Showing posts with label breastfeeding. Show all posts
Showing posts with label breastfeeding. Show all posts

Friday, May 11, 2012

Five-Minute Friday: Identity

They began to grate on my nerves each time I saw them, seemingly Scarlet Letters of sorts.

What was meant to be a resource for the lonely and seeking mother, turned into flashy, glaring badges defining me and thus defining you by parenting styles we've chosen or not chosen to embrace.

And so the Attachement Parenting, Breastfeeding and Babywearing buttons had to come down from the sidebar of my home here online during my recent redesign by the fabulous Alita Jewel.

Not because I don't passionately believe in the benefits of breastfeeding and babywearing and the basic tenants of AP such as loving and respecting each person in the family no matter how tiny

but because I don't see you as a breastfeeding mom or a formula feeding mom

a babywearing mom versus a stroller-pushing mom

an AP or a Babywise mom.

I see you

I see me as

whole people

who are loved beyond our modest understanding.

We are more.

More than our parenting choices.

More than our jobs.

More than our self-professed roles.

We are valued

and chosen

and wildly loved

and complexly created

by a Master Artist.

I wasn't planning to explain the facelift here but timing seems serendipitous as my online home was revamped just a week before the controversial Time magazine cover of a mother nursing her toddler son with a cover story title asking Are You Mom Enough? began yet another firestorm. {I'm not linking there, but you can search it if you'd like.}

And I'd like,

if I could, to answer

that for us all

regardless of if we nurse

by bottle or breast

when we are nourishing our loves with love --

that, no,

we are not mom enough.

we are more

because we are beloved beyond belief.



Monday, March 19, 2012

Thinking, that's all: Dry

His dark, thick lashes have been falling heavily over his cornflower blue eyes for the past few days; he's been mega sick with some sort of virus, mostly like influenza, and his two and a half year old body doesn't know what to do with such an unwelcome intruder, so it keeps falling into pockets of rest that stretch over long hours during the day.

Sick snuggles

He's only wanted to snuggle, really, to have his small body pressed against the warmth of mine or his dad's for hours at a time.

I was a willing hostage in his embrace last night from 8:30 until 9 this morning.

Through his coughs, his whimpers, his stuffy breathing, he whispered pitifully a few razor words to my heart.

Mai mahhhmeee.

Oh, I am your mommy, baby boy, I am. And I pray, oh I pray, that God sends healing through your body and gives you buckets of energy in the morning.

And then, in the darkness, there are bursts of minutes stretched into half hour, drenched with his tears and sobs of frustration, that leave me feeling lost. Completely and utterly lost.

Because I know what would help him rest easy, rehydrate, calm down and nourish.

But it's gone dry.

All of my milk.

Not even a tiny trickle left for these dark nights filled with exhaustion and sickness.

I feel like Superman drained of my superpower.

My baby cling-wraps his arms around my neck, and I shed fat tears drops on his hair, my pillow.

What I thought only to be a drought has turned to sandy desert; he hasn't asked to nurse in about two months, and now it's gone.

He doesn't ask for milk, though. Instead he just nestles his head deeper and deeper into my own soft skin and the whimpering fades into rhythmic breaths of peaceful sleep, his tears dry.

Eventually so do my own.

Everything dries.

And I stumble through this first desert with one less of a mother's superpowers in this evolved, this stretched skin of motherhood.

Monday, January 16, 2012

Everyday Life: On Again

I'd thought we were done.

He hadn't asked me to nurse in three weeks.

About the time we found out we were pregnant again, he lost interest in nursing.

So I just let it go.

And then, suddenly, I wasn't pregnant anymore.

And he fell and hit his head, probably making more of a mess of my own brain than his.

He asked for milk at the emergency room; I obliged.

And then holy mother load.

His cup overflows.

And we are a nursing duo again.

I'm not sure who is reaping more of the benefits -- him and his immune system or me and my oxytocin-craving brain.

But either way, game on. {Again. Until the game is off. Again. Toddlers are fickle little people, so I'm just going along for the ride with the cutest little bundle of two years old, who I'm sure, again, is helping nurse me back to life.}
E

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Breastfeeding: Bringing Nursing Back

I figured there's no better time to reshare how I became a self-proclaimed lactavist than during the celebration of World Breastfeeding Week. So, here's how I was liberated from hiding in the bathroom while nursing.






Much like spring break tends to liberate even the prudest of college girls, hanging around the senior citizen crowd unleashed a whole new side of me during a recent vacation from snow-covered Chicago to sunny, warm Fort Myers.

Just like those spring break girls, I now am equally unashamed of baring some boob. Of course, though, I'd like to think mine is for a nobler reason than winning a wet T-shirt contest. After all, I'm nourishing a baby with my girls not just feeding the bare-skin desires of some 20-something guys at the local beach bar. Friends, I have become an unabashed, unashamed lactavist.

