The Worst Advice to Give a Breastfeeding Mother: Just Cover Up

I'm at the bagel shop. Doing my thing, throwing things on the floor and watching my mommy and brother scramble to pick them up. Then, mommy pulls me onto her lap and I get excited. I know what's coming. 

But, mommy gets nervous. I feel her heart beat faster and I see her looking around the room. 

Where is it? Why is this taking so long?

Then, the lights go out. I know it's there, but I can't find it. And it's hot. And I can't see mommy. 

This is how I imagine my son feels when I "cover him up" to nurse. He flails. He pushes the wrap off of his head. He struggles to latch on. This is why the person who advises--whether with good intention or not--to just cover up is not considering the feelings of the mother or the baby. If he were, he would know that the mother is left feeling shamed and the baby, anxious and disconnected from the mother.

Recently this issue hit home when a local business tried to institute a policy stating that breastfeeding was only allowed in the play area if a cover was used. The business caters to children up to the age of six. The outrage on social media was swift. By the end of the day, the owner had recanted the policy, but the damage was done.

Opinions on whether a breastfeeding mother should cover her breast and subsequently her baby's head while nursing ran rampant, varying from supportive to ridiculous. After a local newspaper ran an article on this business' attempt to institute the policy and the subsequent nurse-in that took place at the business, one comment at the end of article likened breastfeeding to men pulling their penises out and urinating in public. Needless to say, this was one of the more ridiculous--and disturbing--statements.

Yet, throughout this debate, voices were heard but feelings were ignored. Many commentators--wanting to offer a quick fix to the nursing-mother-problem--repeatedly said "just cover up," but they failed to even think about how a woman feels when she is told that feeding her child is a shameful act that needs to be hidden.

Meanwhile, women are celebrated for exposing their bodies in the media, on the beach, on the streets, but they are corrected for showing a small piece of breast when feeding their babies, and women are the ones left to deal with these mixed messages.

And what about the baby? How many grownups would want to eat a sandwich under a blanket? It's not only uncomfortable but dark and hot. Also, when under a cover, the baby can't make eye-contact with his mommy and this is scary; if you're out of a baby's eyesight, you don't exist.

So, after reading those responses in the local newspaper, I felt outraged, shamed, and disappointed. Yet, I also felt somewhat empowered. My reaction varied from feeling like I should never breastfeed in public again to wanting to burn my nursing wrap and whip out my breast to feed my child in every restaurant in the Pioneer Valley. (If only my husband and I had the money.)

But I also felt confused. It is common knowledge that breastfeeding is recommended by the medical community. So, while doctors tell us to breastfeed, the public shames us for nursing when we do it in the wrong place or in what society deems the wrong way.

I started to breastfeed four years ago, when I had my first child. Now, I have a nine-month-old, and rarely do I feed my son in public without using a cover; and I never have. I cover up not only for my comfort, but for the comfort of others. If my 22-year-old nephew is visiting, I cover myself. If I am in my father-in-law's home, I cover myself. If I am in a restaurant, I cover myself.

And, when I cover up, I duck under the cover with my son to keep him company.

Luckily, I do not always feel I have to cover up. I am supported by many in my community and I am fortunate to live in an area where a policy telling nursing mothers to cover up or leave the room is an anomaly (as well as against the law). Unfortunately, I also walk away knowing that there is still an incredible stigma around breastfeeding. I walk away knowing breastfeeding is misunderstood and the feelings of women and their babies are often ignored.

The recent event will not change my breastfeeding practices. I will continue to use a cover in restaurants and I will continue to duck under with my son so he's not alone. I will continue to nurse openly in places where I feel comfortable and supported. The only thing that may change is that I will not patron establishments that do not support me feeding my child. I will not give money to an establishment that supports a point of view that says such a natural act as breastfeeding needs to be kept under wraps.

Life as a Mom: Being a Little Less Graceful Under Pressure

"Momma, what does fuck mean?"

I was four months pregnant, sitting on the floor in my basement, bawling. My three-year-old was standing over me. I had just attempted to call my husband at work to no avail. Our septic tank was backing up into our washing machine.

I am no stranger to crisis. I spent four years as a therapist for adolescents in residential homes and eight years as the clinical supervisor for an adult mental health crisis unit. The name of the facility even had the word crisis in it.

At work I had my own pair of pink rubber boots so my feet would stay dry when the new bathrooms flooded. When I wasn't unclogging toilets and cleaning up vomit I was standing up to angry men and convincing suicidal people not to hurt themselves. I could handle a lot at the same time.

All of that seems to have changed. Now that I am home with two small children the stakes are higher for me.

When I am driving my car and it lurches or when I am exiting the highway and the brake light comes on, I panic.

When the carbon monoxide detector starts beeping at 4:20 am and the fire department tells us to leave our home with our family on one of the coldest days of a New England winter, the adrenaline rushes.

If my husband and I had been alone when the detector beeped, we would have changed the batteries or moved the monitor. But we weren't. We were staggering around our home blurry-eyed looking at our small children. We dialed 911 and walked outside, blankets wrapped around our boys.

I am lucky to have a partner who I can lean on during these times. He understands my anxiety even when I don't. He forgives me for teaching our toddler how to swear and wipes away my tears. He helps me develop evacuation plans so I don't to lie awake panicking about what I would do in an emergency.

Yet, as I think about all of the normal every day emergencies--breaking-down cars , temperamental septic tanks, beeping alarms--I realize how differently I react to stressful situation. Now that I have two little lives in my hands, I don't cope with things quite as easily. Every difficult situation is a little scarier.

Today, I can no longer face a crisis head on without a little cursing and crying on the side.

And I have to accept that when I have water from my septic system mixing with my laundry my son may learn to swear. And that will have to be OK.