Have you ever unintentionally sprayed a stranger with your breast milk? I have. I was reminded of that moment yesterday when I saw a mother in the park who had just finished breastfeeding her child. I smiled at her, feeling a kinship of motherhood. I wanted to tell her how much I cherished those days; breastfeeding is such a beautiful expression of love.
But let’s be real—breastfeeding is also quite bizarre. It’s just as strange as any other experience in life. The entire process of childbirth is odd. Growing a human being inside your body is surreal. You often don’t fully grasp that you’re carrying another life until you see tiny fists and little heels pressing against your abdomen.
It’s thrilling and terrifying. The moment you feel those movements, you might start to imagine yourself as Sigourney Weaver, battling an alien baby trying to escape through your body. There’s an overwhelming surge of emotions.
With all the joy and anxiety, new moms also experience intense feelings. I often felt primal rage, especially when someone casually mentioned a salami sandwich while I was pregnant—nothing sounded more revolting. I could have lost it if I didn’t get a burrito right when the craving hit.
And my doula and husband? They were lucky to make it through labor with their lives intact after denying me a single ice chip during my 52-hour ordeal that ended in an emergency C-section. Once home, I experienced sadness so profound it felt like the heavy furniture in my house was suffocating me.
But let’s return to the love. The experience of feeding your baby from your body is exhilarating. Okay, yes, it’s love, but did I mention the pain? Early breastfeeding days can feel like you’re walking on hot asphalt bare-footed—your nipples need to toughen up to withstand the process. (Warning: if you’re squeamish about bleeding nipples and painfully engorged breasts, you might want to skip this next part.)
One Airplane Ride + Two Engorged Breasts = Potential Disaster
For months, my nipples had endured their own version of hot asphalt, and finally, I could nurse without wincing. I was on a plane, with my eight-year-old son next to me and my three-month-old baby, Chloe, on my lap.
Let me tell you, traveling with two restless kids and two breasts ready to burst is no picnic. After navigating security and waiting to board, I was relieved at the thought of nursing Chloe on the flight—this would keep her quiet and save the other passengers from hearing a screaming baby.
As we settled into our seats and Chloe began nursing, I felt the pressure building in my breasts. It was like a shaken soda bottle ready to explode. A couple nearby started chatting loudly, causing Chloe to pull away and leave me with one breast hanging out. Did I care? Not really. It happens. But then the unexpected happened: I began to spray breast milk, which shot out forcefully and landed on the bald head of the man in front of me.
In economy class, he was close enough that I couldn’t have managed this in first class. Who knew my right breast had such surprising aim? I quickly reattached Chloe, but the damage was done. Was it my fault? In that moment, fault didn’t matter; the priority was to make sure he didn’t realize what had just happened.
I watched in horror as he patted his head, searching for the source. I feigned ignorance, patting my own head and casually asking my son if he felt something fall on him—“Must be air coolant,” I said, trying to sound knowledgeable.
Could I have possibly said, “Sorry about my breast milk hitting your head. Want a drink?” Probably not—honesty wouldn’t have helped here.
And so, I vowed never to sit behind another bald man on a flight again.
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In summary, I accidentally sprayed a man with breast milk during a flight, leading to an embarrassing but memorable moment. Breastfeeding is a beautiful yet bizarre experience filled with intense emotions, and it can lead to unexpected situations, especially in public.