A lacta wha?

You know, a mama who isn't going to go hide out in the corner of any restroom to nurse her babe while dining out because she doesn't want to offend anyone who just might get a glimpse of breast while her baby is (gasp!) breastfeeding.

I used to be that kind of breastfeeding mother. I used to care about other people's comfort while I was feeding my child. I used to feel like I needed to be politically correct about nursing -- didn't want to accidentally have baby give anyone a peep show during a nursing session because baby deemed something else more interesting than eating. I'd spend nursing sessions wrestling to feed my baby while shielding the world from him and my breast with a nursing cover only for baby to squirm out from underneath and abandon his lunch because he didn't want to be hidden. I'd leave interesting dinner table conversations to hide in a restroom and nurse my little guy so no one around us would feel uncomfortable if they got a glimpse of skin.

I assure you I didn't know it before we hauled our suitcases through the gated, ritzy golf-club community my grandparents call home during the brrr-cold Chicago winters. But those seniors, well, they inadvertently unleashed the breastfeeding advocate living inside this (formerly) politically correct nursing mother.

We were at the pool. We were seated next to some older gentlemen who were lounging in chairs under the warm Florida sun. They must have thought I couldn't hear what they were saying because they were discussing how nice spring break time is because of the change of landscape among the pool crowd. They very obviously were not referring to the rose bushes but rather the young ladies clad in bikinis who were now poolside instead of the older ladies sporting full bathing suits and swim caps during water aerobics. And they were very, very happy to have this change of scenery.


Fast forward to eating at the classy club house located next to the pool where these young ladies sun themselves with their cleavage showcased nicely for anyone to see through the windows.

One of my dining companions leaned over and suggested that perhaps if my little baby wanted to nurse during dinner, I could sneak over to the Billiards room because it would be quiet.

"A lot of these people are old fashioned and conservative," she whispered.

My mind raced back to the gentlemen's poolside conversation; and just like that, I exploded volcano style into a lactavist.

"If the baby wants to eat, I'll feed him in here," I said. "This is a dining room. And if he wants to eat, he'll be dining here in the dining room."

She looked a little taken aback by my answer because I've always been conservative. But you know what -- I still am! I'm a conservative lactavist, and for me, the two go hand in hand.

You won't see me out at the beach displaying my goods for all to see in the name of sexy. You won't find my girls popping out of my shirt in the name of fashion. And you certainly won't find me scampering around the beach busting out of my bathing suit in an attempt to be visually appealing landscape.

But you will find me baring some boob in name of nourishment, in the name of bonding, in the name of snuggling and in the name of loving my baby and giving him the very best nutrition I can.

Because if I hide in a bathroom to nurse my baby or bury him under a nursing cover in an effort to shield my breast while doing the very thing my breasts were made for, I'm not doing anything except for perpetuating the societal myth that breasts are only for bringing sexy back.

And, mamas, though I care about sexy, I'm using these bad boys for bringing nursing back.



***



celebrate-wbw-npn-450


I’m celebrating World Breastfeeding Week with Natural Parents Network!



You can, too — link up your breastfeeding posts from August 1-7 in the linky below, and enjoy reading, commenting on, and sharing the posts collected here and on Natural Parents Network.(Visit NPN for the code to place on your blog.)



This article was orginally published at Chicago Moms Blog in April 2010.

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Bigger Picture Moment: The Tango that is Nursing a Toddler

After 39 months of nursing two little ones, 21 of these last months spent solely nursing E, I've been giving considerable thought to weaning.

But as with any tango, it takes two to dance, and it takes two to call it a night as well.

A self-proclaimed lactivist, much of my inner dialogue balks at the idea of even thinking of weaning my little one before the music's ended and he's taken the lead to move us off of the dance floor.

But, alas, here I am wondering how much longer I can dance at this intensity.

More accurately, here I am, a dancer who's all touched out.

Despite all of the reasons I adore our nursing relationship and passionately support breastfeeding from newborn well into toddlerhood or beyond, I'm finding myself at a complicated place of really wanting my body back for a few months before possibly sporting a brand-new pregnant belly again as well as really wanting to take my few scheduled trips sans kiddos without a pump permanently attached to my breast.

I'd be quite happy to simply slim down our sessions to ones just before bed or nap ... but at 21 months old, E pretty much thinks that the land of flowing mommy milk and honey is a God-given right to all toddlers in search of life, liberty and the pursuit of warm mommy snuggles.

So weaning?

Thems fightin' words.

Literally.

Currently, I need a drawbridge and mote to escape my persistent toddler when he is insistent on nursing. My linebacker child has been known to rearrange an entire dining room set and scale the entire dining room table only to plop down right on my lap and sign for milk after completing the obstacle course.

For those who have never nursed a toddler or even a baby, I know probably it seems strange to think that I'd still be nursing a little one who will turn two this fall.

