When you have children it’s inevitable that at some point, you’ll find yourself doing things you would never even have dreamt of pre-baby.
Leaving the house in a pair of jeans with some very questionable, baby-related stains on them because you were too tired to change, being one of them.
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Breastfeeding on a park bench on a Saturday afternoon while the world and his wife all seem to be walking their dogs, having BBQs or taking leisurely strolls within a foot of you, being another.
I am a breastfeeding mother. And when my daughter, Ava, was born 17 months ago, I was fortunate enough to be able to breastfeed and to actually enjoy it.
But never did I imagine I would be feeding her on a plane, in the Doctor’s waiting room, in every coffee shop within five miles of where we live or, dare I admit it, in front of my Dad.
How we got to this point was unexpected. Our breastfeeding relationship certainly never started this way.
In fact, on our very first family outing three weeks after Ava was born, I