply is just so fun and sweet. Claire loves a lot of things,
I just don't see the correlation between breastfeeding and indecency. I suppose I could take my shirt off and skip down the aisles of Target, but nursing my baby? For the love of all that is lactating, it's a baby eating. I suggest carrying a blanket with you to put over your head, should you run into a nursing mama. So, off we went, the Cookes Five. That's right, my manly man came with me to support his woman and her right to feed the dadgum baby wherever she so chooses. I believe he put it something like, "Somebody will have to take Claire home and give her formula when you land yourself in the clink for inciting a riot," but let's not split hairs.
It was mostly myself and 15 other women discussing amber teething necklaces and cloth diapers like hippy freaks so often do, but there was plenty of gross and indecent baby-feeding, too. Thankfully, the kind Targeteers were educated well in advance and left us the heck alone to feed the children from the tap and socialize. I'm sure ample media coverage and the threat of ICKY BEWBIES all over their cafes was enough to do the trick. (I did, however, buy a soda at the cafe. I mean, Claire was thoughtless enough to bring her meal from outside the store, and some places frown on that. Stinkin' babies. No manners at all. Somebody had to do the right thing.)
So yeah, it was memorable. I think I'll print out a couple of articles about the event for Claire's baby book. Such a cute little lactivist.
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Laura Cooke
Spread love everywhere you go. Let no one ever come to you without leaving happier. ~ Mother Teresa
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