Goals

I’m big on setting goals. Measurable goals. For as much as I pick on MQD and the SCIENCE (imagine I said science with jazz hands and a hint of feigned terror in my voice) I love a good graph.

When I decided I was ready to hop back on the fitness train I returned to Couch to 5K. Couch to 5K is a training program designed to take you from the couch (no way! Me? the couch? I didn’t gain almost sixty pounds with this pregnancy at the gym!) to running a solid thirty minutes without stopping in nine weeks. I have a tendency to overexert myself. A training program is necessary to keep me from deciding to try and run six miles after three leisurely strolls around the block has me thinking I am in tip top shape.

The trouble with the Couch to 5K? It ends. After nine weeks where do I go from there? Without the magical iPhone telling me to Run (which is laughable as my jogging speed has been known to be slower than my walking speed, but whatever!) I am lost.

But something crazy has happened to me. I remember when Em was teeny. She wasn’t big on napping. I decided training for the OBX Marathon was a good idea. The jogging stroller was my idea of a vacation. Every day, no matter what else happened, I had an hour on Bay Drive. If you go to the Outer Banks and you have never driven down Bay Drive and admired the homes and the sunset and the sound side living you are missing out. (Oh, how I miss you, long, deliciously flat Bay Drive…) It is happening again.

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And then I did it again, every day for the next FIVE days!! I am keeping it up. I am motivated not only by the health benefits and the uninterrupted Me time, I admit. The number on the scale has me a little freaked out. I haven’t ever said that number out loud here. I showed you my stretchmarks, but that number? It is like pooping in front of someone. I don’t do that.

But I am done hiding. I weighed 226 the day before Lucy was born. I’d hit an all time ten year low of 167 before we got married. I weigh a lot, and I am okay with that. I have size 10.5 feet and D cups, they come with a price.

I avoided the scale immediately after Lucy was born. I know my tendency to get antsy about my weight and I knew I needed to be eating well and frequently in order to establish and maintain a milk supply those crucial first six weeks.

My six week post partum visit greeted me with a 197. What the shit? I’d had a baby six weeks ago!! I was horrified. I hit the ground running, literally.

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And then shortly after I hit the ground, I hit the store.  I wrote about my new shoes.  But I haven’t mentioned my new found love of the running skirt.  It makes me feel like a cheerleader.  I never was a cheerleader but I imagine this is what it felt like.  “Hey you, my ass is almost showing but it is all in the name of sports!!  Check me out! But don’t talk shit, I’m an athlete, bitches!”  Did I say that out loud?  So help me, I am wearing day glow running skirts and I don’t even know who the hell I am anymore.

This morning I downloaded the “Bridge to 10K” app.  I need to keep going. I have to keep going.  It might take me longer than the six weeks it suggests.  But I’ll get there.  And if you look at the screenshot on the right, in the top corner, it’s a graph!!  A GRAPH!  I am as happy as a pig in shit.  Or a middle aged, 184 pound mom of two in a hot pink running skirt.  And let me tell you from my experience, that is pretty happy.

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The one where we buried the placenta…

My husband is a scientist. He labels everything. He once asked me if we could talk about keeping the refrigerator more organized. He volunteered to make labels. Dairy. Vegetables. Condiments. We had only just moved in together so I bit a hole in my lip and smiled and said “if you’d like to take on that project I will try really hard to put things back.”

It was never mentioned again.

That having been said there is  no placenta shelf in our freezer. Just a ziplock bag with the tell tale biohazard bag inside crammed in the back of the freezer.

For four months and nineteen days. Lucy is four months and twenty one days old. The nurse practitioner that stopped at our house to see us when Lucy was two says old brought it to us. We left it on the counter when we headed home four hours after Lucy’s birth.

Some people leave their purse. Or their cell phone charger. We forgot our placenta.

I was lucky. I did not experience post-partum depression after Emily was born. So I elected not to dehydrate and encapsulate my placenta. But I liked the idea of doing something with it.

Different cultures do different things. We decided we would bury it under a plant or shrub (I can’t bring myself to say bush, although the comedic possibility is enticing.)

We decided to plant a gardenia. When we were picking out flowers for our wedding we considered gardenias. I imagine opening my front door next spring and smelling them for the first time of the season. Lucy will be walking by then.

Emily chose a hydrangea for her plant. I am hopeful that our soil will produce blue flowers as that was what helped her make up her mind. The September birth stone is the sapphire and she favors the blue sapphire. Not to be confused with her mother’s favorite gin, Bombay Blue Sapphire.

