Tag Archives: Breastfeeding

Day Three: Keep, Trash, Donate

Today’s episode of Keep Trash Donate is not sponsored by my ass. I will give you a moment to be sad.

I thought I’d move on to another part of me that gets no attention. Well, they get a lot of attention but mostly from my nine month old. Lucy is getting teeth this week which means I have a boob out about 20 hours a day. Oddly a single boob is even less than 50% as sexy as a pair of boobs. I will leave that to the mathematicians among us to figure out.

Donate – I am getting rid of a terribly cute dress. It’s purple. And purple is cute. It is a “nursing dress” which means it has two secret mysterious spots to stick a boob out. And it is designed to hide the extra chub one is likely to be carrying after having a baby. I wore it the day I went to have my colposcopy after Lucy was born. (How dare I bring up women’s health issues during Movember?! Jeez, can’t men have just one month!?) Staring in to my closet this morning I realized I haven’t worn it since that day. That was almost eight months ago. I get my boobs out about ten times a day. 10 times 30 days times almost 8 months? 2400 times I have pulled a boob out and that dress didn’t scream “Wear me!” from my closet so it is outta here.

Trash – In to the trash will go a t-shirt I have had since Emily was six weeks old. It’s a pretty spectacular t-shirt really. It has the whole I am one shirt masquerading as two t-shirts thing going on. I enjoy that. A lifetime ago I was a skinny mini and could have appeared in public in nine layered shirts. A couple of kids and a whole lot of pints of ice cream later, not so much. Now I walk that fine line of searching for the ideal coverage. Not skin tight, because nobody needs to see that, but not so loose that it looks like I am hiding something far worse even than reality. Consequently the I am really one shirt but I look like two shirtst-shirt is a great choice. Even better this t-shirt is another item in my nursing clothes repertoire. You can lift up the top layer and pull a boob out of the gigantic underneath arm holes. Gelatinous stomach is covered, boob is exposed. Win win.

So, why am I throwing it out? I was carrying Lucy when I smelled it. Poop. I pulled it off, sprayed a little laundry schmutz on it and I went to throw it in the washing machine when I saw another tan-ish stain on the arm. It had been on there for years. About seven years, actually. This shirt has always had a tan stain on the forearm. I just ignored it. It was a comfy shirt, nursing mom or not. In that moment I knew I had been wearing a shirt with a shit stain on it for seven years. I don’t actually know that tan stain was shit. But I feel it in my bones. I am not ever gonna wear that shirt again. Trash. Day three.

Keep? I don’t mind if I do. I donated a nursing friendly dress. I trashed a nursing t-shirt. What am I keeping? Is it a nursing friendly tank top or a fun sweater that buttons up the front? Nope. Is that because I don’t plan to nurse Lucy as long as I nursed Em? Nope. I just don’t plan to wear nursing dresses and t-shirts for the next four years so I will be keeping these shoes. They are gorgeous. Most recently they were the crown jewel in my Halloween costume. 1983’s A Christmas Story. The Leg Lamp. “Only one thing in the world could’ve dragged me away from the soft glow of electric sex gleaming in the window.”

Day three. Keep Trash Donate. Some day I will be standing just over six feet and two inches tall at a cocktail party and my kids will be at home with a babysitter. I will be making wonderfully amusing small talk in a beautiful pair of heels. I will not be wearing a purple nursing dress shaped like a tent or a t-shirt with shit on the sleeve. Or a lampshade.

Mark my words.

Everything you need to know about Parenting you can learn in AA

Time and again I chuckle about the similarities.  This business of raising children is not too dissimilar to that of being a recovering alcoholic.

Yesterday morning  I allowed myself to be overwhelmed with the changes that are happening too rapidly for my tastes. But later in the afternoon I pulled it together and reminded myself that I needed to live today, “one day at a time.”  And furthermore, I needed to accept the things I cannot change.

