Nursing, anyone?

Over the past few years, there has been some kind of debate on whether or not a mother should be nursing her child in the public. As a mother myself, I can understand both sides of the opinions. One should be able to nurse her child freely, for it is one of the most natural acts in the human race, as well as in the animal world. On the other hand, I do not agree with those mothers who turn nursing into a political statement; nursing without any form of covering is not exactly appropriate, either. That said, I believe when one is in the right place to nurse, and when her child is in need to be nursed, it is perfectly ok, as long as some kind of covering is provided.

I never thought I would be one of those moms who became so defensive over this issue. I never thought I would face a situation where I was looked upon as some liberals who like to flash in the public just to make a statement. I am always the kind of person who is aware of those around me; I would never put anyone in a situation in which he/she would feel unease because of me. That is also why I was so upset (and still am, a little) when a young father approached me this past Sunday.

Yes, we were at church. I was even in the new parents room, where parents with new babies are invited to use; in case one needs to nurse, or take care of the babies' needs in that sense. Inside the NPR is another dark room, where mothers (only) can enter with their babies and nurse. I've been in the NPR since Caleb was a baby. I've seen numerous mothers who would nurse while listening/watching the sermon over the plasma tv on the wall. Yes, it is a blessing, also a luxury. There are some mothers who would also use the dark room (me included,) when there are too many people in the NPR.

I was the first to arrive in the NPR this past Sunday. The room was empty, I picked my seat and sat, and began nursing Abigail with a cover. A young father who is in his 30's came in after me with his son. He took a look at me and approached me, his tone disgusted, "you know, there is room for that. THAT." He pointed at me and Abigail, then pointed to the dark room. Immediately my tempers flared, but I tried to keep my composure. "Yes, I know." I told him. I wasn't about to fight him, but I wasn't about to do what he said, either. Seeing me unmoved, he raised his voice, once again pointed to the dark room, his tone not any better this time. "the room is for THAT." Once again, I tried to be polite. I told him I understood him. Then the third time, he actually opened the dark room, turned on the light for me, and told me the purpose for that room again. At this point, I started to lose my patience (which does not happen, usually,) and I sat there, unmoved, while my thoughts raced inside my head, "oh no, I've offended this person. Should I go into the dark room? What should I do??"

And I've made a decision to go inside the dark room to finish nursing Abigail. While I was in the dark room, I was so upset, I was even shaking lightly. I've never seen anyone approaching one because she was nursing her baby, let alone at church, in the NPR!! However, while my mind was working on how to make that young father feel stupid for his act of unkindness, God whispered in my ears, oh so clear, "the vengeance is mine." Also, I immediately thought what Jesus would do if He were in that same situation. I know Jesus would go inside the dark room, not saying a word. I pressed down my anger and did exactly that. Whatever will (or will not) happen to this young father is out of my control. It was not my job to show him the door (although I could have done that, since most parents in the NPR are women,) nor my job to make him regret what he did (although every cell in my body screamed for that.)

Jesus called us to love. Even in situations like this, when one (me, that is) feels belittled. Judging from the size of our church, I may never see that young father again. He may or may not feel bad for what he did, but that is not my concern anymore. I did what I was asked to do, although it felt like I had to pull off my own fingernails, one by one, I bit my tongue and did it. The truth is, I don't know who that young father is. He may be having a bad day that day, or he may be stressed because he was a single parent. Whatever the case is, the human part of me wishes I will never run into him again. Or I do, and I want to see him look down at his own feet when he passes me because he felt stupid.

Nursing, anyone?