I’ve been breastfeeding now for 7 months and I’ve never use a nursing bra. You know, that specialized bra that opens exactly to the nipples so that you can breastfeed in public without bothering people with your bare breasts. That. I despite that!

If I need to nurse in a public place (parks, restaurants, stores), I just whip out the boob and give it to my baby. And when people gave me disconcerting looks and judging stares, I just smile with a glaring look that says “you have a problem with this?”

While our society adores scantily-clad models (mostly teenagers) in magazines, TV shows, billboards and social media, breastfeeding in public is still a taboo. And yes even in an otherwise liberal society like the Netherlands.

If not, breastfeeding mothers like me would not be assaulted with thousands of products that are meant to hide our breasts while nursing. Think of nursing bras, shawls, clothes, etc. Why should we be ashamed of the most natural and one of the most beautiful thing in the world?

Growing up, I remember watching Manang Angie and Manang Lorna breastfeed my bestfriends’ younger siblings. And Kambal’s wife nursing her baby in the river during breaks from washing clothes. These women never hide their breasts while nursing and everyone in our little barrio was fine with it. Ok, maybe the teenage boys stared when no one was watching but breastfeeding and in public was not an odd thing to do. So when I decided to breastfeed, I swore to do it like them.

I would breastfeed in front of visitors at home, in front of my colleagues during lunch break, in the park, whenever my baby needs milk. I don’t wear a bra whenever I take my child to the office or when we got out because she could ask for the breasts anytime and I can’t be bothered with taking the bra off and putting it back on again. My blouse would have milk stains all over them and I didn’t give a damn.

One time I was talking to my colleague in the middle of nursing and baby suddenly took here mouth off the breasts so the milk was spurting all over the place. I think it was my colleague who was too embarrassed and walked away. It was hilarious.

I did breastfeeding in the most shameless way. And I think that’s the way it should be.

In 2015 I won a dinner voucher from debuikvan.nl, for €75/person a three-course meal with free aperitif at FG Restaurant. Now, that amount will only buy you lunch with a glass of wine at this 2-star Michelin restaurant so I was quiet happy. But I’ve completely forgotten about it until more than a year later. Nonetheless FG allowed us to still use it for our 9th anniversary. So heavily pregnant sometimes in December last year, we booked a table for two for probably our last quiet dinner together.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about these promotional meals at chic restaurants, is that they’ll probably give you the cheapest in the menu. It’s fixed so you can’t choose. It will either be salmon, chicken or deer in autumn/winter. So we went without too much expectations.

FG restaurant had just moved to its new location in De Hofbogen (beside FG Food Labs) that summer of 2016. The new FG departed from its casual chic interior in Lloydstraat and went for a futuristic, relaxed ambiance with playful lights and high fauteuil. Too high that I drowned in them even in my heaviest.

As usual, the food and service at FG Restaurant were elegant and undoubtedly delectable, worthy of the Michelin stars. And I myself is a fan of the chef. From his Ivy days, to his FG Food Labs, to FG Bistro, even the short-lived FG Noodle Bar, if Francois Geurds opens a restaurant, I will eat there (when is the okonomiyaki bar opening again?).

Even with this dinner, he was gracious. It was a 3-course meal (if you should know, there’s actually no 3-course meal on the FG menu) but we probably got more than 10 dishes. There were fish, deer, that tom kai soup, my favourite canelé bordelaise, the chocolate bar with gold trimmings (bit dry though) and the dessert that was served in a smoking jar (fancy). They were all delicious and the staff were ever so gracious – the maître fromager who enticed me with cheese suitable for pregnant women, the sommelier whose wine recommendation I couldn’t refuse, the lady at the door who gave us goodies to take home and Francois himself who always comes to your table to ask if the food was alright.

But!