With the Serenity Prayer going around and around in my head I set off to the store.  If my tiny little baby insisted upon crawling it was time for a gate at the bottom of the stairs.  My compulsion to keep all things kid and baby out of the adult living spaces at night is challenged by the baby gate’s addition.  However I think I succeeded in making it not stick out like a sore thumb.  With the addition of a square baluster I stained to match my hand railing and a round piece of wood I painted to match my trim I was able to get around the uneven surface issues presented by my trim molding and my handrail.  I am available via email for How To Make My Baby Gate Less Ugly consulting services.  I can be reached at IHaveTooMuchFreeTime@stayathomemom.com.

It’s hard to swallow.  This tiny little baby is almost seven months old and army crawling all over the place.  She will be standing at the gate hollering for her sister in a matter of moments.  But today, today is she is still my baby.  Because today I woke to a nursling in footie pajamas.

Years from now you will be able to spot her in a group picture from middle school.  “Which one is Lucy?” someone will ask. “She is the one in the footie pajamas” another mom will answer. And she will lower her voice to a whisper and mouth “Last baby, the poor mother, she has issues…”  You think I am kidding?

GFunkified

My Friends are Farmers

I dare you to spend a moment with a goat and not smile. As they hop about and run willy nilly I am reminded of the toddler that Emily was and the toddler that Lucy will soon become.

Watching Emily hold a duckling I think about how long ago it seems that Lucy was so fragile. The time passes too quickly. I wonder if I am really ready to decide that she will be my last baby.

Steve tells me about the three sows in the pig’s pen that all had piglets within a short period of time. I smile and think about how much I enjoyed being pregnant at the same time as my friend and neighbor twice! The piglets line up to nurse and I notice that they vary in size radically. Steve explains to me that the piglets will nurse from any one of the sows. I imagine the raised eye brows if I were I to ask my friends’ kids “Anyone else wanna eat while I sit here? Lucy only needs one boob at a time.”

Lucy poops all over herself and Jenny tells her it is no big deal. Poop is no big deal on the farm. It’s just part of life.
Birth and death and poop and breastfeeding . You can’t scare a farmer. You can nurse your baby at the table and it’s not the most interesting thing they’ve seen all day.
Conversation steers back to Lucy as she sits on the picnic table, grinning ear to ear in just her diaper. We talk about her sweet face, her soft skin. “It’s like foreskin.”
What?
I look at Steve’s face to see if he is kidding. I don’t know him well enough to guess. I look to Jenny. And then to MQD. They are both smiling and nodding.
I really can’t be the only one that thinks that it is super weird to liken my sweet baby to a penis part. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“Her skin. It’s like porcelain.”
Ahhh. Of course. And out of mouth before I can stop it comes “Oh man, I thought you said foreskin!!”

And just like that “The Day We Went and Had Ice Cream With Jenny and Steve on the Farm” became “The Day Lucy Was as Soft as Foreskin.”

You can’t take me anywhere.

Twinkle Toes

I thought my new running shorts were giving me a rash. Two red patches on my thighs. I was getting annoyed. I love those shorts. I don’t want to get rid of them….

It is 5:45 in the morning and I am wide awake. Can’t sleep…

20120619-073859.jpg

Someone else is waking up, too. She rubs her eyes and she smiles sweetly. She rolls over on to her side, facing me and I noticed how long she is getting.

She nuzzles up against me and helps herself to breakfast. She is excelling in the area of time management already, combining her morning stretches and her breakfast. She arches her back and points her toes.

She rolls over again. Stretching completed she gets down to business nursing. Such a big, tall girl. Her feet resting against my thighs as she is nursing.

When Fisher dreams he wiggles his feet back and forth. I don’t know where he is running or what he is chasing, but always in his deep sleep his paws are humming along.

Lucy!!! As she is nursing she is wiggling, wriggling, inch-worming her way around the bed. Her little non-slip grippies on her pajama’d feet slowly digging a hole in the tops of my thighs! It’s Lucy! Not my new running shorts.

