Three months after welcoming my second child, I found myself preparing for an academic conference. Although the event was local, it meant I had to leave my baby for more than eight hours, with limited opportunities to pump breast milk.
The night before, I meticulously packed my bags. I had my work essentials, but I also carried a separate bag filled with my breast pump, electric cords, tubing, a hands-free pumping bra, empty bottles, ice packs, and a mini cooler to keep the milk fresh. I felt more like an overzealous holiday shopper than a professional heading to a meeting.
Upon arriving at the conference, I searched for the lactation room on the hotel map. When I couldn’t locate it, I asked a hotel staff member for help. He looked puzzled and said, “Lactation space? Hmm.” Unfortunately, he couldn’t assist me. I kept looking, only to discover that the lactation room wouldn’t open until the next day.
I ended up in a boardroom with colleagues for several hours until we finally had a 15-minute break. I dashed into the women’s restroom, found an outlet next to the sink, set up my breast pump, and got to work. My colleagues walked in one by one, making small talk while I awkwardly pumped milk into bottles. “How old is your baby?” one asked. “Three months,” I replied, smiling. It wasn’t my ideal way to socialize, but I was thankful they carried on as if nothing were out of the ordinary.
After twenty minutes, I finished pumping, secured the milk in my cooler, changed back into my shirt, washed my hands, and hurried back to the meeting. I even managed to pump again while driving home—a unique and private experience! I was exhausted and thirsty (staying hydrated is vital when breastfeeding), and most importantly, I missed my baby.
I nursed my child for 14 months, but this conference was just one of many awkward situations I faced. I once had a student worker attempt to enter my office while I was pumping, thinking I was unavailable. I pumped in an airport bathroom during a layover and nearly missed my connecting flight. A flight attendant insisted I place my cooler in the overhead bin instead of at my feet, which I refused, fearing it might spill. We eventually settled on placing it at the front of the plane. During another flight, a TSA agent inspected my carry-on because the scanner flagged my breast pump as an “unusual mechanical device.” Standing behind a semi-private screen, she asked, “Do you have a pacemaker in there, ma’am?” “No, it’s a breast pump,” I replied. “That looks like it hurts,” she commented.
Despite these experiences, I was acutely aware that my circumstances were far better than those of many new parents across the United States. I had a supportive partner, financial stability, and a career that allowed me the flexibility to breastfeed. My situation represented a best-case scenario.
Seventeen years ago, when I breastfed my first child, I was just 19, without a job, a college degree, or a stable home. I relied on WIC and public assistance. I didn’t own a breast pump or have the funds for the various accessories that make breastfeeding easier. I was unable to leave my baby for long since he wouldn’t take formula, and I couldn’t express milk. I managed to nurse him for six months before stopping.
I never consulted a lactation consultant or attended a support group. I don’t recall breastfeeding him in public, nor do I remember any medical professional encouraging me to continue. While I received ample information about the benefits of breastfeeding, I lacked support after his birth. When my son was born, he was placed in the NICU, and despite his well-being, I was only allowed to hold him briefly before he was taken away. When I asked to see him, the nurse dismissed my concerns, and no one offered assistance when I tried to breastfeed him amidst the chaos of the NICU.
I was discharged from the hospital 24 hours before my son. They claimed he needed to stay in the NICU due to feeding issues, but I was never observed while breastfeeding. No one asked if I wanted to pump while we were separated, nor did they discuss the possibility of formula. When my son was finally released, I was informed a nurse would be visiting my home without any explanation or request for my consent. This was not standard procedure, and he had received no medical intervention in the NICU. The visiting nurse did provide some validation for my breastfeeding efforts, weighing my son and noting he was gaining weight.
Today, I work as a sociology professor focusing on family, race, and ethnicity. I am all too familiar with the statistics showing that middle-income mothers aged 30 and older are far more likely to breastfeed than younger or poorer mothers. Having raised two newborns at vastly different stages of my life, I understand the complex factors that contribute to these disparities. Seventeen years ago, health insurance companies weren’t required to cover the cost of breast pumps for new parents—a change brought about by Obamacare.
However, this inequality stems from more than just financial resources. As a young, brown, single parent, I was not treated with the respect and support I needed. Medical professionals often viewed me as someone needing scrutiny rather than as a competent mother. That’s not merely about financial resources; it’s about racism.
Reflecting on my experiences, it’s clear that my two children have been raised under vastly different circumstances. My daughter has opportunities that I could never provide for my son. Their differing starts in life will continue to shape their futures. While both will face racial challenges, my improved socioeconomic status has already made life easier for my second child.
Healthcare professionals often emphasize the benefits of breastfeeding for infants, but they need to recognize the role that class inequality plays in parents’ choices. Until we confront the impact of racism on the medical care received by people of color, meaningful progress will be difficult.
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Summary:
This article discusses the significant economic and racial disparities surrounding breastfeeding in the United States. It reflects on the personal experiences of a mother who faced challenges while trying to breastfeed her children under different socioeconomic conditions. Through her narrative, she highlights the lack of support for lower-income and minority mothers, the impact of racism in medical settings, and the need for equitable resources for all parents.