And the above scenario? It probably sounds extremely weird. To the pre-baby me, it would have sounded absolutely ludicrous to continue nursing a child who could wash down his hamburger with some breastmilk.

So I get it -- this so-called "extended" nursing thing is counter cultural, it's really against the grain and it's really hard to explain to those who are outside of the relationship.

I can assure you, though, that the weaning process isn't as easy as just stopping.

Because nursing is about connection, with oxytocin --the mothering hormone -- coursing through mom's body and the calming act of suckling combined with sweet milk flowing to a nursling whose pressed gently against the skin of his favorite person. Even beyond just physical connection, there's something intensely physiological and physcological occurring every time the two sit down and connect in this way.

And honestly?

Nursing has pretty much been the key to much of the relative peacefulness in my and E's everyday life together. It's calming to both of us ... except for when it's not, like now, when I'd really like my body back again before we embark on a third journey that will likely result in a few more years of nursing another child.

These thoughts of nursing and weaning come just days before John and I are going be away from E for a few nights to attend a conference.

I'm sure E will fare just fine without his beloved mommy milk for two and a half days; likely since he'll be with Buba and Grandma, he'll have all of the organic hotdogs and strawberries he could ever want.

When I'm out of sight, mommy milk is out of his mind.

However, I'm not sure sure how we're both going to survive when I return if he finds the previously generous flow of milk has slowed to a trickle.

I'm left nervously anticipating the consequences of such a situation.

Because after G weaned {much to his irritation at there being no milk by the half way point of my pregnancy}, our relationship morphed from one of relative peace and closeness to daily altercations and struggles of will.

I wonder, if an abrupt weaning like that should happen, if E's reaction would likely mirror his brother's.

And how could I blame him? What could possibly seem unappealing to a little person about sipping sweet cream and snuggling up with mommy several times a day?

Fast asleep post nursing

So, I don't know that I'm ready for our relationship to drastically change.

And if we return home, my milk still flowing and unaffected by the separation, I don't know if I'm ready for our relationship NOT to change either. And I don't want to be the soulless dancer just going through the motions.

Because I know that nursing is more than nutrients in, breastmilk out, belly full, breast empty just like the tango is more than a few steps to the right, a few steps to the left and a swoop of the foot before the final dip.

There's heart. And there's soul. And there's love in each step that makes up the complexity, the loveliness of the dance.

So I know -- it truly takes two to dance the tango that is nursing.

And I'm praying that somehow I have the heart to keep up with the rhythm of the dance or that music slowly fades into a new song that we're both ready to learn.

Simple BPM

Did you see a glimpse of the bigger picture through a simple moment this week? Link up with Sarah today to share the harvest of living intentionally with others on the journey.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Bigger Picture Moment: When people ask about when we'll stop nursing ..

{I don't have many words to explain other than ...}

Sometimes, you strip down to your birthday suit, characteristic of your freedom-loving self, and

toddlerunruntoddletoddlerunrun

right over to me and fall trustingly into my arms.

I scoop you up, feet still dancing, and kiss soft patches of chubby belly while you giggle and giggle and giggle some more.

You're happy enough to laugh and play for a few minutes, but shortly after the novelty of raspberries against bare skin fades, you snuggle your head into the crook of my arm and stretch your legs across the width of my hips intent on completeing your orginal mission.

As you settle in to drink your fill, nostalgia sweeps over me and for a moment, I'm nursing a fresh-born baby, soft warm skin against soft warm skin, on his birth day, mesmerized by your cornflower blue eyes for the first time.

day 217

Nineteen months later, my heart still swells every time I have the chance to snuggle your body against my own.

And each time, I marvel at the view from here.

Simple BPM

Every week we share the harvest of intentional living by capturing a glimpse of the biggger picture through a simple moment. Won't you join us in the journey and share your own over at Alita's today?

Live. Capture. Share. Encourage.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Virtual Coffee: Eleven

Were we meeting in person for coffee today, it would likely be at a coffee shop.

You'd thank me, really, for not inviting you over to my casa as we're having an ongoing skunk-smell saga and the whiffs hit at the most unexpected times.

Skunk smell? you might ask.

I'd nod my head as we ordered our drinks -- mine a hot tea to help soothe the allergen-induced mess that are my sinuses -- and share that E wandered in the back door Saturday reeking of disgustingness.

He was covered head to toe in dirt, so I first thought that perhaps he was digging through a portion of the garden where maybe something had long past expired. But upon looking, there was nothing.

We immediately doused the kid in water under the sink, and the smell would.not.budge.

After several scrubbings, I consulted Goodle. And I landed on skunk odor being the most likely culprit.

Did you know skunk spray stays on the ground for up to THREE YEARS?

No?

I kid you not.

After much facebooking discussion, we finally found a remedy that took the skunkiness smell away: coffee grounds.

Well, it took it away until yesterday.