I’ve said it before. I am smitten with my husband. Married a little over fourteen months and he still makes me smile. He hollers up to me as I stand on the deck out of the rain “get a picture! You’ll never see your home again, Lucy!!”

I hope our plants survive. But the benefit of being a mom the second time around? Our kids will make it. Of this much I am certain.

Word to the Wise: “call before you dig” is no joke. We spent our first weekday of summer without cable television or the Internet. MQD wisely elected to not put the plants or the placenta in the hole until after the cable guy came lest he accidentally dig it back up.

It meant we put our plants in during a gentle rain shower on Monday evening instead of on Sunday afternoon. And MQD looks totally hot in wet blue jeans and a tshirt, I mean… our plants were well hydrated and the rain had some kind of poetic symbolism and…. Yeah.

Lucy and I supervised.  And Emily?  Well, the cable guy came about thirty minutes before MQD got home from work.  She established that a placenta looks like a brain and then she decided she’d had enough.  There was tv to watch.  It’s Summertime.

Focus

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It is said that mothers have eyes in the backs of their heads. I wish I had a second set in front. Mine have been working overtime.

My big girl had a bang up week. Last day of school on Friday and a soccer trophy the night before that. I put my constant surveillance of “the baby” on hold for the week. My big girl was getting bigger by the minute and I didn’t want to miss it. Friday morning before she left for school I said “grab your backpack, baby” and she said for the very first time “I’m not a baby.”

I’m glad I was watching this week. I sat on the steps with a cup of coffee in my hands watching her head down the driveway to the bus stop on Thursday morning. I don’t know what made me sit down and watch her. But I’m glad I did.

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Emily’s graduation was Wednesday morning. Soccer game on Thursday. Last day of school on Friday. I don’t think I took my eyes off of her for 72 hours. It is like she was made of bamboo. She was growing up. And I could see it.

Friday morning I sat down on the back deck and had a cup of coffee and a chit chat with Lucy. Maybe it was just the shorts. But I don’t think so. She grew, too. While I wasn’t looking. Dammit.

I need to get these two on a schedule. Because they can’t keep growing at the same time. I’m gonna miss something.

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P-A-R-T-Y or I Love Kale Chips

Yesterday evening I posted a picture of the three, yeah, three bags of kale I selected to receive in our CSA box this week.  My friends and a good portion of the internet has been abuzz about the deliciousness that is the kale chip and I thought I’d give it a shot.

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I over indulge. Even on vegetables.

I tagged the picture with a few of my kale loving friends, mostly just to give them a chuckle.  I go big.  Think you might like kale, well then get three bags!

And guys, facebook LOVES kale!!  You guys came out of the woodwork to shout about the glory that is this superfood. I had planned on making them this afternoon when the kids get home from their last day of school.  Last Day of School?  Party down with some KALE, kids!!!

I nurse Lucy to sleep at night in the rocking chair.  In theory I could go put her in bed but the great majority of the time I just let her snooze on me and I goof off on the computer or watch “my stories” (Duck Dynasty, Bravo garbage, yanno important stuff on TV) and take her to bed when I hit the hay at the late hour of around nine.

But last night, this happened.

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Snug as a bug

And with my night all to myself what did I do???  I marched right in to the kitchen and started trimming ribs off kale, yes I did!!!  And if that was not enough fun I massaged them with some olive oil and popped those bad boys in the oven.

Oven at 200 degrees, kale all shiny and olive oil-y with a wee bit of kosher salt and some parmesan cheese

When someone says “Taste this, it is just like potato chips!” my instinct is to call Bullshit.   O’Doul’s is not “just like real beer.”  Decaf coffee is not just like the real thing.    The cheap, big bag of Tasteeos is not even “just like” Cheerios.  I mean, come on.  But kale chips???

Come on over to my house!!  I will be serving kale chips.  All summer.  They are delicious. Crispy and light and so good.  Using kitchen scissors I just folded each leaf in half and trimmed up the middle to remove the rib and what we have left was delicious curly q’s of superfood!  I’m hooked.  It is the Weekend of Kale Chips!  I have declared it so.

If you need me any time on Sunday I’d guess I will be in the bathroom.  Kale.  A superfood packed with dietary fiber.  What’s not to love?

Am I on Candid Camera?

I did not actually make the international symbol for “Call me!” as I drove away. But that is the only lame thing I didn’t manage to do.

