And Then He Bit Me
Monday, January 10, 2011 at 9:55PM | by Katy Admittedly, I haven’t always been a proponent of public breastfeeding. (And...we just lost my dad.) Even when I was in my second trimester we went to Rome (Italy, not Georgia), and there was a woman in the airport nursing her child. I remember thinking, “Can’t she just go somewhere else to do that?” Because, why wouldn’t a mother want to sit on the soaking wet floor of a public bathroom with human feces floating through the air (trust me, I saw it on Dr. Oz) and feed her child? Granted, this particular mother was wearing a leopard-print mini skirt and sitting in such a way as to draw every bit of male attention to her bare flesh…all of it. But, still.
I’m pretty sure that complete disdain for public nursing is the default line of thinking for those who have never had children and/or those who believe that their own birth was the result of an immaculate conception. Your parents had sex, okay? At least once. Get over it.
It’s no surprise, then, that nursing JJ brought about mixed feelings for me. On the one hand, I thought I should be free to breastfeed wherever and whenever I wanted to with little or no regard for those around me. Then again, I understood how uncomfortable it is to try not to stare at a woman who clearly could find a more discreet way to disrobe herself in public. It’s called a nursing cape, people.
No matter which side of the debate you sit on, I’m sure most of you can agree that nursing is usually a wonderful experience for both mother and child…
…until the child gets teeth. And that’s what brought my nursing bonding experience with JJ to a screeching halt. And I do mean screeching. My sweet baby gazed up at me with his gorgeous, blue eyes and proceeded to bite the CRAP out of me. Out of pure instinct, I popped him on his bare leg. Then, I felt so bad I cried a little. And since I screamed so loud and popped him on the leg, JJ cried a little too.
And that is why I stopped breastfeeding JJ last week.
I have to confess that I’ve had a huge amount of guilt about this for the past several days. When the pediatrician told me it was time to start giving JJ formula, I felt like a miserable failure. I suppose I could have kept nursing and/or pumping milk until JJ’s 18th birthday. I probably could have carried him around in a Baby Bjorn until he's taller than me. But, I guess all this "attachment parenting" feels just a little too "attached" for me.
So, why do I feel guilty still? I suppose much of it has to do with my own self-imposed expectations. But it doesn’t help when ridiculous supermodel moms rant about how perfect they are because they nurse their children straight through college. Okay, so that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but I’m referring now to Gisele Bundchen who believes there should be a law that requires all mothers to breastfeed for at least six months. (For the record, I think there should be a law that requires all supermodels to actually feed themselves first. Then maybe you can rant about what other women feed their children.)
You see? This is why moms walk around all day feeling guilty about themselves. Because mothers are the absolute WORST critics of other mothers! Why can’t we all just realize that the way you do/did something is not the way ALL mothers should do it? And I’m not letting myself off the hook here, either. I’m guilty of this as well. Believe me, I cringe when I see a screaming toddler in the grocery store and I hear the mother say, “If you stop yelling, I’ll get you some ice cream.” It truly makes my blood curdle to hear it. I roll my eyes and think to myself, “I will never do that.” But I've said that about lots of things...like getting a tattoo.
I’m sure there are things I do that would cause other mothers to cringe as well. Ooh, fun idea! Maybe in addition to his baby book I’ll keep a record of all the things I do to scar JJ for life. A timeline like that sure will come in handy one day when he’s in therapy.
Thursday, January 6, 2011: You bit the crap out of me, so I popped your bare leg. You cried. I cried. It was terrible. I’m pretty sure that’s the day you started hating me.
Baby, Daily Life, Parenting
Reader Comments (2)
I can ditto this post. Only, my episode happened today, four times, and I flicked him in the chin. He cried, I cried. I didn't cry because he was sad, I cried because I was in pain. I was sure there was blood. Fortunately, there wasn't. Fortunately also, most people reading this blog don't know me.
Funny how all moms seem to experience the same things, right? That's hilarious, Sarah. And I'm pretty sure you're secret is safe with me, Brian, and the three other people who actually read this blog. :-)