When he pooped.

Dirt and skunk smell really makes you thankful for regular old dirty diapers.

So I thought we got away from all of this skunkiness and then I opened the windows late yesterday afternoon.

And holy overwhleming stench -- the skunk smell was back, drifting into our open living room windows.

Anyway, long story short, we're still trying to figure out where the smell is coming from now that it's {seemingly-oh-dear-God hopefully} exited E's body.

Either you'd be laughing by now at the ridiculousness or you'd be wondering why you decided to meet me for coffee today if we were going to discuss such messes as skunks and bodily functions gone wrong, so I'd quickly the change the subject ask how this week has treated you thus far.

We'd probably talk about the stellar summer-like weather that descended on Chicago's neck of the woods {suburbs?}.

We've been basking in mild temps and enjoying almost everything spring -- except the allergies.

Last night, I woke up around 2 a.m. convinced I'd somehow developed strep while sleeping. But upon waking this morning, I realized it was all allergy related because the symptoms totally subsided.

And while we're talking sleep, I have to whisper -- I say whisper so as to not totally doom tonight -- something: we decided to night wean E this week, and we started last night.

He's been super demanding of lately, and I finally started to feel like I'd fought the good fight for the past 19 months, waking 4-5 times per night to nurse him, and, well, I'm done.

I'm not a nice mommy the day after I've been up every hour nursing and wrestling a milk-crazed toddler, so I knew something needed to change.

And last night -- whispering still -- was so easy.

He woke only once for John, and John was able to snuggle him back to sleep so easily -- no crying or anything, which is totally unlike E.

So this morning, I looked at the Farmer's Almanac -- because the last time E. slept that well, my sister had randomly remarked that she read in the alamanac that it was the best day for weaning a child.

Yeah, I'm not kidding. The Farmer's Almanac really does list best days for weaning {and so much more}, and I really did look though I don't actually put any stock into it.

For the record, today is not one of the best days; of course, we're not following the good ol' almanac, so we'll be proceeding with the night weaning again tonight.

Pray for us. :)

What's new in your world? Allergies making you wish for winter to come back? Farmer's Alamanac got you giggling? Ha! Probably I'm the only who is totally amused by such strange things. ;)

Thanks for having coffee with me today and listening to my random babbling!

Photobucket

Friday, March 25, 2011

Five-Minute Friday: Waking Up

His little toddler body squirms next to my own, stirring me awake at 2:03 a.m.

It's only by the soft glow of the bathroom nightlight that I see his mouth open and head turn back and forth, back and forth, eyes still closed, like a baby bird waiting for its mother to fill his mouth with food.

I thought by this point in toddlerhood that we'd be finished with this whole waking-up-to-nurse-during-the-night thing.

I have apparently underestimated the plans of a certain toddler, though, because every night, as surely as the moon rises in the darkened spring sky, I rise as well to nurse my not-so-baby baby.

And I find myself continuing because he is my baby.

Because even though I'm oh-so tired some mornings, and I'm oh-so ready for a solid eight hours of sleep most nights, I've yet to become ready for him to morph into something other than my baby.

So we wake. We nurse. And I bask in these last few moments of his fleeting babyness. Because I know we won't be waking up together anymore, like this, soon enough.

****




That's time! I have so much more emotion pumping through my heart about this one -- so much more conflict in my head; five minute just won't do it justice. But those are the rules for Five-Minute Friday posts-- write for five minutes straight with reckless abandon for grammar or style of writing the right way.
This week's Five-Minute Friday prompt at The Gypsy Mama was Waking Up.

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Breastfeeding: Bringing nursing back

This article was orginally published at Chicago Moms Blog in April 2010. I'm ressurecting it in celebration of the Carnival of Nursing in Public over at Nursing Freedom.



Much like spring break tends to liberate even the prudest of college girls, hanging around the senior citizen crowd unleashed a whole new side of me during a recent vacation from snow-covered Chicago to sunny, warm Fort Myers.

Art by Erika Hastings at http://mudspice.wordpress.com/


Just like those spring break girls, I now am equally unashamed of baring some boob. Of course, though, I'd like to think mine is for a nobler reason than winning a wet T-shirt contest. After all, I'm nourishing a baby with my girls not just feeding the bare-skin desires of some 20-something guys at the local beach bar. Friends, I have become an unabashed, unashamed lactavist.

A lacta wha?

You know, a mama who isn't going to go hide out in the corner of any restroom to nurse her babe while dining out because she doesn't want to offend anyone who just might get a glimpse of breast while her baby is (gasp!) breastfeeding.