I am trying my damnedest to stick my neck out.  Or my hand.  And make friends.  Mommy friends.  People from Em’s class or women I see at the park.  I adore the friends I have.  And I don’t make the time to see them as it is, so why should I not try to add more people to the rolodex of folks I seem to ignore in favor of going to bed at quarter of eight by the light of Bravo?

Nonetheless I had said I was going to try.

And this morning while jogging an opportunity presented itself. This is not how I usually dress when I try to pick up chicks.  I saw her car pull up at the park.  She had two girls around Emily’s age, one with her bicycle. She was wearing exercise capri’s and sneakers and had the 2012 Mom Summer Haircut.  I watched her from the other side of the walking track.  On I ran,  pondering changing my route so I could pass by her a few times, scope her out, but that seemed absurd.  And as I finished my third mile around the park I noted that she and her girls were by the swings, which is totally near the water fountain…

So I said… “Yeah, not to say “Do you come here often?” but umm… I do… and that is how I know you don’t actually come here often… so I just thought I’d say hello.”  Then I rambled on a bit about how I’d planned on running Monday through Friday in the morning, between eight and nine and maybe her girls could entertain my older daughter and we could jog or plan on meeting up “and it could be like a thing.”  That is what I said.  A thing. Like I asked her on a date but was  scared to call it that.  Or give her my number.

I can remember a hundred years ago going back to the same bar over and over again because a guy I’d liked might show up there again.  All I ever got was drunk.  Maybe I’ll just keep going back to the park. Only this time I might get healthier instead of broke and loaded.

So… I floundered at the end.  But I was feeling kind of awesome this morning anyway. When I got out of the shower I looked at myself in the mirror.  And with the handheld liposuction, you know where you hold your stomach up, thereby eliminating the hanging post partum marsupial skin (note that I have spared you a picture of this) I didn’t look half bad.  I felt good.

I pulled on a favorite pair of Old Navy cargo pants, elastic waist band, drawstring really, but they were pre-baby pants.  I felt kind of normal.  And good.  Tomorrow is the first day of my summer as a mostly stay at home mom of two and it was gonna be cool.  I grabbed my pita pocket sandwich, my diaper bag and  my kid, slipped on my totally adorable purple flats and headed out the door.  Lucy dropped her toy. I bent down to grab it and did not drop my sandwich or spill my coffee.

But I split my fucking pants.  Eh.  Can’t win them all.  If this gal ever shows up at the park and we chat and she likes me I’m totally gonna tell her this.  “So I was feeling all rad for trying to make a friend.  And then I split the ass in my favorite fucking pants.  You’d better be worth it.”

I’m 18, and I like it!*

It is important to do things that scare you a little.

“I’d love to see you,” he wrote and he sent me his phone number.

I called him immediately.

“Hi, it’s Kel.” He had written Kel in his email. It made me smile. “I called you right away because making phone calls can give me a panic attack, so I figured I’d just call and get it over with.”

I hate making phone calls. And seeing people I haven’t seen in eighteen years makes me nervous. But it was worth it.

I use an app on my phone when I run that says “Half way” when you are, well, half way. The last time I saw Tommy we were “half way.” We were eighteen.

Now we are thirty six. Thirty six and three kids between us. Not between us. But two for me, one for him. And other than the kids running around and the technology that allowed Tommy to make the picture below mere moments after it was taken, nothing has changed at all. He talks quickly and laughs easily. He puts his arm around you when someone takes a picture and it is neither flirtatious nor brotherly. Yet somehow he makes you feel cared for in a way that makes you feel uniquely feminine. As a teenage girl I was acutely aware of what an incredibly nice boy he was. Eighteen years later I watched him kneel down and talk to his lovely daughter and I could see what an incredibly good man he has become.

It’s fun to “keep in touch” digitally. We can watch our old classmates live their lives from a safe distance. But it isn’t the same. If you have the chance to put yourself in the same space as someone that knew you when you were half way… do it. It feels good. You can see how far you’ve come.

We will be seventy-two when today is half way. Let’s not wait that long again, Tommy.

*Can anyone really get enough of Alice Cooper?

525,600 minutes…

Or about four inches.  That is how you measure a year.

Last June Emily graduated from her preschool wearing a dress with purple flowers.  She had a sweet little smile and her bangs needed a trim.  I was a tiny bit pregnant and wearing pigtails.

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Emily, June 2011, preschool graduation

This morning that sweet faced little girl graduated from Kindergarten in the same dress.  It was shorter this year.  She continues to grow up. Straight up.  Her face is sharper.  She is growing out her bangs and is typically wearing no fewer than two hair accessories.  I curled her hair this morning.  Two hours later I arrived at school and she had another hairdo altogether.