And that’s good news. I didn’t want to get rid of them. The new shorts. They make my butt look good. And Lucy? Well, she is the reason my boobs are so big right now so I guess she is staying, too.

But the pajamas? They may have to go. Who needs non-skid feet at less than five months old? C’mon.

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….

Judgy McJudge

In light of the recent TIME magazine cover stirring up so much talk about parenting styles I have found myself feeling inclined to defend my parenting choices. But I have remained quiet. Once you start to defend yourself everything goes to shit. How I choose to feed my kids, or where they sleep or how I discipline isn’t really up to the woman behind me in line at the grocery store that tries to strike up a conversation. And while it is not really up to my friends and family either I am fortunate enough to have trusting and understanding people around me that respect our decisions to parent our children in the best way we see fit.

I have tried to avoid the comments online. I don’t really need to know that strangers think nursing your toddler is disgusting and that bed-sharing is appalling. I am confident in my beliefs. I read. I researched. And then I listened to my heart. So far, so good. Em is almost seven. She loves me. She remembers nursing and speaks fondly of those stolen moments at night before she fell asleep as a nursing toddler. And she sleeps in her own bed now. Lucy will do all of those things, too.

Attachment Parenting can be tough on a father during the first few months. MQD is a believer in bed-sharing. I really should let him snuggle with the real, live baby sometimes.

I try very hard not to judge other mothers. “Mommy guilt,” the “mommy wars,” pretty much any descriptor that begins with “mommy” makes my skin crawl. They all seem to set up a divide. You’re in or you’re out. While I have dear friends that parent very differently than I do I know they love their kids. And that’s enough for me. And the Mommies that I don’t know personally? I try not to judge them, too. I try to assume (and yes, I know what happens when you assume) that they love their kids, too.

But don’t get me wrong. I do judge. Silently. On the inside. I try not to. I examine my instincts to question someone’s choices all while remaining indignant over the questioning of my own. Perhaps judge is the wrong word. There is not always a value associated with my thought process. Sometimes I just wonder why. Why wouldn’t you want to XYZ (insert a parenting technique that works for me.) While I do believe that many of the eight principles of attachment parenting truly do lay the groundwork for growing exceptional, kind and compassionate children I also believe that attachment parenting studies provide the research to support what I’d want to do anyway. Hold on. Tight. To that little creature that is gonna grow up so damn fast. Don’t miss a minute. And above all show and teach them loving kindness. While they eat, while they sleep, while they are disciplined. And as I said yesterday loving my people, that’s my jam. It rings my bell.

I saw a woman at the airport sitting next to her infant. She was reading a magazine. Baby had a bottle propped on a blanket in their carrier. “Bottle propping” is dangerous due to the risk of asphyxiation. There’s that. But the baby was eating. Alone. And Mom? She was reading a news magazine. There is nothing that makes you smile in a news magazine. It made me sad. Not the bottle, feed your kid what you want and how you want (unless, of course, you ask me what I think.) But the disconnect. The lack of joy.

There is so little opportunity to communicate with an infant successfully, so many moments when you wish you knew what they wanted or needed, when their crying little eyes stare in to yours and you hope against hope that they know you are trying so hard to understand and that you love them enough to walk through fire.

But the simple moment when a nursing baby (and I would assume it is true of a bottle fed baby, as well) looks up at you while they munch away with big, wide eyes and you say “You were hungry, baby?” I wouldn’t give that up. Not for a Newsweek. Because in that moment I know without a shred of doubt I am doing exactly what I need to be doing. I need those moments. You were hungry. I am feeding you. Win win. To push back to the back of my head all the moments where I thought “what the shit do you want?? You are fed and dry and rested!! Please!! I don’t speak baby!!!!” followed up with the over tired leap to “I am a FAILURE as a mother!!!!”