I used to be that kind of breastfeeding mother. I used to care about other people's comfort while I was feeding my child. I used to feel like I needed to be politically correct about nursing -- didn't want to accidentally have baby give anyone a peep show during a nursing session because baby deemed something else more interesting than eating. I'd spend nursing sessions wrestling to feed my baby while shielding the world from him and my breast with a nursing cover only for baby to squirm out from underneath and abandon his lunch because he didn't want to be hidden. I'd leave interesting dinner table conversations to hide in a restroom and nurse my little guy so no one around us would feel uncomfortable if they got a glimpse of skin.

I assure you I didn't know it before we hauled our suitcases through the gated, ritzy golf-club community my grandparents call home during the brrr-cold Chicago winters. But those seniors, well, they inadvertently unleashed the breastfeeding advocate living inside this (formerly) politically correct nursing mother.

We were at the pool. We were seated next to some older gentlemen who were lounging in chairs under the warm Florida sun. They must have thought I couldn't hear what they were saying because they were discussing how nice spring break time is because of the change of landscape among the pool crowd. They very obviously were not referring to the rose bushes but rather the young ladies clad in bikinis who were now poolside instead of the older ladies sporting full bathing suits and swim caps during water aerobics. And they were very, very happy to have this change of scenery.


Fast forward to eating at the classy club house located next to the pool where these young ladies sun themselves with their cleavage showcased nicely for anyone to see through the windows.

One of my dining companions leaned over and suggested that perhaps if my little baby wanted to nurse during dinner, I could sneak over to the Billiards room because it would be quiet.

"A lot of these people are old fashioned and conservative," she whispered.

My mind raced back to the gentlemen's poolside conversation; and just like that, I exploded volcano style into a lactavist.

"If the baby wants to eat, I'll feed him in here," I said. "This is a dining room. And if he wants to eat, he'll be dining here in the dining room."

She looked a little taken aback by my answer because I've always been conservative. But you know what -- I still am! I'm a conservative lactavist, and for me, the two go hand in hand.

You won't see me out at the beach displaying my goods for all to see in the name of sexy. You won't find my girls popping out of my shirt in the name of fashion. And you certainly won't find me scampering around the beach busting out of my bathing suit in an attempt to be visually appealing landscape.

But you will find me baring some boob in name of nourishment, in the name of bonding, in the name of snuggling and in the name of loving my baby and giving him the very best nutrition I can.

Because if I hide in a bathroom to nurse my baby or bury him under a nursing cover in an effort to shield my breast while doing the very thing my breasts were made for, I'm not doing anything except for perpetuating the societal myth that breasts are only for bringing sexy back.

And, mamas, though I care about sexy, I'm using these bad boys for bringing nursing back.

Thursday, July 8, 2010

Bigger Picture Moments: Nursing me back to life

Welcome to Bigger Picture Moments, a place where we step back and take in life. There are moments where we're so caught up in it all, the hectic mind boggling pace of the day. We encourage you to take this opportunity to take a moment and view the Bigger Picture. Whatever that means to you. A moment where you recognized the role your faith plays in your every day life. A moment where you take note of motherhood and the importance of what you are doing. A moment that made you stop and smell breathe in the bigness of it all. The hugeness that is life and the small moments adding up to one huge Bigger Picture.


Bigger Picture Moment



We hope you'll join us. Take a few moments. Think about your week, and pour however little or much onto a page. Then share. Tell us your moment. Link up this week at Sarah's, grab our button, and share your Bigger Picture Moment. And while you're at it, share the love and check out at least one other participant's moment.


Next week, Melissa will be hosting Bigger Picture Moments. Keep an open mind and heart throughout the week and come back to participate again or for the first time! All are welcome!


I scoop my crawling baby into my arms, cradling his head full of coppery dark hair in the crook of my arm as he signs for milk while making little coughing noises in anticipation of our our nursing session.

Sadly, he's the only one looking forward to it, desiring the time he spends nestled in my arms, at my breast, me nursing him to nourishment and calm.

I'm busy. I'm scrambling around the house throwing things inside our suitcase as warm salty tears escape my eyes.

I'd gotten a call from my sister just 30 minutes before; she'd told me our dad's surgery didn't go as well as the doctors hoped. One specialist said our dad had a 50 percent shot of making it.

I try to swallow the other option, telling myself percentages cannot measure endurance or stubbornness. And certainly our dad had exhibited both in his personal life and professional career. As a captain of his south suburban fire department, I rationalize that he'd been in really hot situations in the past, and he'd always come out on the other side of the flames and billowing smoke. Certainly it'd be like all the other times, I said. Certainly, he'd pull through from an emergency surgery to remove a bowel obstruction.

Baby E. grasps the top of my shirt as he latches on to nurse. His cornflower blue eyes, wide as saucers begin to slowly narrow as the milk starts flowing. The continuous rhythm of suck, suck, suck, swallow, breathe, coo, suck, suck, suck, swallow, breathe, coo becomes the constant sound in my ears in place of my wildly thumping heart, panicky thoughts and rationalizations.

