Once upon a time there was a guy named Tom who was really freaked out by breastfeeding, I mean just the thought of it grossed him out and made him want to vomit. He couldn't even rationalize why he felt this way.
So one day he is at a restaurant having lunch with his work buddy, James, and about two tables away, directly in front of him, a mother begins breastfeeding her baby, about 6 months old. Tom can't stand the sight, but since it's directly in front of him, he's having a really hard time not looking, too.
Finally after about five minutes, he looks across the table at his buddy James and says, "Hey man, does breastfeeding, uh...gross you out or anything?"
His buddy says, "I don't know, who cares anyway?"
"Well I do. It just really grosses me out and makes me want to puke. Switch seats with me if you really don't care.
James starts laughing uncontrollably, and between fits of laughter he manages to get out "Don't...be...such a little girl! ...Weirdo...I'm telling...the whole office!" so Tom and James switch seats, then they pay for their meals and leave.
Tom doesn't try to harass others just because he has a strange reaction to breastfeeding. Tom minds his own business and uses coping strategies to manage his own neuroses. Tom is a good guy. Be like Tom.
This message brought to you by the
#BoobieMilitia
We're here to
#EndBreastShaming
#NormalizeBreastFeeding
#SetThemFree
Tuesday, February 23, 2016
Saturday, February 6, 2016
Pushing Back the Mob
Allow me to walk with you a moment if you would, I'll just be a fly on the wall, an invisible observer looking over your shoulder for a bit. You won't even know I'm there.
You're walking down the sidewalk with your son Sam, and suddenly he's hungry. At 3 years old, Sam still isn't very good at planning when he's going to be hungry, and this is one of those times when he's given you no warning, he just went straight to low blood-sugar confusion, whining, and "My tummy hurts, Momma." There's no reasoning with this kid when he gets like this, but luckily you brought snacks. Right there on the sidewalk, about a hundred feet away, you see an empty park bench. Rather than try to coax him along as you usually do, you pick him up and double-time it over and plop down on the bench.
You're a pro at this, you love being a parent along with all the other stuff you do in your busy life, and today you've packed toddler snacks. Grapes are a favorite, still cut in half, and cheerios in a little plastic dish. A couple apple slices, and about 3 tablespoons of macaroni and cheese. The second he spies the grapes, his hand is out, snatching one and shoving it in his tiny face. Just one half of a grape is all it takes to perk him back up and bring a smile to his face again. He's going for another half a grape and out of nowhere you hear, "Oh my God, really?" Of course you've no reason to look up, no one would be talking to you like that, so you hand Sam a slice of apple. That's when the same grating voices opens up with another volley and you start to realize she's actually talking to you. "Seriously, lady? Are you just gonna sit there and do that in front of everybody? You know they have places you can go feed your kid, like in a restroom or something, nobody wants to see that."
You don't even know what to say, surely this rude stranger must be joking, or playing a prank and secretly recording it to post online. But no, she stands there, five feet in front of you, on the other side of the sidewalk, in her stiletto heels, large black purse hanging one way, hip jutted out the other way. Your mouth hangs open for a long moment and then finally all you manage to say is "He's just hungry." The words fall out of your mouth, half sounding like a question, you still can't understand why this person decided to butt into your life.
"Well yeah, I get that, I'm just saying nobody wants to see you feeding your kid out here, there's places you can do that in private, or cover up with a blanket or something." She stands there staring at you with her eyes wide, stuck in her hip-stuck-out pose with her arms crossed, as if she's waiting for you to leave, as if she honestly expects you to pack up your toddler snacks and go somewhere else. Wow, you think, surely she's crazy, I wonder if I should be worried. Does she look mentally stable?
Mostly the passersby continue to pass, not having time to stop and get into a debate about where to feed your kid, but as you quietly hand another apple slice to Sam and try to figure out how to get rid of this rude, crazy lady, you notice that a few of the people have stopped to watch the argument unfold. You're trying to figure out what side they're on, you're wondering if this could turn into one of those flash mobs or something. It's just you and your kid, all alone, and you really don't know if you should stand your ground, or call the cops, or just run away.
Her chemical red hair billows in the city breeze and she leans over, just a little bit, just enough to make you think she might suddenly pounce like a cat. "I just can't believe how rude you are, I'm just going about my business, and I shouldn't have to watch you and your kid make a disgusting mess all over the sidewalk, all I'm saying is have some decency."
