In my long career as a breastfeeding mother – I had four children across the course of a decade, and fed each until her third birthday – I only ever once decided it was inappropriate to heed my baby’s cries and pop her on the breast. The occasion wasn’t a meeting in the House of Commons (I fed there despite the then Speaker having said it would not be tolerated); it wasn’t a dinner in a posh restaurant (I did that plenty of times); and it wasn’t while travelling on a bus or train or plane (feeding a baby on the move is a cinch). No: the only time I ever thought twice about breastfeeding was on the side altar of Westminster Cathedral. My eldest daughter, Rosie, had just been baptised, and as we sat there for the readings and prayers she started root