I’m reluctant to give up my superpowers

At least one of them, anyway.

Now let me tell you, breastfeeding was never about me. God/dess knows, I had to pray my way through it for many, many months before it felt natural, and it only had stopped being painful a few months before that. Nope, breastfeeding was for Bean and Bean only. I committed my brain and body to the act because I knew it was the best thing for him. I felt so damn bad that his birth and first 10 days outside of me were so awful and highly medicalized that I told myself the kid just had to have something natural, he just had to. So I stuck with it despite many obstacles and little help (am I the only one who felt like every LC she encountered was half-looney?) and to my great pride, we succeeded. We succeeded so well that I do not know how to stop.

Bean only nurses 2 or 3 times a day for short intervals. He did this mostly-weaned thing with little trouble and very early at around 9.5 months. I thought for sure we’d be done by now, but when I try to distract him from the few times he nurses, he howls like someone’s slapped him. He claws at my shirt and cries a cry that would break the hardest of hearts, most of all his dear ol’ mama’s. So I’ve relented. It’s not that big of a deal, I’ve said, it’s just a few minutes a day. But it was bugging me, just a little, because it didn’t feel like I had any say in the matter. Then Bean got his first cold.

Now that I am seeing how greatly it comforts him to nurse while he’s all snarffly and sweaty, and how nursing seems to help him clear his nose and relax when he’s tossing and turning, I am no longer feeling impatient. There are approximately one million macrophages in a single drop of breastmilk. I had to look that up to see exactly what it means but it seems that I’ve got the goods, peeps, and I am all of a sudden not in a very big hurry to give that up, even if it means dealing with the inevitable eyerolls and scrunched up expressions that I am sure to encounter from family and friends when we travel down south.

Who knew? I am o-fficially an extended breastfeeder. I can hardly believe it. Sure, I’ll want to stop again when he gets better and will be researching ways to do so with minimal screeching, but it’s amazing where your life can take you if you leave your brain just a leeeeeetle bit open to things.

P.S. To the person who came here with the search term “breastfeeding ruins boobs?” the answer is an emphatic nope. Pregnancy is what changes boobs, not breastfeeding. And anyway, they are not ruined. They are absolutely gorgeous, shug, just in a whole new way.

Bite me, Facebook

and anyone else who is frightened by the power of the female body and accepts and contributes to its degradation in popular culture.

Here is a montage of breastfeeding photos. May it serve to desensitize the pervs and puritans, one and all.

Here is my contribution to The Great Virtual Breast Fest:

Whoooo boy I look soooooo tired here and you can kinda see where my hair temporarily fell out in a few places. Motherhood is not for the faint of heart. But I am clearly happy, too, because we figured it out, dammit.

Crazy amounts of my respect go to The League of Maternal Justice for organizing this virtual nurse-in.

Dat! Dat!

He can say “that”. He says it clearly and often. His careful enunciation of the word is simply gorgeous to me. He points to everything and says it, never tiring of me naming the artwork, the photos, the furniture, the things we see outside the window, etc.

It is such a popular and effective word that he uses a variation of it, ”at”, in other situations besides the naming game, but the more important variation has become “dat! dat!!!” which is now shouted as he claws at my shirt to breastfeed. Hmmmm.

Once again, breastfeeding has become a highly urgent activity, just as it was when he was much smaller. During the time between then and now, I had to make sure I scheduled (gah! more freaking scheduling!) a nursing session after each waking (morning and naps) and before bed to ensure he was getting what he needed. I was concerned that he seemed to be self-weaning way too soon. I was convinced that I was doing something wrong, but also kind of relieved, and a little sad at the same time. What a freaking jumble of feelings. I never thought we’d nurse as long as 9 months. I actually never thought we’d get through the first 3 even with 1/2 time formula supplementation. But somehow we did. And so.

Here we are at 11.5 months. I’ve been planning to donate a goat, that’s right, a goat, as part of his weaning ceremony/first birthday milestone. I expected to keep the morning and nighttime nursings for a while longer, but since he hasn’t been too interested in the daytime stuff for months, I figured we’d mark the transition at a year old even if he wasn’t o-ffically “weaned”. I am being kind of formal about it as a way to help me with the jumbled feelings, and also as a way to say “hey thanks, universe, thanks for getting me the information I needed to keep trying and make this whole breastfeeding thing work. here’s some milk and food for a mama out there in the world who needs it right now”.

I’ve dropped us down to three times a day in anticipation of this milestone. I’ve been readying myself for a transition that I thought would bring me great glee, because truth be told, I am kinda sick of nursing sometimes. So at this time when I am going with his lead, when I am readying my body to stop producing as much milk (not that it ever had a hard time with that) Bean has now upped the ante with desperate calls of ”dat! dat!!!!” while clutching at my chest and banging his face lightly against it, crying in a very pathetic fashion if I try to distract him. Wha? I mean, I get why this might be happening at this age, but Bean has been all “meh” about nursing for months now. I thought for sure he would continue along with the “no thanks, lady” trajectory we were on. Two weeks before our adieu, kind boobies transition and he is wanting to nurse CONSTANTLY.