The handfull of passersby looks over at the redhead. When she finishes, you notice them nodding their heads in silent approval. They aren't brave enough to speak up, but it looks like maybe you're making them feel uncomfortable too.
Sam's still hungry, tugging at the lid to the mac n' cheese. He was feeling better, but the feeding slowed down while you were trying to figure out what the heck these random strangers wanted. Now you don't know whether to keep feeding, or to pack up and get to safety. Should I you call the cops?
A middle-aged couple stops to see what's going on, a brunette and a man with salt and pepper hair, just as the redhead says "I think you should feed your kid somewhere else."
"What did you just say to her?" spouts the brunette, and the newly-arrived couple steps in front of you and Sam, turns their back to you and faces the small gathering of strangers.
"This is normal and natural, and if you don't like it, you shouldn't look," says the man, in a voice that is firm but not threatening.
The redhead backs up a step but says, "But it's disgusting, he's got food all over himself, and the bench and everywhere, she should do that in a bathroom or something."
"Oh really?" asks the brunette, "Did you eat your lunch in a smelly public restroom today?"
"Well, I...uh...no, but --"
"Then you should leave these people alone and try to have a little empathy before you open your mouth next time," says the brunette, sticking her hip out and crossing her arms in a way that makes the redhead wonder for just a second if she's mocking her.
Then the couple puts their fists on the sides of their hips and sticks their elbows out to the sides, standing up straight and puffing out their chest in perfect Wonder Woman poses. As the crowd begins to disperse, the man points his finger to the front of his ballcap and announces "We're the Boobie Militia, we're everywhere and we stand with mothers, here take a pamphlet," and he starts toward them, pamphlets out front. Two people actually take one before they move on down the block.
What? you think, Boobie what? Did he seriously just say "militia"?
The man keeps his back to you, and you can tell by his posture and body language that he's probably giving a pretty mean look to the bystanders as they disperse, leaving no confusion that the conversation is over.
"Oh my gosh," says the brunette, turning toward you, "Are you ok? Some people are just ignorant."
"Uh, yeah, thanks, I'm fine, um...do I know you?" The words kind of fall out of your mouth, you're still half in shock as your body processes the leftover adrenaline you didn't even know was there. "Wait, I don't want any trouble, did he just say something about a militia? Isn't that like an army?"
"Not exactly, or at least not in our case," she says, her dark brown eyes twinkling, "Our militia is really just a movement, we don't have official meetings or anything, we're just a bunch of people who know each other over the internet and we wear this," she points at a big boob-eye-looking thing on the front of her shirt, "and it lets you know that we have sworn to stand up for mothers, we'll get between you and ignorant people or even call the cops if it looks like they want to get physical. My husband Connor is a black belt, but I was still ready to hit the send button. I'm Sarah." She turns her phone around so you can see where it says 911.
To your astonishment, they stay with you and talk until Sam's done eating. You're so glad to know that people are out there who will stand up for you, that you're not alone. You tell them you're fine, Sam's fine now that he had some food, and thanks for stepping in. It's hard enough to feed a kid without having someone in your face telling you it's disgusting or whatever.
"I'm just glad we were here," says Connor, "If you ever need help like that again, just look for someone wearing the All Seeing Boobie, we will stop and help. Look us up online, it's 'BoobieMilitia' all one word."
--Lefty
You're walking down the sidewalk with your son Sam, and suddenly he's hungry. At 3 years old, Sam still isn't very good at planning when he's going to be hungry, and this is one of those times when he's given you no warning, he just went straight to low blood-sugar confusion, whining, and "My tummy hurts, Momma." There's no reasoning with this kid when he gets like this, but luckily you brought snacks. Right there on the sidewalk, about a hundred feet away, you see an empty park bench. Rather than try to coax him along as you usually do, you pick him up and double-time it over and plop down on the bench.
You don't even know what to say, surely this rude stranger must be joking, or playing a prank and secretly recording it to post online. But no, she stands there, five feet in front of you, on the other side of the sidewalk, in her stiletto heels, large black purse hanging one way, hip jutted out the other way. Your mouth hangs open for a long moment and then finally all you manage to say is "He's just hungry." The words fall out of your mouth, half sounding like a question, you still can't understand why this person decided to butt into your life.