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She proudly held her little sister during a good portion of the graduation ceremony.  The back of her neck makes me tear up.  There is something beautiful about the back of a woman’s neck.  Hers is no exception.  In that six (almost seven!) year old neck I can see the young woman she will become.  Inches below her neck is the freckle she had when she was born.

Somewhere between that freckle and that young woman’s neck will be tears and heart break and laughter and joy too numerous too imagine.  She will not always be in a white dress with purple flowers, but she will always be my baby, my Emily June.

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Emily, June 2012, Kindergarten Graduation

Ems,

There are no words to describe this last year.  A fearless little girl started kindergarten in a brand, new school.  Weeks later she started again at yet another new school, beginning a new chapter in a new home.

Your baby face has faded, in its place a crooked smile complete with wiggly teeth.  You still let me call you “tiny heiney” but you were appalled when I mooned you the other day in the kitchen.  You have a new found sense of propriety.

You still sleep with pinky blanket, but the night your sister was born you did not.  I held it in my hands, wiped the tears from my face, the sweat from my forehead with it.  It was a reminder that I had all the strength I needed to make you a big sister.

And what a big sister you have become.  Your patience is out measured only by your kindness.  She watches you endlessly.  Your “baby sway” would lead one to believe that you were a teeny tiny grandmother.   I could go on and on, sweet girl, but the tears streaming down my face have soaked your sister as she sleeps in my lap.

When you turned one I told you you were my big, bright star.  And little lady, you do not disappoint.  Every time you grow a little bit older I tell you to knock it off.  But underneath the sentimentality of motherhood, I secretly rejoice.  One day we will share a glass of wine and reminisce about growing up.  Because I am growing right along with you. I love you, kiddo.  More than you may ever know.

Mom

Sporty Sunday

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I don’t know how it happened. I woke up this morning and felt fine. I fed the dog, I brushed my teeth, I hopped back in bed with Lucy and MQD and I started to feel freezing cold.

Thirty minutes later I was hurling. I crawled back in to bed and let Lucy sidle up to the buffet. She went to town and then the last thing I remember was saying “Can you take her?'” to MQD. I had the Sleep of the Dead for another hour and a half.

I woke up a little after ten. I felt like maybe I was going to live after all. I heard no tears from the living room so I ventured out.

This is when things stopped making sense.

“I thought I’d take Em for a hike,” he said. A hike. We don’t hike. We watch Netflix and ride bikes at the park and make pancakes. And sit around. It was a Sunday, right?? A Sunday. The day of Rest.

So, I went and made a cup of coffee. Exactly what you should do when you’ve had a violently upset stomach.

“I’ll go with you. Lemme see if I can eat something.” Something like EGG SALAD. We were in an alternate universe where coffee and egg salad was the new ginger ale and saltines and violent upchucking with a splash (and I do mean a splash) of diarrhea was the perfect precursor to to hiking. Oh. And in this parallel universe we hiked.

In the beginning Emily was pro hiking.

Within the hour we were getting out of the car at the Occoneechee Mountain State Park, a three minute drive from our house. I started to laugh as we headed off in to the woods. “We don’t hike!!” I said.

“We do now,” said MQD. Hiking was win-win at first, Lucy was sleeping in the Ergo. Fish was psyched. Emily was talking non-stop and MQD suggested we do this every weekend.

The MapMyRun app in my phone said we had gone almost two miles when I suggested we turn around. Looking at the map we did not appear to be even kind of close to where we parked.

MQD and I took turns being Emily’s cheerleader. She was a little champ. A four mile stroll was not what we had in mind when we first set off in to the woods. We counted as we walked, establishing that Emily took approximately eight steps to my five. For every five hundred steps I had taken, she had taken eight hundred. This made her feel validated in her extreme exhaustion. And this fact did make me feel slightly less like screaming “Look, I could shit my pants any second AND your sister is going to wake up furious and sweaty any time now, keep walking, dammit!!”

How can you expect me to just keep walking???

Nearly four miles and an hour and a half later we were back at the car. And it was fun. We hiked. We might do it again. We might be a family that hikes. I can not explain the depths to which this is hilarious to me.

Here is a picture from last Sunday. Ya know… before we hiked. When we used to nap.

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New Running Shoes

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New Shoes, Same old body

“Mom, it smells like poop in here.”

“Well, I’m pooping can you close the door?”