His chubby little hand begins stroking my chest just below my neck, slow, steady, gentle brushes against my skin, bringing my breathing to a slower, steadier rhythm in place of short, gasping breathes. My body sinks into the couch.

My pulse slows as his nursing does ... the rush of the let down has passed and a steady, trickling flow replaces it. Little slivers of blue peak out through drowsy eyelids.

And even though I was in a rush just moments prior, I now want him to nurse just a little longer ... gently sweep his fingers over my skin just a few more times ... I want the peace to last just a little longer. I linger, my half-sleeping, half-nursing baby still cuddled in my arms, wishing I didn't have to move him. I carry him to his car seat, quietly, gingerly strap him in, a new calm washed over my body as we drive to the hospital.

*****
It's moment by the moment, his doctors say.

His kidneys are failing.

His liver is failing.

My dad is fading quickly, but for some reason he's hanging on. His heart is beating strong.

It won't let go. Here's that determination, that characteristic stubbornness at play.

I grip my father's large, olive-complected hands and try to say everything I need to say. But I cannot get everything out through the tears. I finally have to leave his room, escape to the waiting room.

It's been a long week, filled with uncertainty. I've sat in more waiting room chairs than I can count, my heart constantly torn between two places -- his hospital bed and the home that's housing my boys.

My heart is racing, my eyes are brimming with tears, my muscles shrink and tense. As I stumble to the waiting room, I know I need to pump milk for baby E.

I settle in the chair. I have to close my eyes, pretend my baby is really in my arms until the milk flows. And as it quickly begins to plop into the bottle, my baby gifts me with a calm, though he's miles and miles away. It's enough to return to my dad's bed side and finish laying my heart out to him, all while still hoping he pulls through.

****
My cell phone rings when we're minutes away from my mother's house, minutes away from my boys after spending a long day at the hospital. All I hear is crying and gasps of breathe in between my cousin's words ... He's gone.

My husband pushes the gas pedal, accelarates, and when we arrive at my mom's, I rush into the house and scoop up my baby.

He smiles, coos and signs for milk while nuzzling his head into my soft flesh. I cry heavy tears as he latches on, but again find solace in the rhythmic suck, suck, suck, swallow, breathe, coo, suck, suck, suck, swallow, breathe, coo, suck, suck, suck, swallow, breathe, coo .... suck .... suck ... suck ... swallow ... breathe .... coo.

****
It's been a long two months since I've last heard my father's voice, live, over the phone or in person. Grief hits me in tsunami-style waves ... unexpected, towering, unbelievable in strength.

I see a little girl place her small hand in her father's large hand while at the park. My heart sinks into my stomach as I smile back tears. Three-year-old G. is playing on the swings and baby E. is happily playing near my feet, eating dandelions and trying to pick individual blades of grass.

He begins quickly crawling to my feet as the grief hits my heart square in fresh scar tissue. He climbs up my legs, saying "ma ma ma ma ma" and signs milk with his free hand as he steadies his weight on his chubby feet.

I scoop my crawling baby into my arms, cradle his head full of coppery dark hair in the crook of my arm as he continues to sign for milk, making little coughing noises in anticipation of our our nursing session.

But this time, we're both looking forward to it, desiring the time he spends nestled in my arms, nursing me back to life.


Sunday, April 11, 2010

Chicago Moms Blog: He's just that into me

At first, it's just a whisper.
"You're meant to be together."
But as time goes on, it becomes louder.
"You're not meant to lead separate lives right now."
And louder.
"This just isn't the time to be apart."
Until there's an overwhelming volume of voice ringing inside.
"You may have two bodies, but you're still attached! Attached at the hip, the breast, the heart. Now's not the time to be apart for such long spans. He wants to be with you. That will come soon enough."

It doesn't feel right to be gone from baby E for more than a few hours at a time, so I simply try not to do it. But that's easier said than done in a culture that often doesn't see mothering as a priority. Or when surrounded by friends who expect babysitters to effortlessly take your place. Or when turning down invitations for adult-only functions in a time where career and opportunities and money often come before family.

I remember feeling the need for togetherness ever so strongly with my first-born son, too; though then I tried to shove those feelings under the cradle. Perhaps, I wanted to ignore it because I was a full-time, stay-at-home mom who felt like she'd lost all identity except for that of mommy, and I desperately wanted to be me again. Nonetheless, I never could really ignore it, though sometimes I strongly resented it. Invitations to get togethers and events that spanned hours were always considered but were usually declined because I couldn't leave my nurslings for that long. But as I have grown into my mommy skin, I've come to embrace and enjoy that babies and their mothers should be together [when they can]. Because they belong together.[I'm not talking about career mothers who need to work, so let's be clear. This is not, I repeat, not about working moms! So, for the love of God, please put down the torch; my thin skin cannot take much more burn after the breastfeeding post.]