So, the bottle-propping mother gets a raised eyebrow. But alongside the judgement is a question. Don’t you know you’re missing it? A moment where you would be rewarded with a gold star on your Mommy Chart.

And then yesterday afternoon I was sitting with Lucy. I thought of that mother at the airport. It had been a long day. Lucy was eating. I chuckled. It’s not bottle propping if she can hold it herself, right? She is four months old and so capable and strong. Almost feeding herself, all fifteen independent little pounds of her. Too bad I couldn’t sneak away and pee all alone. 20120518-081618.jpg

Perfectly Normal at Night!

I woke this morning and felt like a B movie actress in an old-school Skinemax flick. My bed has been more Slip and Slide than Soft Core in the last three months. Now would be a good time for my male readers (in particular those to whom I am related) to just move along.

My post partum bleeding was average. But my hyper focus on doing and being everything to everyone meant it came back for round two. “You’re doing too much,” said the midwife. But I have a six year old and an infant and a husband and I am trying to justify in my own mind why I do not have much of an income anymore!! So that means I need to spread mulch and clean my ceiling fans, right?

And then I decided that jogging at 6 weeks post partum was important to my sanity. And the post partum bleeding came back again.

If that weren’t enough fun… my period returned at 9 weeks in spite of my frequent night nursing and the voracious day time appetite of my nursling. Lucky girl, right? Exclusive breastfeeding is supposed to postpone the return of your fertility.

I have a three month old baby this week and will be celebrating my one year wedding anniversary on April 30th. Do the math. I am plenty fertile. We may actually have gotten pregnant at the altar. So back to the midwive’s office I went for a new IUD.

In spite of my issues with my last one there is no better non-hormonal way to prevent pregnancy. Unless you count infant-induced abstinence. The new IUD brought with it the week long “spotting.” Have all the sex you want, just ignore the bleeding, right?

So that about sums up the leaking in the southern regions. Upstairs? My side of the bed has smelled like sweetened condensed milk for the last three months. If you’ve not ever been or loved a lactating woman perhaps you are unaware of this fun fact – milk does not let down only from the boob to which the baby is attached. Boobs are on or off. There is no fade. No balance, like the car stereo. Nursing pads have been my constant companion. And one must hold them in place with something. So add to the equation a sports bra, a nursing tank, something. All. the. time.

Add it all up. The exercise, the hair cut, the positive outlook, the husband and the newlywed status (for three more days!) and I still didn’t really feel like a Woman. Contrary to any kind of logic, all of this very female leaking does not magnify my Womanliness in my own mind.

But this morning I woke up feeling like a capital letter W Woman. I still had a wiggly baby to my right. And a bed rail. And a towel I had stuffed down my shirt next to the opposite boob and dark circles under my eyes because a certain someone woke up four times last night to eat (thank you very much three month growth spurt.) So why did I wake feeling more Miss Universe and less Mother of the Year?

I went to bed last night in black underwear and no nursing bra and a black tank top with easy access (for the kiddo! don’t get excited.) And I woke up dry.
Unencumbered by leak-catchers of any sort.

And damn if I didn’t feel smokin’. Who knew the absence of my own bodily fluids is all it would take? Sitting right now with my laptop perched on the arm of the rocking chair,drool running down my arm, in the clothes I was wearing yesterday I threw on so I could peel myself out of bed to pack lunch for school… I still feel unstoppable.

I snapped a picture this morning to remind me who I am under all of this Mom-ness. My stomach may only be flat when I lie down. And my stretch marks are still visible, even in the early morning light. But there is a hip bone under there. And a bare shoulder. And they need some attention.

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* Shout out to Keller Williams for the title. All morning I have been singing Freeker by the Speaker to myself. Subbing out “Leaker” for Freeker and tweaker. Try it. It’s catchy. “Leaker! Right by the speaker, never seem to get enough. Priceless expression when space is possession. Like yeah, that’s the stuff…”

I just might bust out a windmill or a backspin at the grocery store today.