“Mom, why do you shave your business? It looks like Dad’s goatee.”

“Can I please have some privacy?”

“Mom, do you have your period again? It seems like you just had it.”

“Can you shut the door???”

It is this lack of privacy, this total dearth of alone time that makes jogging so appealing. I can put Lucy in the stroller, fill up a few water bottles and put on some tunes and go. I’ve not yet figured out how to poop, shower or check a menstrual cup while jogging, but if I do I will get back to you. I’m not alone. But it is quiet. No questions. I’ll take it.

I gained more than fifty pounds while pregnant with Lucy. I was Wedding Thin to start with and likely gained ten or fifteen on our honeymoon so it is not fair to blame it all on Lucy. But I do anyway. I did not have preeclampsia or excessive water retention. I just had a new husband that brought me M&Ms and bowls of ice cream because he loved me.

I made peace with my post-baby body. I put a picture of my stretch marks on the internet for all to see. But even if I can deal with the shape, with the number on the scale, I can’t stomach buying a new wardrobe. I gave myself permission to wear elastic waist bands for a few months. A few months are up. Summer affords me the opportunity to wear the empire waist sundress. And while Memorial Day weekend is only a week behind us, I know from experience that September is around the corner. I will not wear maternity jeans as I play with my nine month old baby.

So, I jog.

It’s peaceful. And quiet. And eventually something should happen to my body. I know the “it took nine months to gain it, it will take nine months to lose it” adage.

My mind wanders. I am the slowest jogger on the planet so the slow and steady pounding of the pavement is almost as great as a nap. Lucy certainly finds it peaceful.

I have jogged intermittently over the last seven years. I trained for the OBX half marathon when Em was teeny, running 12 miles at my farthest before I stepped on a sippy cup and elected not to run it. I was jogging again two years ago when my back started giving me trouble. I drank the chiro kool-aid and things started improving.I bought a pair of Vibrams. I read “Born to Run” and I got to work on correcting my heel strike. It was slow going. For years I had perfected what I thought of as a more efficient way to jog. The longer the stride the fewer times I had to actually move my legs, right? The searing pain I was creating in my hips wasn’t helping me. I watched countless you tube videos on chi running. And then I got pregnant and sat on my couch.

When I started jogging again recently I found that the shorter stride, the midfoot strike, the forward leaning body position, it was all so much easier than before. What was different? The extra thirty pounds I was carrying can’t take all the credit for this new and improved running form.

It was during Sergio Mendes’ “Yes, Yes, Y’all” that I had an a-ha moment last week. It was 89 degrees outside and I was jogging at Em’s soccer practice. Week Seven, Day Two of Couch to 5K was telling me to run for 20 minutes without stopping. It would be the first uninterrupted twenty minutes I had jogged in more than a year. MQD volunteered to hang out with Lucy so I could give it a go without the stroller.

A few minutes in to my jog I felt my old familiar heel strike form returning. “Yes, yes, y’all, freak y’all, freak y’all, to the beats y’all, and you don’t stop and you don’t quit” Sergio says and I fell in to a slower groove thinking, damn without the stroller I don’t have any water, I better slow down a little. WITHOUT THE STROLLER!!!

“You’ve got big dreams? You want fame? Well, fame costs. And right here is where you start paying in sweat.”

Hours of Chi Running videos and Danny Dreyer never suggested you just get a stroller!! It was the stroller that had fixed my heel strike. I have to let my feet fall under my body. I naturally lean slightly forward when I jog with a stroller.

I’ll be damned. This kid might be to blame for the extra thirty pounds. But she just might be the key to curing my shitty running form, too. And if all goes as planned my fat ass will be long gone someday and my new, pain free running will be here to stay.

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Not a bad place to jog, if you’re gonna jog…

(For the record, I love the Five Fingers, but the heat was making my normally marginally sweaty feet insanely sweaty. I opted for the New Balance Minimus. They have a Vibram soul. Heh. So far, so good. About twenty five miles in them so far and I like ’em.)

Probably not the last time I will bring this up…

It might be hard to see the “baby” while she is in her Mary Tyler Moore pose. But I nursed my baby until she was almost three and a half years old.

I know I said I was going to try not to yammer on and on about my parenting choices, specifically to breastfeed on demand for as long as my baby and I want to…. but I can’t help it.  Below is a post from another blog.  I contributed to debunking toddler myths.

 

Emily, feeding her baby.

 

Toddler Nursing Myths Debunked

Myth: Breastfeeding will ruin your boobs!