The more I've thought about separation of baby and mom, the more it's become evident that I've turned into the mom who doesn't leave her baby often if she doesn't need to for work or a few hours of sanity.
When I do leave, after two hours pass, my breasts swell with milk, and I'm reminded that we're supposed to be together. The weight of the separation is too heavy for my shoulders; I hurry home.

When I was invited to the Sillicon Valley Moms Chevy brands and bloggers round table discussion and event at the Hard Rock Hotel in Chicago, my overflowing mommy heart began battling with my socialite brain. I wanted to meet my fellow bloggers and learn about how brands and bloggers work together. But I didn't want to leave baby E.
Do I go? Can I leave baby E for eight hours?
Sure, I can, but do I want to leave him for that long? This isn't like going to work, having to provide for my family. This is something that's fun. Yes, I should have fun, but eight hours worth? Without him? Oh, yes, I'm sure he'll survive, but will I survive? I'm a nursing mom; those bad boys overflow with milk every two hours. I don't want to be chained to a breastpump. I'd much rather be attached to my baby.

And thus the argument raged for days within my mind before I exploded in a direct message via Twitter asking Melissa if she thought baby E would be welcomed.
Her response [I love it -- so simple]: just ask!
So I did. Now you know you are working with a clearly intelligent and sincere group of ladies when the answer you recieve is sent only a half hour after the inquiry and it warmly states, "Of course, you can bring your baby. We're all moms after all."
Huge exhale. So it was settled. I didn't have to choose between being a mommy and an event-attending blogger. And that's good because I'm both. The other SV Moms bloggers and brand representatives at the SV Moms Chevy event understood and embraced that at this point I couldn't separate mommy from blogger; I didn't feel any scrutiny or awkwardness even when E. bellowed during the round table discussion, and I had to excuse us several times. Not from the brands or the bloggers or the SV Moms coordinators.
And I realized there, these are the kinds of companies with whom I want to be involved. And the SV Moms group is the kind of group with which I can be proud to partner. Because as Melissa said on our way home, in a totally unrelated conversation, "You cannot be a mommy blogger without being a mommy first." Amen, sister.
Yesterday, after the event, I left feeling like there are people who do understand the importance of mommying. There are people get that mommying isn't something that can be neatly packaged into specific times and spaces, rather it overflows into ever aspect of life at certain periods of the motherhood journey.
While I'm overwhelmingly grateful for those who embrace our temporary togetherness,I've finally come to the point where I'm all right with no one accepting and welcoming it -- with no one being just that into the package deal of "us." Because this little fellow? Well, he's just that into me.
Chicago Moms Blog, Brand & Blogger Roundtable and Mixer
And me? The feelings are reciprocal.

Saturday, April 10, 2010

Breastfeeding: Milking it for all it is worth

I'm resurrecting this post -- originally dated March 1, 2008 -- because today I realized I have nursed both of my children for a total 25 months. And I just learned that if a woman breastfeeds her children for seven years, she has nearly elminated her risk of developing breast cancer. So, in short, this post is serving as a little bit of encouragement for me to keep on milking it for all it's worth. (Though, I think we're going to have to add another baby to this nursing mix if I plan to nurse for 7 years!).

The first night we were home from the hospital with G, my husband John found the baby and me both bawling on the couch at 2 a.m.
G was crying because he was hungry; I was sobbing because I couldn't help G figure out how to get enough milk while using the nipple shield one of the hospital nurses gave me. (The nipple shield is supposed to help the baby latch on; maybe it has some merit, but we found it to be more of a frustration than a help.) To add to the mix, G and I were both tired and frustrated. That night I was seriously tempted to throw in the towel on breastfeeding and give G a bottle. Luckily, John heard our sobs and came to our rescue. I told John to make a bottle full of formula for G to eat. John, however, knew that breastfeeding was something I really wanted to do. He recognized my frustration, denied my request for a bottle full of formula and encouraged me to persevere.
"Tomorrow," he promised, "We'll call the lactation consultant and get help."
Thankfully, after we spoke to Jeanne Cygnus, a board-certified lactation consultant, I never seriously considered feeding G formula again. Though we've had our fair share of struggles (oversupply, engorgement, plugged ducts and soreness), the benefits have most definitely outweighed the hardships. Jeanne brainstormed a top-ten list of reasons why breastfeeding is excellent; consult the list whenever ...
a.) you feel discouraged and ready to give up
b.) you have to explain to your (fill-in-the-blank) why you are still breastfeeding
c.) you feel like a milk machine who barely can keep up with a serial nurser
d.) you leak all over your shirt when a baby cries on TV



10. Save some serious cash -- "With formulas costing anywhere from $150 to more than $400 per month, breastfeeding for the first year can save enough money to buy something you’d REALLY want!" Jeanne said.
Just think, you could make a monthly car payment for what you'd spend on formula. Or you could buy 3 new outfits every month to make up for the lost last few months of pregnancy when you couldn't find anything cute that didn't make you feel like a cow. Perhaps I'm just frugal, but why pay for the milk, when you can get the whole cow for free? (Yes, I just likened myself to a cow, and I'm OK with that. See those last few months of pregnancy were just preparing me for what was to come.)


