(I don't think this article is directly related to the the Nurse-In (it doesn't mention it) but it is too funny to not pass along.
I've included the whole item since you have to register to read it, and many don't like to do that.
Janice Reynolds)
From "The Kerryman" - Kerry, Ireland
Thu, Nov 23 06
http://www.unison.ie/kerryman/stories.php3?ca=45&si=1730787&issue_id=14934
Taking flight on the breastfeeding issue
THE only regret I had about the plane trip from Kerry to Dublin was that it was too short.
I was sat beside a woman and a small baby. I could see the young lad was getting a bit agitated. He was starving, or is it thirsty? I can never figure out which. It's like do you eat or drink soup?
I had been chatting with her and we knew mutual acquaintances. There's only one degree of separation in Kerry. My next-seat neighbour was one of those people who shorten journeys. She was open and funny.
'Do you mind if I feed my baby?' she asked.
And the young lad was soon as content as a boozer who gains entry to a pub on Good Friday. The mother was a gas woman and in no time at all she recounted a tale of being asked to stop feeding her child after a woman - yes a woman - complained she was being put off her dinner.
'I was lucky the bastards didn't charge me corkage,' she said.
The beautiful thing about breastfeeding is it is not only is it wholesome but, just as importantly, it is as practical an expression of love as you will ever see.
I always think it's a link back to Mary feeding Jesus. Don't ask me why but a breastfeeding child and mother triggers in my inner cinema.
I often think the most effective form of bonding and communication is often unspoken. She then conducted some research on me.
'Have you ever heard of the La Leche League?'
'Is it the French second division?' I replied with the sportswriter breaking out in me.
'No' replied the mother 'it's an organisation that promotes breastfeeding and I'm in it.'
I'm all for it, always have been. It's good for the men too. It spares us getting up in the middle of the night to boil bottles.
The pity was the journey was only from Kerry to Dublin. She was great company. I was absolutely certain she was not the kind of woman who take umbrage just for the sake of it. I told her the story of one Jereen Suck and how it was he got his name.
I have already recounted this tale in my book 'The Last of The Heroes' and if any of you object to me writing it a second time go to the bookshop and tell them I said to give you your money back.
It was back in the old days when women wore shawls down to their ankles so as not to offend modesty, unlike the hussies of today who would retrace the footsteps of Tom Crean's epic trek through the frozen wastelands with skirts as short as a kick out into the wind.
The custom back then was to breastfeed the children until they were nearly fit for the Kerry minors. One of the reasons for the long feed was women were under the impression breastfeeding provided some form of contraception.
In many cases it wasn't after the birth of the 12th or 13th child it finally dawned on the poor mothers that the breastfeeding didn't work.
Of course the poor women hadn't much choice. The church had them all scared of eternal damnation if they didn't provide more children for export so as to ensure the spread of the one true faith.
In the sixties, the Vatican even endorsed 'The Billings Method' which involved taking temperatures rather than tablets. But it was about as reliable as the breastfeeding and was effectively a form of Roman Roulette.
Jereen's mother, Mary Suck as she became known, was no different to the rest.
Jereen was the youngest of 11 children and was a bit of a pet. Mary Suck trudged into her local grocery shop in Tralee for a pound of loose tea and a bag of bullseyes for the
young Jereen to chew on. In a minute you'll find out why she bought him the bullseyes.
Mrs Murphy was an old style shopkeeper. She really cared and was always on the look out for her customers.
'Mary you're very pale and worn out looking. Isn't it high time you started to wean off that young fella?'
With that Jereen Suck shoved his head out
from underneath his mothers shawl and spat out, 'Missus Murphy will you ever feck off and mind your own business.'
The feeding mother had a good laugh and swore she would get the young lad on solids when the time was right.
In return I promised her I would promote breastfeeding in this column.
The La Leche League girls are no breastfeeding fascists.
They have great sympathy for women who, for maybe physical or emotional reasons, are unable to feed the babies. All La Leche want is for women to be aware of the benefits and for the rest of us to make it as easy as possible for mothers to feed their babies whenever and wherever.
The feeding mother even told me she knew how I should finish off my piece.
I hate being told what to write, but she was that nice I indulged her.
'Breast is best is it?' I asked.
'No. That's too easy. You're a barman, aren't you?'
'Yes I am one of the Last of the Mohicans.'
'And you drink?'
'Yes, I replied truthfully. I'm in charge of the QC department?'
'Well then you should know, shouldn't you?'
'Know what?'
'Know that the draught is always nicer than the bottled.'
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