Yeah, United States, I’m talking to you.

Last week, I had one of the infamous reuniones for all of the teachers at my elementary school. Held (once again) in the charming, fairy tale-esque countryside house of one of my workmates, it was a much welcomed opportunity to eat, drink and be merry with my compañeros del trabajo.

As we sat around the humongous dining table, making our way through the various courses, the room was filled with chitter chatter and laughter - and one tantalizing aroma after another.

(Side note: Why must there always be a 2-3 cake minimum at every single gathering? I mean … I’m not really complaining, being the golosa that I am, but I’ve never left a single Spanish festivity of any kind with my stomach feeling anything less than on the brink of explosion. Hello, food-coma nap.)

But wait, no one cares that meanwhile, there are mothers openly breastfeeding at the table? You’re going to carry on a conversation with this woman, alternating between making eye contact with her and her baby’s mouth adhered to her breast? And this woman is not even going to bat an eye? Vale, vale, que no pasaa naaa.

But wait. In the United States, this (pardon my French) shit doesn’t fly. My alma mater actually has a separate breastfeeding room in the Union, which, to be quite frank, always struck me as odd. Why does there need to be a separate room for breastfeeding mothers? Something so natural shouldn’t have to be hidden. Mothers shouldn’t feel shame for breastfeeding in public, nor should society give her the stank face for doing so in their attempt to shame her into breastfeeding in private.

This has nothing to do with what way you choose to provide nourishment for your infant and everything to do with the sexual objectification of the female body. Quite simply put, a child feeding from it’s mother’s breast is standardly viewed as dirty and offensive.

A few quick Google searches or a once-over of the Wikipedia page “Breastfeeding in public” will clue you in pretty fast to the intricacies of the general U.S. public’s distaste for public breastfeeding. Often described as “creepy” and “gross,” a female breastfeeding in public is an act that people have tried and tried again to claim is “indecent exposure” or “public indecency,” despite laws in place that forbid it to be prosecuted as such.

My coworkers breastfeeding their children at the dining table couldn’t have bothered me less. The two thoughts that ran through my head in the moment were: (1) It is mad cool that no one cares even a single iota that these women are breastfeeding right here, right now; and (2) Why would this same scenario in the United States play out so differently? Mad uncool.

For further education on the matter, I’ve compiled a list of quotes and articles on the subject of breastfeeding in public that I hope help shed some light on the issue.

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”[…] it’s about working to ensure that women and their bodies are considered as important (as normal) as men and their bodies. Something happens for all of us - regardless of whether we are breastfeeders or not - when a woman is allowed to breastfeed, in public, as a member of her community, while getting shit done in her life - it makes a statement that women belong, that women’s bodies belong, that women are here.” - Guest: blue milk on Feministe

“Is there a breastfeeding backlash?” - Article by Jessica on Feministing

“Breastfeeding is a personal decision, and not one that should be mired in judgment.” - Jessica Valenti on The Daily

“‘It is normal. It is not obscene. It is every baby’s need to have food and be nourished and nurtured,’ said Veronika Polanska as she rallied the moms to publicly feed their babies.” - CBC News / British Columbia, from a nurse-in held in response to an incident in a Canadian H&M

“Kansas gives out breastfeeding cards” - Article by Jessica on Feministing

“Target Employees Bully Breastfeeding Mom Despite Corporate Policy” - Article by Bettina Forbes for Best for Babes

“It’s going to take a couple of generations before it’s a non-issue. Our ultimate goal is for people to not notice that anything is happening, just like with breathing or speaking or a baby taking a bottle.” - Kelly Roth, as cited by CBS News

“Exposéing My Breasts on the Internet” by Adrienne Pine on Counterpunch, her response to breastfeeding her child during the university class she was teaching

“Funny how we live in a society that both expects women, especially highly educated and ambitious women, to breast feed, but forbids them to do so while pursuing other ambitions. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think pushing women out of positions of prestige and power and back into the home was a feature and not a bug of the system.” - Amanda Marcotte for Slate

