Raven was wrapped to my chest, and my arms were full of shopping bags when I saw him. A good looking, middle aged man, very distinguished in a grey suit. His facial hair neatly lined his jaw. Immediately, I didn't like him.

I was standing in one of the women's clothing stores, and my East Coast lady friend had disappeared among the walls of neon and ruched clothing, searching for underwear. SALE! stickers shouted at me from every angle. I turned to finger some dangling jewelry, and heard the sales clerk approach the man, who looked very out of place. He politely denied her assistance, and I stopped listening when I saw East Coast. They didn't have what she was searching for, and we ambled out the entrance.

My 15 week old daughter squirmed in her wrap, and we paused a moment so that I could adjust her tiny mouth to my breast, , even in this gleaming mall, babies gotta eat, and I rely on the relative inconspicuousness of her concealment.

I saw the Man I Didn't Like again. Somehow he had beat us to the stairs, and was strolling past. I steeled myself for it, then took a breath when I indeed heard 'it'.

"Nice."


I turned on my heel, my bags swishing against my thigh.

"Excuse me, sir."

He turned slowly, a look of surprise and amusement upon his face.

I kept my voice low and face expressionless. No need for histrionics here.

"What did you just say?"

He faltered.

"What do you mean?" His voice was calm and smooth, with barely an inflection.

"About me. I'm breastfeeding. You said 'nice'. You wouldn't sexualize a breastfeeding mother and her baby, now would you?"

A pause. "What?"

I narrowed my eyes. "You wouldn't. Sexualize. A breastfeeding mother. Now would you?"

He took a step closer. East Coast was at my side, quietly, but her hands were at her hips, her stance wide in her Nikes.

He slowly reached out and planted a hand squarely on my right shoulder. I didn't flinch, but I didn't like it.

"Oh no. You see, it's not mine to have. I wouldn't dare take that from her."

Somewhere, deep inside, I felt myself squirm.

I blinked. Turned my shoulder, and his hand fell from my shoulder.

"Ain't that the truth."

We turned, and walked slowly away.

The last thing he said, was actually the most interesting.

"You have a beautiful baby there. Take care of it."





I was still angry when I *clicked* Raven in to her seat, in my small, heavily tinted SUV minutes later, but less angry than if I hadn't said anything.


I believe the Man's comment to be inappropriate, and here's why.

If my husband, dad, ex-husband, gay brother in law, anyone else with a penis, had been holding that baby in that moment and in that passing, would that man have uttered a peep?

"Nice."

Doubtful.

My sister's boyfriend complained last week, "I wish I could go in to a bar and get free drinks for having titties."

A fair desire, yes. But I countered, "I wish I could walk down the street and not have men say weird shit to me, all the time since I was prepubescent."


Motherhood has not made me dull. Rather, it has sharpened my senses to an almost painful awareness.

If you don't 'understand' this post, you've never lived it. And if you do understand this post, then you are a real man, or a strong woman.




Love,

Casper-Elle