9. Maintain healthy bones --"Breastfeeding decreases your risk of developing Osteoporosis as you age," Jeanne said.
Minerals leach from the bones during breastfeeding, Jeanne explained. After weaning, your body remineralizes and re calcifies bones making them denser and stronger. A 1994 study of 308 lactating mothers found that those mothers who breastfed for the first six months had bone mineral densities that exceeded those of the postpartum.(1) That's great incentive for those of us who want to be active in our post-menopausal bodies without worrying about fracturing or breaking any bones when we're out bike riding with our grand kids.

8. The smell factor -- "Breastmilk diapers have very little odor," Jeanne said.
You can gently remind your hubby of this when he complains about changing diapers. Additionally, as a cloth-diapering mama, I can assure you that breastmilk poop does not stain the cloth diapers and it washes out of cloth pretty darn easily. And I like my fluff looking nice and bright even if its sole job is to catch poop and pee.
Additionally, Jeanne said breastmilk spit-up does not stain clothing. That's good, because there will be spit up. And you wouldn't want to stain those new wardrobe pieces you were able to buy with all the money you saved by not buying formula now would you?


7. Save your kids from nicknames like metal mouth and brace face --"Breastfeeding develops and strengthens baby’s facial and jaw muscles, resulting in a lower need for orthodontic correction later on," Jeanne said. "Breastfeeding spreads the palate out and helps keep teeth where they are supposed to be."
And just think of what you can do with the money you may have had to spend on braces!
Breastfeeding also helps develop the palate in baby's mouth, Jeanne said.
"There are a lot of sleep apnea problems because [some people's] palates are too high," she added."We've had a couple generations that didn't breastfeed. Palates don't smooth out [as well] when babies are not breastfed."

6. Lessen the risk of your child developing serious illnesses -- "Breastfeeding helps to mature the baby’s own immune system properly, leading to less illness throughout their lives and a much lower incidence of auto-immune diseases such as Lupus," Jeanne said.
One New Zealand study even showed that infants who are exclusively breastfed are less likely to succumb to Sudden Infant Death Syndrome; that could help a mama rest a little more easily at night.(2)

5. Promote lean, healthy bodies --"Breastfed babies have a much lower incidence of obesity in adulthood," Jeanne said.
Even the really chubby babies (no one's pointing any fingers, but, here's looking at you, G), have a lessor chance of being obese as adults, she reassured.

4. Spend less quality time with your doctor -- "Babies who do not receive breastmilk have an average of five to six sick visits to the doctor during their first year," Jeanne said. "Breastfed babies average one to two sick visits in their first year. That’s a lot of time saved from sitting in a waiting room!"
I love my doctor more than the average mom probably does, but I don't feel the need to fund his retirement account more than needed. (Half of that reason is because I'd really like him to be around to deliver and care for the rest of our future children.)

3. Have baby, will travel-- "It's easier to travel with baby," Jeanne said. "You have all the food they need, preheated, right there!"
A quick trip to the mall or grocery store is not a major adventure when you are breastfeeding because a mama doesn't have to track down water, warm the water and mix the formula. Simply unsnap the bra, pop baby on and let baby chow down!

2. Save the boobies -- "[Breastfeeding] decreases your risk of breast cancer for every month of your life that you breastfeed," Jeanne said.
That's considerably good news considering the American Cancer Society expected 178,480 women were to be diagnosed with breast cancer in 2007. (3)

1. A gourmet meal every time -- "This food is designed especially for YOUR baby with customized fat and protein levels for your baby’s development and antibodies to the germs in your environment," Jeanne said.
I can't even get that good of a meal when we go out to eat at a fancy-schmancy, $40-per-plate restaurant. Again, the boob juice is free, tasty and nutritious. And don't we as moms desperately seek out that winning combination for our children during all of our meal-preparing days?

1.F. POLATTI, E. CAPUZZO, F. VIAZZO, R. COLLEONI, and C. KLERSYBone Mineral Changes During and After LactationObstet. Gynecol., July 1, 1999; 94(1): 52 - 56.
2.Ford RPK, Taylor BJ, Mitchell EA, Breastfeeding and the risk of sudden infant death syndrome. Int J Epidemiol 1993; 22:885-890
3.http://www.cancer.org/downloads/STT/CAFF2007PWSecured.pdf

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Chicago Mom Blog: Breastfeeding: Formula-Fed America

I'm writing for Chicago Moms Blog today about breastfeeding in Formula-Fed America.
And, yes, I do realize I've opened a can of breastfeeding [or formula-feeding] worms. I hope we can still be friends even if we do not agree. :)

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