Mixed Bag of Bon Jovi and Breastfeeding
Ha! I knew you’d love my title for today!
As I mentioned in my last post, I went to the Bon Jovi concert on Wednesday night and feel as though I must share my adventure with you. Since about 1997, I have gone to see Bon Jovi just about every time they have come to town which is approximately every two years. I don’t know how these guys do it, but they just keep cranking out the great tunes. They also put on a wickedly awesome show every single time. After the last couple of shows I have been to, I decided that I didn’t need “the best” tickets, but decent enough tickets to be able to catch this great act. So, I opted for club level seats. We were 1st row on the end and have been referring to them as my B & B (Beer & Bathroom) seats. My friend and I went out for a yummy dinner and then headed down to the Xcel Center. It was early, but I figured being able to sit there and talk as opposed to trying to have a drink in one of the crowded bars on W. 7th St was the better option. The opening band started up- they were local guys who one a contest to open for Bon Jovi. They were okay. I’m sure it was the biggest night of their lives so I give them some props for getting up to play in front of such a huge crowd. As I looked around, I chuckled. Seems that Bon Jovi’s fan-base is growing old right along side the band. Just as the guys were about the take the stage, the rest of the seats filled in around us. The lights dimmed, the music started rockin’ and we jumped to our feet to dance to “We Weren’t Born To Follow”. We pretty much stayed up on our feet (along with everyone else) and in the middle of “You Give Love a Bad Name” I felt a tap on my shoulder. “Miss, can you sit down- I can’t see.” I must have looked at the dude like he was nuts- I said “Get up and dance!” He replied, “Nobody else is standing. Can you please sit down.” Confused, I looked around to see everyone but his row of weirdos and a few other scattered folks up on their feet rockin’ out. I rolled my eyes at him and continued to try and have a good time. He called me a bitch and said, “I’ll take care of this.” During “Bad Medicine” a security guard came down and asked us to sit. My face full of shock and awe. I was asked to sit down. At a rock concert. At a BON JOVI concert. Not wanting to make a scene, I obliged and let the jerks have their way. They continued to mock us. Continued to call me a bitch. Called me ridiculous. The name calling got so bad to the point where my friend just couldn’t take it anymore. She went up to ask the security guard what those guys said, and found that they spewed a pretty blatant lie. I never swore at them, I never threatened them. This was a group of GROWN MEN. WTF?? Anyway, they said it was in our best interest to get out of there as these guys became more brave and aggressive so they moved us to a safer location where we could dance with others who were dancing and having fun. The whole thing killed what could have been an absolutely awesome night. I was so disappointed. I guess being as big a fan as I am of Bon Jovi, I really should’ve just paid the extra $30 for floor tickets where people were actually up on their feet for the whole 3 hours. This brings me back to the age of Bon Jovi’s fan-base. Were these guys just old or was this potentially their first rock concert? I guess I’ll never know the answer, but I’m starting to question whether or not I will actually go to another show if/when they come back again.
Now onto another rant… Most recently in the news, a woman was asked to leave an Old Country Buffet because she was breastfeeding her baby in the restaurant. Even though I was unable to breastfeed, I say- to each is own. I thought, it is no different than me giving my baby a bottle in a restaurant, right? Then I heard that she was doing it without any covering. I know, I know… breastfeeding moms around the world will strike me down for saying this, but seriously, have some modesty. Cover yourself up. Especially in a restaurant. Early in my postpartum days, my breasts were horrifying. Bleeding, cracked… nothing I really wanted to share with the world right there. Again, I could CARE LESS about women breastfeeding in public. Good for you for being able to do it, I say! What I don’t understand is the need to feel like you have to flaunt it. Unless you are on a beach where you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference anyway, when you are in a place like a restaurant, just put a blanket on. Seriously. Then there is the commentary/blog on StarTribune.com call Cribsheet. This quote annoyed and pissed me off: “It’s hard being a parent, and breast-feeding is challenging, but it really is the best thing for babies. Breast-feeding moms should be supported, not criticized.” Nobody is CRITICIZING her choice of breastfeeding here, they are criticizing her for not covering that shit up! In a restaurant! Not only that, but come on… I am so sick and tired of hearing “it really is the best thing for babies.” Put my amazing 19 month old next to your breastfed 19 month old and I’ll bet you cannot tell the difference. He is just as smart and healthy as any breastfed baby. You would think I was feeding him rat poison for the first year of his life as opposed to formula (which has come a helluva long way thank you very much). I will say that I am grateful and thankful for the staff at my OB’s office as well as my OB for NEVER ONCE pressuring me into thinking that breastfeeding is the be all and end all. After going through what I did in trying to breastfeed (not to mention some serious postpartum depression on the side to make it extra fun at failing), making the switch to formula was the best one I ever made. My son actually started to eat and gain weight and TA DA- he is perfect today. So perfect that he in fact refuses to eat any sweets (yes, we have offered him an array of them, because he is in fact a kid), he loves his fruits and veggies, he is growing like a weed, he talks and says more words than I can count and he even pees on the potty. So take that all the nay-sayers out there! My baby is just as good as yours.