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Parent Blog; Journalist Kay Harrison shares parenting stories and not fairy tales.

CHAPTER EIGHT – BREASTFEEDING

Walking past a real ale, real northern pub this week, I was shocked to see a sticker in the window welcoming breastfeeding mums.

Not half as shocked as the regulars would have been if any mums did whip out the milk bank under the dartboard.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for mums being able to feed their babies wherever and whenever they want.

I just never had much luck with those public ‘outings’.

My first and pretty much final attempt at breastfeeding in public has left me mentally bruised. To this day I feel deeply unsettled around jacket potatoes with cheese.

You see, I was feeling terribly empowered, having actually driven the car and parked with a small human in the back. Maybe I could do this mobile motherhood business after all and didn’t have to hide away at home, praying for visitors bearing chocolate?

I’d also chosen my public début wisely – a Marks and Spencer city cafe. There would be no raised eyebrows or tuts from that category of diner, surely? Or, being midweek, the clientele would be so old and cataract-ridden they wouldn’t even realise what was going on. Perfect.

But I suspect, like a sharp-nosed bloodhound, my son could smell the fear behind my strained smile. Instead of latching on quietly and allowing me to finish my baked potato in peace, he wailed, raged and squirmed, bashed his tiny fists together and pooped right up the back of his new dungarees.

I fled, revealing to the M&S cafe a sight normally reserved for the M&S fitting room.

So, all power to those mums who can happily breastfeed in cafes, on buses and under dartboards eating a packet of ready salted.

Personally, the dawn of the high chair could not come soon enough.

Written by:

Kay Harrison (Journalist and frazzled mum of one)

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