Breastfeeding is a natural part of motherhood, and many mothers find themselves feeding their babies in public when the need arises. One young mother experienced this firsthand, but she had no idea that someone was secretly filming her during this intimate moment. When she discovered the footage, she had plenty to say about it. Read on to find out more…
Izabele Lomax, a woman from Maryland, was going about her day on social media when she stumbled upon a video that made her heart drop. Upon closer inspection, she realized it featured her breastfeeding in public.
The clip she encountered was a screenshot of a prior post. A stranger had recorded Lomax nursing her baby and criticized her for not covering up while doing so. The post, shared in a breastfeeding support group, included a caption expressing disbelief that another woman would take a video of a mother feeding her child and post it online.
Lomax felt a strong connection to the post, as it showed her in a vulnerable moment. “I was like:, ‘That’s me!”” she recalled, shocked to learn she had been filmed without her consent while enjoying a day at the beach.
The person who posted the video claimed they weren’t trying to shame breastfeeding mothers but rather criticized Lomax for not being more discreet. They expressed discomfort at the idea of exposing their son to topless women in public spaces.
In the video, Lomax was shown sitting under an umbrella at the beach, nursing her infant without realizing she was being recorded. The carefree day she had shared with her fiancé, baby, and parents took a turn for the worse when someone decided to judge her actions.
Not one to remain silent, Lomax took to social media to address the situation directly. In her video response, she pointed out that the woman had walked by her several times and could have chosen to speak to her instead of filming her without her knowledge.
Lomax emphasized that she would not have stopped breastfeeding her child, and she questioned why the woman felt the need to sexualize breastfeeding in front of her own young son. “If you have time to record me and post about it on Facebook, you could have taken a moment to educate your son about breastfeeding”, she said in her impassioned response.
Support for Lomax poured in from her followers, leading the original poster to delete the video. Many commenters expressed disbelief at the woman’s decision to publicly shame another mother for breastfeeding. One commenter remarked: “Who does this lady think needs protection? Just explain to your kid that the woman is feeding her baby, and move on”.
Others noted that the baby’s head covered any nudity that might have been visible, reinforcing the idea that there was nothing inappropriate about the situation. This incident sparked a significant discussion, highlighting the strong opinions surrounding public breastfeeding. What are your thoughts on this situation? Share your comments!
I SPENT MY PROM DRESS MONEY TO HELP A HOMELESS MAN — THE NEXT DAY, HE SHOWED UP AT PROM WITH A LUXURY GIFT
The worn vinyl of the bus seat creaked beneath me as I clutched the envelope, its crisp edges softened by the warmth of my hand. Inside, the money my mom and grandma had painstakingly saved—my prom dress fund. The pink, shimmering gown that would transform me, even for one night, into the princess I’d always dreamed of being.
The bus rattled along, the familiar rhythm a comforting backdrop to my anticipation. At the next stop, the doors hissed open, and two figures boarded, their presence immediately shifting the atmosphere. They weren’t passengers; they were enforcers, their uniforms a stark contrast to the everyday clothes of the other riders.
Their attention fell upon an elderly man, his clothes tattered and his face etched with worry. He sat hunched in a corner seat, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. The enforcers approached him, their voices sharp and demanding.
“Ticket, sir,” one of them barked.
The man’s hands trembled as he fumbled in his pockets, his eyes wide with a desperate plea. “Please, I… I don’t have one. I’m trying to get to my daughter. She’s sick, and I have to take her to the hospital. Please, I’m begging you.”
The enforcers were unmoved. “Fine,” one of them stated, his voice flat. “You’ll have to pay a fine.”
The man’s shoulders slumped. The despair in his eyes was a physical weight, a crushing burden that filled the bus. I couldn’t bear it. The thought of my own mother, sick and helpless, flashed through my mind. What if she needed help, and no one cared?
Without a second thought, I stood up, my heart pounding in my chest. I took a deep breath, the crisp air filling my lungs with a sudden rush of determination. “I’ll pay his fine!” I declared, extending the envelope towards the enforcers.
The bus fell silent. The enforcers exchanged surprised glances, then looked at me, then at the man. I didn’t waver. I knew, deep down, that this was the right thing to do. Some things were more important than a dress, even a dream dress.
The enforcers, after a moment of hesitation, accepted the money. The elderly man’s eyes filled with tears, and he rushed towards me, his voice choked with gratitude. “Thank you, thank you, child. You’ve saved my daughter’s life.”
He thanked me over and over, his voice a trembling whisper, before hurrying off the bus, his urgency palpable. I watched him go, a strange mix of relief and a tiny pang of sadness swirling within me.
The next day, prom was a whirlwind of glitter and laughter. I wore a simple dress borrowed from a friend, feeling a little out of place but strangely content. I’d told my mom and grandma what happened, and they’d hugged me, their eyes filled with pride.
As the music swelled, and couples swayed on the dance floor, a commotion erupted near the entrance. I turned to see what was happening, and my breath caught in my throat.
Standing there, amidst the sea of shimmering gowns and tailored suits, was the elderly man from the bus, his face beaming. Beside him stood a young woman, her face pale but her eyes bright. And in his hands, he held a large, velvet-wrapped box.
He walked towards me, his steps slow but steady. “My dear child,” he said, his voice ringing with warmth. “I wanted to thank you properly. You saved my daughter, and I can never repay you. But I hope this small token will express my gratitude.”
He presented the box to me. I opened it, my fingers trembling. Inside, nestled on a bed of satin, was a dress. Not just any dress, but a masterpiece. It was pink, shimmering, and exquisitely crafted. It was the dress of my dreams, even more beautiful than I had imagined.
“My daughter,” the man explained, his eyes filled with tears, “she’s a seamstress. She made this for you, with all her heart.”
I was speechless, tears welling up in my eyes. The dress was perfect, a symbol of the kindness I had shown and the kindness I had received in return. That night, I didn’t just feel like a princess. I felt like a hero, and I knew that some things, some moments, were worth more than all the dresses in the world.
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