By: Alex Thompson for Cervical Insemination
During our daughter’s third flight, we decided to try something new by bringing along her car seat in hopes of encouraging her to sleep. However, she had other plans. At the airport, she began arching her back and crying so loudly, you’d think we had put her on a bed of nails. I quickly took her out and held her, and was still cradling her as we boarded the plane. By the time we settled into our seats, she had calmed down somewhat but was still twisting and squirming in my arms. That’s when the flight attendant approached.
“You’ll need to secure the baby in the car seat for takeoff,” he instructed.
“Really?” I replied. “Can’t I just hold her?”
He shook his head. “She has to be in the seat.”
“But if we didn’t have the car seat, one of us would have to hold her,” I argued.
“I understand. But since you do, she must go in it.” He sighed, exuding a forced kindness. “In the event of an emergency, wouldn’t you prefer her to be secure rather than a projectile?”
I wanted to respond with, “Do you want to hear her scream for half an hour?” Instead, I glanced at my daughter and said, “He just called you a projectile, sweetheart.”
The flight attendant managed a weak smile before walking away. But I noticed my partner give him a look that conveyed we weren’t about to follow his directive. Without exchanging a word, I knew exactly what she intended to do. And I was certain the flight attendant wouldn’t dare challenge her.
As we prepared for takeoff, my wife discreetly positioned our daughter for breastfeeding. The flight attendant hurried past, avoiding eye contact like he was evading a missile. In that moment, I felt an immense pride.
Reflecting back nine months, I realize how naive I was. My wife, Lisa, and I had a debate about where she should sit while nursing in our living room. She preferred the glider by the big front window, while I worried about our neighbors seeing her. “I don’t want you exposed for everyone to see!” I exclaimed. “Why does it matter?” she challenged. In a regrettable moment, I gestured toward her chest and said, “Because those are mine!”
I will never forget the look on her face—anger mingled with disgust and disappointment. She reminded me that her body wasn’t mine to claim. Yet, I persisted. I can’t recall how that argument ended, nor can I claim a moment of enlightenment. Over time, as I witnessed Lisa nursing our daughter day after day, my admiration for her grew.
Perhaps it was the endurance athlete in me that resonated with the incredible effort she put into breastfeeding. I knew I couldn’t share that physical burden. Like a marathon spectator, my role was to cheer her on, provide snacks, and fetch the first aid kit when her discomfort became unbearable.
Breastfeeding as a metaphor for an endurance sport falls short. Unlike athletes, breastfeeding mothers often lack the loud cheers of support. If they’re fortunate, they have a few friends and their partner to uplift them. If a partner can’t foster a sense of comfort and acceptance at home, how will they face the outside world, where public nursing often invites judgment?
Hearing criticism of women breastfeeding in public infuriates me and saddens me all at once. It’s frustrating because these women work hard—often sacrificing their own comfort—to provide nourishment, immunity, and love for their children. It’s heartbreaking, too, because I’ve been guilty of judging, of viewing a partially exposed breast through a sexual lens rather than a nurturing one.
Actress Sarah Johnson recently spoke out about this issue after facing public shaming for breastfeeding. “In our culture, we sexualize breasts so much that it’s hard for people to accept the idea of seeing them in a nurturing context,” she said, aptly highlighting the absurdity of it all. Why did the flight attendant steer clear of us? He chose to let us risk our daughter’s safety rather than confront the sight of a breastfeeding mother.
As voices like Sarah’s remind us, society celebrates cleavage in the media, but when that same body is used to nourish a child, it becomes an issue of public discomfort. What’s behind that contradiction? For many men, it may stem from a sense of possessiveness—an unwillingness to share a body that was never theirs to own.
For much of my life, I viewed breasts solely as sexual objects. I’m not proud of that perspective, nor am I proud of how I reacted during Lisa’s struggle for the right to feed our child where she pleased. I know I’m not alone in having objectified women’s bodies. Acknowledging those thoughts can be isolating, but it’s a necessary step toward growth.
The journey to maturity, moving from objectification to respect, can be gradual. My transformation has been accelerated by our daughter’s arrival. Funny enough, as I strive to teach her to be a strong woman, I’m still learning how to be a better man. I hope to inspire others to embrace and support the simple yet powerful act of breastfeeding without shame.
For further reading on the topic of breastfeeding and home insemination, be sure to check out this insightful blog post on Cervical Insemination and explore Women’s Health for more resources on pregnancy. Additionally, if you’re considering at-home insemination, you can find quality products at Make a Mom.
In summary, breastfeeding in public is a natural and empowering act that should be embraced, not shamed. We need to support mothers in their journey, recognizing the strength and resilience they demonstrate every day.
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