"Well yeah, I get that, I'm just saying nobody wants to see you feeding your kid out here, there's places you can do that in private, or cover up with a blanket or something." She stands there staring at you with her eyes wide, stuck in her hip-stuck-out pose with her arms crossed, as if she's waiting for you to leave, as if she honestly expects you to pack up your toddler snacks and go somewhere else. Wow, you think, surely she's crazy, I wonder if I should be worried. Does she look mentally stable?
Mostly the passersby continue to pass, not having time to stop and get into a debate about where to feed your kid, but as you quietly hand another apple slice to Sam and try to figure out how to get rid of this rude, crazy lady, you notice that a few of the people have stopped to watch the argument unfold. You're trying to figure out what side they're on, you're wondering if this could turn into one of those flash mobs or something. It's just you and your kid, all alone, and you really don't know if you should stand your ground, or call the cops, or just run away.
Her chemical red hair billows in the city breeze and she leans over, just a little bit, just enough to make you think she might suddenly pounce like a cat. "I just can't believe how rude you are, I'm just going about my business, and I shouldn't have to watch you and your kid make a disgusting mess all over the sidewalk, all I'm saying is have some decency."
The handfull of passersby looks over at the redhead. When she finishes, you notice them nodding their heads in silent approval. They aren't brave enough to speak up, but it looks like maybe you're making them feel uncomfortable too.
Sam's still hungry, tugging at the lid to the mac n' cheese. He was feeling better, but the feeding slowed down while you were trying to figure out what the heck these random strangers wanted. Now you don't know whether to keep feeding, or to pack up and get to safety. Should I you call the cops?
A middle-aged couple stops to see what's going on, a brunette and a man with salt and pepper hair, just as the redhead says "I think you should feed your kid somewhere else."
"What did you just say to her?" spouts the brunette, and the newly-arrived couple steps in front of you and Sam, turns their back to you and faces the small gathering of strangers.
"This is normal and natural, and if you don't like it, you shouldn't look," says the man, in a voice that is firm but not threatening.
The redhead backs up a step but says, "But it's disgusting, he's got food all over himself, and the bench and everywhere, she should do that in a bathroom or something."
"Oh really?" asks the brunette, "Did you eat your lunch in a smelly public restroom today?"
"Well, I...uh...no, but --"
"Then you should leave these people alone and try to have a little empathy before you open your mouth next time," says the brunette, sticking her hip out and crossing her arms in a way that makes the redhead wonder for just a second if she's mocking her.
Then the couple puts their fists on the sides of their hips and sticks their elbows out to the sides, standing up straight and puffing out their chest in perfect Wonder Woman poses. As the crowd begins to disperse, the man points his finger to the front of his ballcap and announces "We're the Boobie Militia, we're everywhere and we stand with mothers, here take a pamphlet," and he starts toward them, pamphlets out front. Two people actually take one before they move on down the block.
What? you think, Boobie what? Did he seriously just say "militia"?
The man keeps his back to you, and you can tell by his posture and body language that he's probably giving a pretty mean look to the bystanders as they disperse, leaving no confusion that the conversation is over.
"Oh my gosh," says the brunette, turning toward you, "Are you ok? Some people are just ignorant."
"Uh, yeah, thanks, I'm fine, um...do I know you?" The words kind of fall out of your mouth, you're still half in shock as your body processes the leftover adrenaline you didn't even know was there. "Wait, I don't want any trouble, did he just say something about a militia? Isn't that like an army?"
"Not exactly, or at least not in our case," she says, her dark brown eyes twinkling, "Our militia is really just a movement, we don't have official meetings or anything, we're just a bunch of people who know each other over the internet and we wear this," she points at a big boob-eye-looking thing on the front of her shirt, "and it lets you know that we have sworn to stand up for mothers, we'll get between you and ignorant people or even call the cops if it looks like they want to get physical. My husband Connor is a black belt, but I was still ready to hit the send button. I'm Sarah." She turns her phone around so you can see where it says 911.
To your astonishment, they stay with you and talk until Sam's done eating. You're so glad to know that people are out there who will stand up for you, that you're not alone. You tell them you're fine, Sam's fine now that he had some food, and thanks for stepping in. It's hard enough to feed a kid without having someone in your face telling you it's disgusting or whatever.
"I'm just glad we were here," says Connor, "If you ever need help like that again, just look for someone wearing the All Seeing Boobie, we will stop and help. Look us up online, it's 'BoobieMilitia' all one word."
--Lefty
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)