“I have a feeling this is what’s at work with Maher and a lot of met who take issue with public breast feeding. They resent that a woman’s public body - her exposed or partially exposed breast - could be there for someone other than them, for something other than sexual consumption. After all, if a woman is exposed in public it’s supposed to be because she’s flashing her tits for beads or taking money in a g-string - not for feeding babies. Because that’s unsexual, and therefore unacceptable.” - Jessica for Feministing*

*And from the same webpage, but the following article beneath Jessica’s:

“What Maher said is like male politicians telling women they can’t have abortions. I was surprised, because Bill’s always saying America needs to be more European and get over its puritanical shit. Hey Bill: not being able to see a boob outside of a sexual context is so American. Not being able to ignore a boob is so puritanical.”

“I’ve tolerated [Maher’s] snideness in the past, but this time, Bill stepped over the bottom line: breastfeeding sustains a baby, and a mother who’s nursing will stop at nothing to do it, nor should she. To suggest we do it for attention and praise is just astoundingly ignorant, and hints more at his own motives than ours.” 

- Both quotes from Sarah Thyre from the aforementioned article

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And to bring this discussion back full circle to females breastfeeding in Spain, I recommend you check out “Spanish fathers entitled to breastfeeding leave” by Barney Henderson for The Telegraph. Punto pelota.

After making you do all that extracurricular reading, I’m sure your eyes are weary, and your head may be spinning from all the facts and arguments thrown at your dome. But if you even for a second think I have some razón for calling the United States “Prude-y Judy,” well, then I think my job is done here for the day, folks. 

All I’m asking for is a little bit of compassion, respect and logical thinking from my fellow Americans. We don’t look down upon mother birds who chew their food and then throw it up into their babies’ mouths to provide them with nourishment, now do we? Any and all related processes of a mother giving her child the nutrition it needs to grow and be healthy should be viewed as equally as natural. Now chew on that, y’all.

While this anecdote is short, it was too sweet not to be shared:

As I was walking down the big hill to go to work at my elementary school, an adorable little elderly woman was making the trek up it. 

(This should be prefaced by the fact that elderly Spanish women, when walking along in the streets, have a tendency to say whatever they’re thinking or feeling out loud. It seems like it’s directed at you, but whether or not it actually is, will forever remain a mystery.) 

We happened to make eye contact, and she said, “Aiiiiii qué cuerpecitaaaa más malaaaaa.” 

My smile quickly faded into a look of confusion, as I nervously giggled, and we both kept on walking in opposite directions.

I thought to myself, “Wait, did she just say I’m fat? Did I look like I was struggling down the hill?”

And that’s when I started laughing not at the awkwardness of the situation, but at my own stupidity.

What she was trying to imply was that she’s old and has difficulty going up the hills in town. It had absolutely nothing to do with me whatsoever. But given I had been up since 7:30AM, it was still morning and I still wasn’t quite awake two hours later when our paths crossed … En fin, no soy muy de las mañanas, or I am still most definitely not a morning person.

I slept in today. Until 11:30. I woke up to steamy sunshine, chirping birds and the hustle and bustle of the residents of my Spanish pueblo in the streets getting their morning errands done. I ground up some of my Alterra Guatemalan. I made myself coffee with my Aeropress.  I rolled a cigarette. I sat down at my laptop.

I only had to look at the very first post in my Facebook news feed to know that Massachusetts is still within the eye of the storm. (The bombing’s suspects continue to wreak havoc and widen the scope of their attack as law enforcement pursues them.) Ever since the first word I got of the Boston Marathon bombing, my eyes and ears have been glued to the Internet, scouring its depths for every article, tweet and podcast that helps me stay in touch while I’m 4,126.11 miles away from home.

And then I started thinking: What have been my problems, worries and preoccupations this week?