Truth: Your breasts will inflate through your pregnancy and engorgement when your milk comes whether your nurse your babies or not! Vanity has been known to get the best of me.  I’ll admit it.  I’ll even confess that some decisions I made about my health might have been motivated by said vanity, said the girl who quit smoking in her youth when she realized it would ruin her skin before it ravaged her lungs. If you fall in to the camp of women that occasionally puts a little too much focus on the outside instead of the inside you’ll be glad to know that breastfeeding your kids is not responsible for your boobs going South!  Gravity and the swelling of the breasts during pregnancy and engorgement take the greatest toll on the skin responsible for holding those big, beautiful mammaries in place and there is no escaping that!  So, go ahead and do a few push ups and nurse your kiddos!  Throw in some chest presses with a five pound hand weight and those gorgeous boobs that are a cup size bigger than normal will be back front and center where you like them before you know it.

Myth:  Extended nursing will create a co-dependent, needy child.

Truth:  Letting your child wean on their own time fosters independence!!   A child that reconnects with their mother regularly and believes that they can always come back to the safety of a parent is far more likely to boldly step out on their own. Weaning becomes an act that the child participated in achieving.  I can recall sending my daughter off to her first day of school. Anticipating a little bit of anxiety on her part (and holding back my own tears) I said “Go ahead, big girl.  Mommy will be right here after school.”  Off she went, secure in the knowledge that she can return to me.    Obviously, nursing is not the only way to create an environment of loving, kindness.  But for many families it is the cornerstone of the mother-child bond.  Regular (albeit brief as anyone who has ever seen a busy toddler drive-by nursing can attest to!) breastfeeding of a toddler gives both the child and the mother a perfect opportunity to stop and reconnect, re-affirm in a biological way the connection between mother and child.  This affirmation gives the child confidence to move forward. The proof is in the pudding, as they say.  Here’s a picture of my independent daughter taking off on her first day of school.

She never looked back.  And as for the first myth?  Stop by and see me at www.excitementontheside.com  You’ll see my boobs if you hang around a while.  :)

-Kelly from excitementontheside.com

Myth: Breastfeeding past a certain age is sexual.

As a nursing mother who advocates child-led weaning, I have encountered my fair share of myths about extended breastfeeding, ranging from mildly amusing to downright frightening.  One of the most ridiculous myths I’ve encountered is the idea that once a child reaches a certain age (often 1 or 2 years), breastfeeding stops being about child nourishment and bonding, and becomes an inappropriate act with sexual connotations.  Even more concerning is the archaic (and insultingly unfounded) theory that a mother who nurses beyond 2 is compromising her child’s sexual development in some aspect.  And by far, the most offensive and absurd manifestation of the myth is that breastfeeding a toddler is equal to sexual abuse/incest.

Sadly, I believe that the old “perception is reality” adage applies here; if a person declares something as sexual, then for them, it is sexual.  After all, some adults are turned on by the act of diapering another adult, an act that is definitely not inherently sexual.  So, in our western world, a culture wherein breasts are highly sexualized, it isn’t surprising that the act of extended breastfeeding is seen as sexual by so many people.  It isn’t shocking that mothers who nurse toddlers in the U.S. are ridiculed and scorned, in spite of the fact that the majority of human beings on our planet breastfeed beyond age 1, and that the average age for a child to wean naturally is between 3-5 years.  Most of the naysayers, when met with facts and education about the realities of extended breastfeeding, still view it as shocking and disgusting.  But the bottom line is, it doesn’t matter if one person or one billion people share an opinion; their combined opinions do not form a fact.  There is nothing inherently sexual about breastfeeding.

So, how does a nursing mother go about debunking such baseless absurdity?   It can indeed prove to be an exercise in futility.  It has been my unfortunate experience that people who think extended breastfeeding is “weird” do not have open minds, and are not receptive to learning anything that might expose their point of view as irrational and inane.  But I am always willing to offer a person links to literature that endorses extended breastfeeding — literature which comes from highly respected and reputable doctors (such as Dr. Bill Sears), anthropologists (such as Katherine A. Dettwyler, Ph.D), health organizations (i.e. W.H.O.), numerous medical journals, etc.  However, my favorite factoid to pass along is that, to date, there is NO research or data that points to breastfeeding a toddler as being a damaging act, sexually, or otherwise.  So, what most effectively debunks the “nursing a toddler is sexually inappropriate” myth is what is not there to begin with — a shred of evidence to back the claim.

