Monday, April 8, 2013

The Toy

I had to feed Belle on the go on Saturday.  We didn't have time to sign and play.  We had ten minutes.  I tucked her into a side hip carry in the Moby, handed her an unopened fruit and vegetable pouch and left.  Unsurprisingly, Belle was too stimulated by our mile and a half walk to even think about her morning milk or her pumpkin banana blend.  She waited an hour or so, when I was deep in conversation with a friend, to shamelessly grab my breast and help herself.

"That's not a toy," the old woman said.  "You need to put her on a schedule so you can do other things."  Then she started telling stories about her two boys who are now in their forties. 

I explained how our early morning had thrown Belle's feeding off.  I probably shouldn't have said that.  This woman clearly had a problem with breastfeeding in public.  She didn't see where I was already getting things done, feeding Belle while getting groceries.  She wanted to exert her own authority by giving me some rules for her own comfort.  Then she told a story of how a man had gone off on her after she butted in where she didn't belong. 

No comments:

Post a Comment