It seems like there are 45,000,000 new moms at the breastfeeding clinic. The only male older than six months, Im there to support my wife and her efforts to breastfeed our newborn son. Happy to do that, I am somewhat uncomfortable. Im anxious a nursing mother will haul up her shirt, pull out a breast and start feeding. I know, I know. Thats a vital part of their routine these days, and its something one would expect at this type of clinic. But where is the lone guy in the room supposed to look? Sitting in a semi-circle alongside them, there are new mothers to my left and right, and in front of me. Surrounded, I focus solely on my wife. But as we talk, I spot the other moms in the corners of my eye. Im going to see one feeding. Its inevitable. Yikes! Im mortified. I know I shouldnt dread it, and I shouldnt be blushing. Breastfeeding, after all, is one of the most healthy and wholesome things on Earth. But I dont think its something men know how to deal with when the nursing mom is a complete stranger. At least I dont, because I dont want to invade anyones privacy or be pegged as a pervert. Before anyone feeds, the public health nurse calls our babys name and we leave the semi-circle not that Im disappointed about that. After the nurse weighs our son and offers some pointers, were done for the day. I hurry through the half-circle and exit without witnessing a single feeding. Afterwards, for being so uptight about something so natural, I feel like a real boob.
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