Elizabeth Daniels,  Brandon FL

Myth: It’s not necessary to nurse past one year because breast milk loses its nutritional value.

Reality: Not true. Not even a little true. Actually the opposite is true! Immune benefits actually increase the older the child gets. Breast milk changes and adjusts as your baby grows. Condensing the nutritional properties of your milk and the immune benefits into the amount of milk you make. You know, like how a shot of espresso in your thirties does the work that the seventeen cups of coffee did in your twenties. So as solid food becomes the more prominent part of your little one’s diet, breast milk condenses all of the health benefits into the less milk they do consume. It’s magic really I love the fact that when one of my kids or I get sick, my milk is already transferring immune boosting bits of awesome and helping them fight their colds. But if you weren’t sold at “bits of awesome”, you can read about all this in more specific and intellectual language here (http://kellymom.com/nutrition/milk/immunefactors/). And also here (http://kellymom.com/nutrition/milk/bmilk-composition/).

Issue: Breastfeeding mothers who think it’s weird/inappropriate/gross to nurse a child past a certain age.

I’ve heard this one a lot. A mom says, “I love breastfeeding! It was so awesome. But a two year old? A three year old? That’s weird.”
Just this week, my baby boy turned three. He nurses about once a day. Sometimes twice. He decides when. It is almost always when he is very tired or hurt. The times when he needs comfort and closeness. There have been many times that I thought he had weaned but, nope, he’s not ready yet. And that’s ok. When I first decided to nurse my children I thought I would wean them at one. I thought that is what you were supposed to do. But on the night of my son’s first birthday, as I nursed him to sleep, I saw him comforted and safe. Still a baby. Still needing to nurse. I was sure in that moment I would let him decide when to wean. But then, I got pregnant. He weaned during my pregnancy with his sister because he was frustrated that my milk was gone. It was traumatic for him and it broke my heart. He was 18 months old. When the milk returned and his baby sister came to be with us, he would watch as I nursed her and he seemed sad. I offered to nurse him. He nursed. He looked up to me and he smiled. And that moment is one I will never forget. His relief erasing the sadness of his first weaning. So the idea that this beautiful experience with my baby boy is seen as gross or weird just makes me sad. And to be honest, it makes me angry too. Every child is different. And every mother is different. No child can be expected to follow the same growth, development, or same anything of another child. Some children are ready to go to Kindergarten at four and half, some five, others at six. Everyone understands that. So then why would weaning be any different? There is no set age for when a child will naturally wean. My son is nursing less this month than he did last month. He seems to be doing just fine in determining when he is ready. He’ll get there. In his time. And it makes me happy to know that when he does wean, it will be on his terms.
For more information on weaning, you can start here (http://www.llli.org/ba/aug94.html )

-Colleen from theadventuresofthefamilypants.com

Myth: Once a child reaches a certain age, they should be given pumped breastmilk from a cup.

Coming from a place where I struggled throughout my breastfeeding journey to maintain my milk supply, it’s laughable to me when people comment that once my daughter turned one, that she no longer needed to breastfeed straight from “tap”, but rather, I should be pumping and giving her breast milk in a cup. The only party this benefits is, well, the people it makes uncomfortable to watch me nurse my toddler. Pumping is not an easy job. Breastfeeding is the easiest, formula feeding is harder, pumping is the hardest. Breast milk comes straight from the breast, is the perfect temperature, and the perfect amount per feeding. Formula comes mostly prepared, just add water (although there is washing, sterilizing bottles, and mixing the formula). Pumping takes a lot of time and energy to produce the right amount of milk, heating it to the perfect temperature, PLUS all the bottle washing, sterilizing all the components of a pump, and adhering to the very specific rules of proper storing. Then there are the potential issues you can run into like I did. I had to return to work when my daughter was 4 months old. I pumped at work three times a day and since I have always dealt with low supply, I struggled to maintain a milk supply to supplement the time I was away from home. It’s not as easy as putting cones on your breasts and turning a machine on and the milk just comes pouring out. It is a very intricate process that left me drained at the end of the day and wishing I could toss that machine in the trash. I suppose to really understand why pumping is not an easy task, you must first understand how our breasts function during breastfeeding. Prolactin must be present for milk synthesis to occur. When the breast is full, prolactin cannot enter the prolactin receptors, so the rate of milk synthesis decreases. When the breast is emptied, prolactin can now pass through the receptors and milk synthesis increases. This is now where I make my point: PUMPING DOES NOT EFFECTIVELY REMOVE MILK FROM THE BREAST LIKE A CHILD DOES. When the breast is not properly being emptied often, milk supply dramatically decreases. In order to maintain an efficient supply to pump and then give in a cup, one would spend their entire day attached to a machine. It is just more logical to nurse directly from the breast than to struggle to maintain a supply just to make a few people more comfortable. Besides, if I’m nursing in my own home (seeing as how most toddlers nurse only a handful of times a day or less­­—that number drops even more the older they get) who does nursing my toddler affect? No one, except my nursling and me.