Boobs!

This is another all time favorite.  It reminds me of a few of my favorite things.

Becoming a mother.  Nurturing my relationship with Emily through nursing, and our journey as a breastfeeding dyad.  Getting to know a handful of truly amazing women that supported me and encouraged me to get involved with La Leche League.  And Boobs!

I could use today’s post about my boob ornament as a platform for discussing breastfeeding.  The impact that it had on me as a mother, on my parenting choices or  the impact I believe it had on Emily.   But I suspect that in the coming year I will talk more about my boobs and the magic that they share with this new baby than any of you care to read about.

I am not really very good at making friends with women.  And groups of women I find even more intimidating than happening upon them one at a time.  I’d not been attending La Leche League meetings long when the Ornament Making party was scheduled.  All in attendance at the meetings were invited, but me being me, I just couldn’t quite wrap my mind around actually going.   It wasn’t really a meeting.  And they had to invite everyone to be nice, right?  So maybe I shouldn’t go…   And I chickened out.

Later in the holiday season imagine my delight when I saw the La Leche League tree at Hotline‘s Festival of Trees. It was a tree covered in golden glittering boobs.  I had found my people.

So many years later I am delighted all over again when I take them out of their cocoon.  There are only a handful of ornaments that get carefully wrapped in paper towels.   And my boobs?  I take very careful care of my boobs.

Merry Christmas, Boobs.  Big, small, lactating, push up brassiered, sports bra bound, hot dog nippled, bartending money makers, middle school distractions, you have meant so much to me and so many others through the years.  I’ll raise a glass to you again soon enough.

A boob blast from the past…

A story for Karen

Emily was teeny, maybe two or three weeks old, small enough that I could still nurse her and hold her with one arm. I hadn’t yet mastered the nursing in the sling so I walked around with her passed out on my forearm a lot.

It was the middle of the afternoon and our cable went out. (Acckkk!! I had a teeny baby, I never watched so much TV!)  I called and was pleased that they could send someone right over.  The cable guy comes to the door. I was even more pleased.  Very, very cute… maybe 25.  At this point in new momdom  I have not seen a human being to whom I am not related in weeks.  I look down and Emily is nursing away and my boob is pretty well hidden.  I had not yet perfected the boob out the armpit hole of a wife beater (there is so much wrong with that image)  that became my preferred method.  So, instead of the zip up hoodie and tank top I later came to live in I was still regularly wearing one of three rugby style shirts that buttoned up the front.  I had my boob popped out the middle.

I go out on the deck to let the guy know to come in downstairs. I run down and let him in so the dog doesn’t jump all over him, he chats with me for a second and I go back inside, still thinking how cute he is. He hollers upstairs that he needs to go in the back yard so I bring Fisher back inside.

Eventually, I had to sign the form so I met him on the stairs coming down from the deck.  All of this with a three week old, eight pound baby asleep on my forearm.  I could make dinner that way,  change my clothes, pee, read a book, cross stitch.   It was like I could almost forget she was there.  I’m standing on the steps, several steps above the adorable Cable Guy.  We are talking  about the cable line and the adorable Cable Guy, he is staring at me. Deep, staring in to my eyes. So much so that I might have even blushed.

I am walking up the stairs thinking to myself, you know mama, you still got it. He was all about your fine ass, you got this… and then I went to open the sliding glass door. It stuck so I looked down to see if it was locked. And when I looked down I realized Emily had nodded off.  Literally.  Her head was rolled over to the side and my boob was just there, staring out my shirt, like a cyclops. The poor guy was staring in to my eyes because I was standing two stairs up from him, my nipple staring him in the face!! He was just trying not to look down!

I met him, the adorable Cable Guy, months later. At Hooters appropriately enough. Yup, he didn’t remember my face. I said “Maybe I should whip my boob out to remind you of who I am?” He replies, “Did you work here? ohh… no, you’re the boob lady with the baby.”