“Has that pimple on my upper lip gone away yet? Am I going to survive the heat of the Feria tomorrow in Sevilla in a dress that weighs an obscene amount? Why have my pezones been hurting? You really need to do dishes/do laundry/clean the apartment. Why did my iPad have to overheat (and delete) the first version of this very blog post while I was in my upper terrace soaking up some sunshine?”

Y habían más. (“And there were more.”) And what are they all? Tonterías. (“Foolishness/absurdities/trivialities/nonsense.”)

It is disgustingly easy to get wrapped up in the little stuff that - in the grand scheme of things - is entirely meaningless. In doing so, we are affecting not only ourselves but the people and world around us. Every second we spend fretting over something miniscule, we are damaging our well-being, and we are, frankly, wasting time.

I am admittedably an “emotional” (some would say “dramatic,” I’d imagine, at times) person. From my perspective, that is mostly a good thing, but there are times that this allows me to get in the way of myself. I let things bother me - big or small - and as soon as something affects me, I say it, I get it out. And then I’m over it. It’s as easy as that. It is part of what makes me who I am, while simultaneously being one of my biggest flaws.

But right now, as I’m looking at the words I’ve written down, my “problems” for this week, and I’m thinking about what’s going on in my home country, I feel stupid. I feel helpless. I feel worried. I feel confused. I feel sad. I feel angry. I feel guilty that I am here and not there.

I feel a gap inside of me, a gap that longs to be having in-depth discussions with my intelligent, insightful and conscientious friends about what’s going on in a way that the Internet and social media can never truly compare.

This is not the first time - and will not be the last - that this physical distance has made me feel a little empty, like something’s missing. As far as I’m concerned, it’s normal (though I detest the word) for anyone working, living and/or traveling abroad.

No hay más remedio (“There’s no other choice”) except to keep reading, keep watching and keep listening with bated breath as the events continue to unfold in the United States. I’m leaving my personal tonterías at the door and focusing on staying in touch with what’s happening at home, something that is so much bigger, so much more important, than worrying when the next cockroach is going to scurry across my apartment’s floors.

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Extracurricular Reading Suggestions:

Out of all that I’ve read or listened to about what’s going on in Massachusetts, these two articles stand apart from the crowd. They are not only informative, but provide thoughtful insight. As a friend of mine commented to me on Facebook underneath the first article, “Written word that achieves the right sentiment. I was watching the news yesterday horrified by not only the attacks but by the awful live coverage that seemed desperate and insincere.”

“The Marathon” by Charles P. Pierce for Grantland

“Why Boston’s Hospitals Were Ready”by Atul Gawande for The New Yorker

How many posts am I going to start off saying “Madre mía, I haven’t written in a really long time. Discúlpame.” What I really need to be telling you is that I’ve been so darn busy living this life I find so beautiful in Spain that I find it hard to make the time to write.

I value spending time in places that I love with interesting people over just about everything. I may be just sitting down to write a blog post, but if alguien texts me to grab a coffee, ya voy. And I’ve never regretted it. But I love to write. It’s what fuels my being. (Well, other than café, supongo.)

Sometimes all you need is a boost of inspiration. And after reading some motivating words on Memoirs of a Young Adventuress’ travel blog, I’ve decided to really put my effort behind putting my words out there again. Not only that, but she (Liz) helped me realize a major error I was making in blogging my own travels (i.e., writing up personal accounts of everything I’ve done here in Valverde del Camino thus far - hello, “online diary” syndrome).

This is the promise I am making to myself and to all of you - whoever y’all are who give me a pity read cuando os da la gana. (Hi Mom!) I promise to turn this blog into an informatively witty page where you can find (hopefully) useful tidbits about living and traveling from a 20-something that lives in Andalucía. 

And I’m counting on you all to help keep me in check. Don’t let me blabber on about what I ate for breakfast - unless it has a certain relevance, which I can certainly always justify. « See, that’s what I mean. KEEP. ME. IN. CHECK. I’ve been a “sharer” since 1989, and once I get going, the end result is … well, obscenely long blog posts.

¿Qué más os puedo decir? Así que, here’s to a new and improved Lo que me inspira.