Today I Have Something to Say About Public Breastfeeding

First, I'm all for it.

When on a bus or at the airport or wherever, it doesn't make me uptight. Or titillated in any way (I guess you saw what I did there). As it's always been a rare sighting, I confess to maybe a second glance. I'm only human.

But I have been caught by surprise. A professor many years ago at University of Washington, who co-authored and edited an interrupted climate science case study of mine (kind of like a graphic novel with an abstract), sometimes met with me in her campus office. Her new baby son was with her one evening as we discussed some editing steps before the publishing deadline. And at one point and with no heads-up, she nonchalantly produced Tha Boob. "You don't mind, right?" Of course I didn’t.

There was another time.
Throughout most of the 1990s, we had a wonderful friend in Seattle who hosted a kinda fancy, annual New Year's Day brunch. A smallish, mostly hungover group, some were the same faces for every yearly gathering. And a few more we saw only once a year on that day. I'll never forget the curative Irish coffees by Colleen. Or Alex's short ribs and bean soup.

One year, a few of us in the living room were entertained by Colleen's husband, The Captain, who was always a hoot. Had a couple boats he liked to talk about. Witty anecdotes and such. They sailed a lot, he had some cool stories.

A woman with adorable, five-year-old, boy and girl twins sat directly across from me in front of the fireplace. Had not remembered her or the children from the year before. She was kinda quiet. And her kids were so well behaved as they sat cross-legged on the floor with their little plates of snacks.

At one point, the girl stood and sidled up to Mom, rested a hand on her breast and whispered into her ear. Mom whispered back, "Honey, how can you still be hungry?"

Thought nothing of it: bored little girl, probably wanting to go home soon, we can all remember being the only kids in a houseful of grownups, fresh out of things to entertain ourselves. My attention returned to The Captain and a boat story.

Right about that time, Mom pulled up her sweater and her brassiere down, to reveal a full breast, as her kindergartener daughter grabbed hold and began to suckle. In full view of four or five of us in the living room with our drinks, kicked back in our soft chairs. Everyone was pro at making like this was a normal thing. So I supposed it was and followed suit.

Then came the boy. And out came the other one. Now, a child standing on either side, with Mom basically topless, alternating a nurturing look to either youngster.

I was kind of stunned as I glanced around to see the reactions of others. I thought Sarah was gonna say something as she looked on, mouth agape with furrowed brow. Because Sarah typically said lots of things. But she remained silent. The Captain stood also without a word and walked into the kitchen. Everyone else sort of fidgeted a little, looked around. As two kids in blue jeans, old enough to eat cookies and little pickles wrapped in ham slices, took in a little extra from Mom’s bounty to get themselves home.

A short time later, Mom and the kids were among the first to leave.
And among those remaining, holy mackerel was there a discussion.

A second after the door closed, Sarah opened with what we were all thinking.
“Oh. My fucking. God!”
I also heard, "Why the fuck didn't she go into the bedroom?"
And "It's unusual but there are kids who occasionally breastfeed at their age. I saw it when in Syria a few years ago."
Or "That was incredibly inappropriate. Appalling."
"Jesus Christ, does she have fucking rocks in her head?" asked The Captain.

I kept mostly to myself, just thought it was bizarre, while mostly interested to hear what some of the other moms had to say. Exactly none of them gave her a full pass.
The next year, we didn't see Mom and the twins.

And Early Happy New Year. It will arrive faster than usual this time.