-Courtney

**Jamie’s note- Courtney beautifully summed up the stress of pumping and how it does not always work with our anatomy. This myth bugs me so much I thought I’d chime in, too. Breastfeeding has much more to it than nutritional value. Breastfeeding also serves a way to comfort, bond, and build emotional attachment with your child (this is not the only way to bond and attach, but it is definitely one of many). Would you hug your child using a machine or your own arms? Breastfeeding should not be avoided just because someone else does not understand it. **

Myth: If you breastfeed your baby past infancy they will not learn to eat enough solid foods.

I know a lot of people think that extended (after 6 months, after 12 months after any one of a number  of ages) nursing will mean a baby/child will not eat enough solid food.  I have heard pediatricians tell moms who’s 8 month olds are not excited by solids tell them to cut out a nursing session or two.  I can totally see why people would think this.  If a couple of assumptions our society makes were true then this would be reasonable.  But those assumptions are flawed.  Assumption number one, all babies do things on a set schedule.  Assumption number two, nursing is just about food.

Assumption 1.  Babies do everything on their own schedule, the range of normal is massive.  A baby can be just fine and walk at 9 months or at 13.   A baby can start speaking at one year or two.  And a baby might love solids at 6 months (and may indicate readiness by pulling your food off your plate and stuffing it into their mouth) or be resistant and just experiment until they are 18 months.  There are a lot of nursing moms who find their kids take to solids with great gusto and there are a lot of formula feeding moms who are still giving their younger toddler most of their calories that way.  My personal experience is a mostly formula fed kiddo who only really started eating for calories at about 16 months and a nursing little one who ate larger servings than her big brother by the time she was 8 months old.  She is still nursing at two and a half.  And she still eats more than he does many days (he is 4).

Assumption 2.  Babies nurse for food, for comfort, for immunities, for cuddle time, for a whole bunch of reasons.  Nursing keeps happening even when babies are getting most of their nutrition from food, it just doesn’t happen every hour for 45 minutes like it does with newborns (or no mother could cope).  It happens in “drive by” sessions here and there through out the day.  Or as one nursing session while they fall asleep (or when they hurt themselves).  Or in a number of other scenarios.  The time frame for each child is different but I know a lot of mothers nursing 2 (and up) year olds and no-one is nursing them 8 times a day.

So babies can nurse into toddlerhood and eat solid food.

-Sarale

Myth: Nursing beyond infancy is more about the mother’s needs, than the child’s.

Of the many misconceptions that I have heard about toddler nursing, this is one that has me scratching my head the most. It’s one I hear with increasing frequency. That mothers who do not wean their children by a certain deadline are worried more about their own needs and attempt to artificially prolong dependency.

Anyone who has ever tried to cajole an unwilling toddler into doing….well anything….knows it’s not an easy task. Even something as simple as managing three meals a day can be an epic battle. “Let’s eat dinner.” “NO!” A child who is ready to wean will not continue to nurse. However, a mother may continue to nurse her child beyond her predicted timeline when she sees that it is still important to the well being of her individual child. Clearly, it is not a matter of an unwilling child continuing to nurse to meet mom’s needs.

People will say it’s about independence and discipline – that nursing mothers fail to discipline the child to become independent because the mother wishes to have him dependent as long as possible. So, the thinking is that in order to meet a child’s needs, mom must push him towards independence by weaning even if he isn’t ready? Couldn’t this be construed as mom trying to force her will to have an “independent” child to meet her own needs? Why can’t we just assume that as parents we are ALL trying to meet our children’s needs in the best way we know how?

Children don’t go from infant to big kid overnight; it is a slow process. And emerging independence is a part of that process. As parents, we look for the cues from our individual children. For some of us, that includes when a child is ready to wean. And yes, mom’s needs are considered, although typically that means setting limits on nursing over time to achieve a balance between a need for space and a child’s need to nurse. It’s really not any different than any other element of the parent-child relationship over the course of childhood.

-MD

This seems like yesterday….