A breast-case scenario

It's probably only fair that I make my position clear from the start: I support mothers' breastfeeding and always have. I respect the right of women to feed their babies as they see fit, but for me personally there has only ever been one option. And I will be the first to admit that this has been possible only because breastfeeding has always been something that has come naturally to me. In the first few days of my eldest child's life, I thought I would never get past the pain and agony. But lashings of lanolin and patience later, I am now breastfeeding our third child.

I have never had any problems breastfeeding any of my three children in public here. I have fed them on almost every line of the MTR, on the bottom deck of the speeding No 6 bus from Stanley to Central, and in red, green and blue taxis. I don't think there is a Pacific Coffee in Central and Admiralty in which I haven't breastfed a baby. And I would like to thank the employee of a well-known clothes chain store in Central who recently let me sit among the boys' T-shirts display and feed my bawling baby.

I have never been able to organise my babies into a set feeding routine while they were being breastfed, hence the large number of sudden and sometimes unusual stops we have to make so I can sit and feed. And this is also why last week I could have been found standing in a very long line at Immigration Tower, breastfeeding my baby standing up. Not recommended. Ever. But it beats trying to calm down a hungry baby when you know there is still an hour, at least, to go before you make it to the counter. Quite a few people in the same queue seemed to find it quite amusing. I wish I could have said the same for how I felt about it, but I was pretty worn out by that point. My main aim was simply to get milk into my baby's tummy regardless of how I had to do it.

I have had old grandmothers congratulate me, and I have had more than the occasional person, be they visitor or tourist, stare. But for the most part, people don't seem to notice. I have never really had anyone blink an eyelid at my always very discreet feeding of a baby and I have never had anyone ask me to stop or leave anywhere, private or public. Sometimes I would have quite welcomed the confrontation, just for the chance to defend my right to breastfeed anywhere my hungry baby demands, but I have never had the opportunity. As with almost everything in Hong Kong, people are pretty tolerant of everything. In the same way that people with the luxury of a seat on a busy MTR train rarely notice the heavily pregnant woman dying for a seat right in front of them, so breastfeeding mothers are often thankfully ignored.

Two of our children were born in private hospitals, and one was born in a public hospital. The level of support for breastfeeding varied between the private hospitals - in one the support was fantastic; in the other it was pretty much non-existent. Our youngest was born five weeks early in a public hospital. His pre-term birth could have made breastfeeding difficult as he spent the first week of his life hooked up to a ventilator and a feeding tube. But the hospital was supportive of my need to breastfeed and did everything to make it possible.

I returned to work part time when our youngest was four months old. I made it clear to my work that I would need time and space every day to pump milk as well as somewhere to store the milk until I finished work for the morning. And they were more than happy to let me do what I needed to do. I think it was the first time they had anyone make such a request, but they were understanding and supportive, which has been great.

Probably one of the biggest obstacles to raising the breastfeeding comfort level in Hong Kong is the short maternity leave mothers are allowed. Finding the time and patience to pump milk several times a day is not an easy task, and I can see why so many working mothers struggle and put a stop to breastfeeding once they return to work.

Older siblings and their need for Mummy's attention can also make breastfeeding difficult. But it is easy enough to get used to feeding a baby while reading bedtime stories, or while fashioning Play-Doh flowers or dealing Uno cards.

I love breastfeeding my babies. At least, I love it until my babies reach a year old, and then I'm done. Nine months of pregnancy and 12 months of breastfeeding, and I reach a point where I just want my own body back. I want to be able to wear one of my pretty underwire bras instead of the same three nursing bras, and I want to be able to sleep on my tummy and I want to be able to go for a jog without almost knocking myself out. I want to sleep through the night. My breastfed babies never slept through the night until I cut them off, and then they miraculously managed those 12-hour stretches that are so elusive while they are still using you as a pacifier. Once I have them eating real food and they can stomach cow's milk, my job is done - until the next time, that is.

People ask me when I plan to stop feeding our now eight-month-old. To be honest, I don't know. He might be the last one I have to breastfeed, and that thought makes me want to keep going for as long as I can. There is a real satisfaction in taking him to be weighed at his monthly check-ups, knowing that I helped make him how healthy he is and that the milk I produced is sustaining this big, chubby, healthy baby. That pride trumps all the sleepless nights, sore nipples and having, at times, to breastfeed standing up.

Breastfeeding doesn't come naturally to everyone, but it's worth a try - for both mum and baby. And here's a little secret: it's the best way to lose weight without strenuous exercise or a need to watch what you eat. Breastfeeding benefits everyone!

Rebecca Tomasis was co-winner last year of the inaugural Proverse Prize for unpublished writing