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One of my best friends in New York City told me that she wanted to set me up on a blind date. The following Friday, after enlisting another girlfriend to baby-sit, I dashed out the door to meet the lawyer at a bar. I didn't see the cuteness -- he had a receding hairline -- but maybe I was too nervous. The lawyer's enthusiasm was a sure giveaway that I'd said too much. But the truth was, if any possible romantic date of mine was squeamish about the fact that I was breastfeeding, I did need to know this up front.

Ironically, she was the same friend who, in 2002, was thrown out of the public library in Manhattan for breastfeeding her daughter. Still, he did the right thing: He asked if I had a photo of M., and when I pulled one from my wallet, he used the word adorable. "I'm late because I was nursing her before bed --" "You were nursing her? I didn't know if I should crawl under the table or give him a high-five. I mean, if I hadn't said anything, and then all of a sudden he looked down and noticed the wet spots on my blouse, that would have been interesting. If you've ever breastfed, you know that just thinking about nursing can, well, have certain consequences. I had no control over it, and when I looked down, there was a damp spot on my chest.

Our daughter was seven months old, and I'll never know for sure what put him over the edge. I'm grateful that back then I did not sit down at my computer and type lactating and dating into Google. Because recently, while writing this essay, I turned to my computer to do some research, in hopes of finding a thoughtful example of what it means to balance these two acts.

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With no wait lists for qualified students and no pre-nursing course work, you can start sooner in a program where you'll gain job-ready skills you can apply to your career right away.

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But they were all the same: white men in their forties, in search of sweet breast milk.

My breasts had always been one of the most sensual parts of me.

But who says that you can't live in both worlds? Maybe I was rebelling against my Catholic mother, but I certainly was not a prude. " I waited for the punch line, but he was not joking.

Some mothers I knew wore bras to bed because they didn't want to leak on the mattress -- or their husbands. But I wanted to be a woman who lived in both worlds; I wanted to be the kind of woman who didn't care if she spurted. I decided that I'd keep the date short and sweet -- and I'd nurse before leaving so (I hoped) I wouldn't leak. I've always had this untactful knack for blurting out details that shock people -- I do it without thinking. Nursing was such an essential part of who I was, it was like telling someone, "The sitter was running late, I'm sorry --" It's always after the fact when I realize I should be wearing a soft muzzle.I was still trying to get a handle on raising my daughter solo. As my daughter slept in the other room, I let him unbutton my blouse and run his mouth across the edge of my bra. (Yes, I wondered if, maybe, his mother had never breastfed him.) But this is what mattered most: He wanted me as I was, and I didn’t have to hide any of it.Rachel Sarah’s book "Single Mom Seeking: Playdates, Blind Dates and Other Dispatches from the Dating World" was published in 2007. Patent and Trademark Office as a trademark of Salon Media Group Inc.Men were looking for "mature women willing to breastfeed me." Gross.I kept scrolling through the sites that Google brought up; there had to be something.This list does not constitute an endorsement of Rasmussen College by the industries shown above.

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