Last Saturday, we were climbing with our friend Lauren and his five year old son Dean. While making towers out of rocks and sticks with Dean, Noah wanted to nurse…so I did. It wasn’t long before I noticed Dean wide eyed, watching our nursing duet.

“WHAT are you doing!” he blurted out curiously.

“I’m giving Noah some mommy milk,” I responded.

“Seriously?” he said in disbelief, like kids do when they’re trying to figure out whether your messing with them or not.

“Seriously,” reply. I could tell he didn’t believe me. Noah plopped off and looked up at me smiling. There were a few drops of milk on my breast; Dean pointed to them and shouted “WOW! I see it! There’s milk! You were right!”

Noah started to nurse again, and Dean fell quiet in amazement. He watched silently a moment longer. “I always thought milk came from bottles,” he said somewhat confused.

“Well, some babies get their milk from bottles and some get their milk from their mamas”.

“Ooooh….” He took a moment to process what I had said. He suddenly sat straight up, face lit, eyes shining with an epiphany. “I know! Like horses!” he says excitedly.

Oh, the sweet innocence of youth! Don’t you love it? I was in the middle of explaining how many living creatures nurse their babies, and those that do are called mammals… when he starts looking very perplexed.

“But how does he get the milk out?” he asked inquisitively.

“Well, he suckles as though he were drinking from a straw”, I explained.

“But how did you make holes so the milk comes out?

“Well, that’s just the way our bodies are made”.

“Oh.”

There is a long pause. Dean continues to stare at Noah suckling away while sighing a satisfied “mmmm, mmmm”. A moment later, Dean asks “Can I try it?”

In hindsight, it seems like the most obvious and natural thing for him to ask, but at that moment, I wasn’t quite sure what to think or say. I scrambled to figure out the best way to turn him down.

“You know, Dean- I don’t feel very comfortable with that, but I’m sure you can ask your mom when you get home”.

And that was that. His interest was diverted to the dogs playing tug of war with a stick. The day progressed and an hour or so later I was belaying my friend while Thu played with Noah. Out of the blue, Dean runs up to me, lifts up his shirt, points to his nipple and disappointingly says: “Mine are too small. I don’t think anything will come out of them”.

Recently I was on a plane ride home with my brother. At some point during the flight, Noah wanted to nurse, and without thinking twice about it, I unsnapped my bra, lifted my shirt, and cradled Noah as he suckled away. My brother was startled, and threw a shirt across the isle towards me. “Don’t you want to cover up as a courtesy to others?” he asked.

I don’t recall seeing anyone breast feed around me while growing up. In the social circle I was brought up in, nursing was something that was always done behind closed doors to maintain “decency”. Naturally, when Noah was born, I was overwrought with self-consciousness and always used a cover. As time passed, the Texas heat set in, and Noah would wriggle and yank at the little tent that acted like a sauna for both of us. I found myself more concerned about staying covered than making sure Noah got a good latch and a full meal. “Enough!” I said one day.

Many days after our plane ride, my brother and I have continued our conversation about nursing in public. At this point, I feel very comfortable nursing in public and don’t feel the need nor the obligation to cover myself up. However, he feels covering up has more to do with other people’s comfort level more than my own. I can totally understand and appreciate where he’s coming from- our society is brought up to feel uncomfortable around breast feeding. This saddens and frustrates me though, because nursing a baby is neither wrong, sexual nor shameful.

So while I know I may be swimming against the current, I don’t want to partake in reinforcing that unnecessary discomfort by covering up. The more we are all are exposed to breast feeding, the more normal it will become in the long run.

Who would have ever thought feeding a baby could be so complicated?

Once someone knows that I am from Mexico, and Thu is Vietnamese, it’s just a matter of time before the question comes up. “So will he be trilingual?” The question stirs up unresolved questions in my own mind every time. On the one hand, teaching my son languages will be a way to instill a sense of his heritage.

It will give him more tools, and indisputably give him a head start in the job market. On the other hand, I feel I can be a better mother in English. Sounds strange, doesn’t it? I grew up with both Spanish and English, but have lived most of my adult life speaking and thinking in English.

Most of the jobs I’ve held involve some kind of reflective listening, teaching and expressing empathy- all of which are great tools I can use as a mom; all of which I’ve developed in English.

I value having a happy child and good relationship with my son over a multilingual child. But I keep second guessing myself thinking there must be a way for me to be able to accomplish both. In the meanwhile, I incorporate as much Spanish as I can and search for an epiphany!