This weekend I did something I haven’t done for a very long time. I picked up a book and did not stop reading. I started on Friday evening, after tucking the daughter in, went on until I was drowsy at 3:30am, woke up an hour after to nurse and picked up the book again when I woke up at 9am. Between motherly duties, house chores and meal times, I continued reading. By 11:30pm on Saturday, I was done reading all 700 pages.

It was a book called The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand, my husband’s who bought it because someone recommended it but “stopped reading in the middle because it bored him tremendously.” The first 600 pages was like reading a Harlequin book peppered with philosophy here and there. The last 100 pages sounded very much like Nietzsche’s The Superman. I enjoyed it nonetheless.

Reading this way took be me back to high school, when I would borrow all the books I could get my hands on from the library, of the nights I devoured them under a blanket with a flashlight (because I wasn’t allowed to read until the morning), of walking to school with a book in my face, of skipping meals for a novel and of fighting exhaustion at midnight, refusing to put the book down. It was exhilarating.

Oh to be able to sit down and read a book these days takes a considerable amount of effort (especially if you are a new mother active on social media). I felt triumphant afterwards. It was the same feeling when I finished Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose after two long years.

I’ve started reading several books during my pregnancy, a couple of novels but mostly philosophy books, which you don’t need to stay up the whole night for. I have actually forgotten how it’s like to be absorbed in a novel. I hope this weekend reignites my love for reading.

What books are you reading lately?

It was middle of the night. I felt the strange hands making its way under my shirt. Slowly. Until it found its target. He started groping my breasts. My body stiffened. I wanted to shout no. I wanted to remove the hands but I would wake up my mother. So I turned my back on him so he’d let go. But then he found my buttocks. I wanted to cry. But it would wake my mother up. I desperately waited for the morning, for everyone to wake up. For two nights, I suppressed my voice, my tears, my courage. I was about 14 years old.

On the third night, I refused to go back to that house.

Up until today, only two people knew about this. One is my husband. Looking back, I knew I made the right decision. My father would have killed him. I think I had spared the family another burial that day.

Unfortunately I had to deal with these kinds of sexual abuse in most of my teenage life and a few times in my adult life. These were the small incidents, or what I thought were small incidents. The cousins who embraced and kissed me without my permission and tried several times to grope my breasts, the boss who stole a kiss when he thought I was the only one in the office, that other boss who thought I would sleep with him because we shared the same hotel room (I hope he died of his cancer already. The tourism world would be a much safe place without him), that guy in the bus who put his elbow on the arm rest while I was sleeping too close my breasts, that guy who masturbated beside me and classmates in the cinema, that guy in the train who stood too close behind me.

Dearest T,

You are a few days shy of seven months. Time flies. I couldn’t remember anymore how you smelled when you were very tiny. Or how fragile you were. Nowadays you couldn’t keep still. You even refuse the daily naps required for babies. You’re either standing and practicing your strides, chewing everything from tissue paper to your own diaper, shouting at everybody or pissing Mama off.

You are are trooper. We could take you to restaurants, chic or otherwise, to national parks, museums, running routes and even to church and you wouldn’t cry. You’d only fuss when you are hungry. We take the public transport to Mama’s office and you are a breeze to carry. You’ll just sleep or charm other passengers with your smile and curious stare. Your parents would always get compliments about how you’re a sweetheart  and although we are beaming every time that happens, we try to avoid showering you with too much compliments. You are beautiful but just as beautiful as the next baby.

Your motor skills are advanced for your age. Maybe because I didn’t box you, literally. I refused to imprison you in the crib and let you crawl all over our not so tidy house or Mama’s not so clean office. I believe you are strengthening your immunity better this way. You haven’t been sick. And I am thankful for that everyday.

Until the 5th month I thought you were a great sleeper. Turns out you were not. You’ve been terrorizing our evenings since Lola went home. I think she spoiled you too much by dancing you to sleep all the time. Mama and Papa couldn’t do that. You must learn to sleep on your own. We hope to raise you as an independent, strong girl. And we started by giving you your own room.