So much for wrapping my head around my conflicting emotions, heh. I guess I’ll just add them to the pile.

This parenting thing is a fucking roller coaster, isn’t it?

Help stop the madness

by telling Applebee’s how much they bite. Don’t spend your money there. This makes me so freaking angry and I hope it does you, as well. Applebee’s food is usually not my thing, but if it were I would most certainly boycott. I’ll be spreading the word to fam and friends.

How does something like this continue to happen in a state that actually has a breastfeeding rights law on the books? It’s absolutely infuriating.

If images like this seem indecent to you, please seek help from a trained psychotherapist. You need one.

Can mothers do anything right?

People seem to need to reassure themselves so fully that their parenting choices are absolutely RIGHT that even the crunchy earth mamas will rip the weave right outta the head of anyone who thinks differently from them.

I was looking around on the interweb yesterday trying to find some info about baby-led weaning, which is something Bean seems to be doing, slowly but surely. I ended up at a site that hosts a messageboard, which is often a dangerous thing when it comes to issues of parenting (oy, the viciousness that can ensue). I found no info that actually helped me, but I did get some shit about how there is no such thing as baby-led weaning at nearly 10 months old and basically I am doing something wrong if he is. So very helpful.

I also found a woman asking about how she could best wean her 14 month old baby over the course of the next three months (I only got to this point with breastfeeding Bean because I wasn’t working so I was all shazam! while I read her post). She’d been uncomfortable with some feelings of resentment she was having and she didn’t want the negativity to be felt by her daughter. I almost stood up and started clapping at my computer screen. Here is someone who clearly cares deeply for her child and herself. Bravo, right?

Not so, according to the reponses she received. I reaaaally wish she would have just gone with her instincts and weaned her little girl as she wanted to (three months is so gentle! the kid will be 17 freaking months old at finish!) rather than ask for affirmation and guidance on this particular messageboard, because they lit into her ass with such thinly veiled contempt I felt truly sad for her. Here is a woman who has clearly had great success with breastfeeding, but who now maybe needs her body to feel like it is entirely hers again and is honest enough to say so, and she is being ripped to shreds for it. The people doing the tearing actually questioned her motives and character, as though she was some sort of miscreant.  They spouted off things like ”WHO guidelines say a baby should be breastfed for 2 years at minimum” yadda yadda yadda. If the messageboard technology could have supported the action I believe they would have chanted the standards at her in unison while pelting her with woven hemp diapers and wheatgrass. Give a chick a break! She is obviously doing an amazing job as a mom! The WHO stands for WORLD Health Org, meaning they have to create standards that are appropriate for places without the water and food quality that we all have. Nursing the average American child 14-17 months should result in a round of fucking applause. That is tough stuff, made all the more so because of societal attitudes, constraints of working environments and the fact that we simply don’t have to do it to ensure the health of our children (praise God/dess for clean water and quality formula). Giving birth or adopting in itself gets a standing ovation from yours truly; wtf is up with all the crap we are handed after we accomplish that great feat?

The moderator closed the forum and since I couldn’t write it there, I am writing it here: you are doing a great job, jiminycricket! Do whatever you’ve got to do to be a happy momma to your kiddo and don’t take crap from anyone who tells you different. I am blown away that your evident devotion to your baby is being met with such criticism. It sucks and you do not deserve it.

It really is like this marvelous parenting quiz points out: when it comes to mothers, no matter what the issue, we are damned if we do and damned if we don’t. Bean is too lean, my friend’s baby is too fat. We have been told that we are both doing things wrong even though our babies are thriving. I have also been told that Bean’s prior sleep issues were due to our co-sleeping, his skinniness is due to breastfeeding (he’s hungry! breastmilk is not enough for a baby! wha??), that I am feeding him too many solids and then not enough, I carry him too much, that I should take him out more as an infant during the winter to get him “used to it”, that I shouldn’t worry about that rash he developed after being in the hospital for a few days, his gastro issues during  his first few months were non-existent, he was going to develop “attachment issues” if we didn’t get him out of our bedroom by 4 months (those last two were from our first and  former pediatrician)…on ad infinitum.

My response going forward to anyone who questions my parenting choices under the guise of “helping” me? Yeah, you know it: bite me.

Breastfeeding at nine months

Fatigue? Check. Sudden cravings for fried chicken, ice cream and donuts? Check. Ridiculous ever-present hunger for all things in general? Check. Nausea? Right-o. Breakouts? Unfortunately. Icky hair? Lately. Boobs that look like they belong to someone else? Yep. Elevated body temp? Sure does feel like it. Crying easily and thinking eeeevil thoughts about Huz over minor transgressions that somehow represent huge relationship issues to me? Indeed.

Wtf is all of this coming from? Some sort of nine-month-landmark hormonal surge? Who knew that breastfeeding could be just as hilarious as pregnancy?

P.S. I am NOT pregnant. We’ve been too careful. I can’t be pregnant. I am not pregnant, right? *mad dash to drugstore*

————————————–

Negative! I certainly didn’t expect to find myself peeing on another one of those crazy little sticks this soon.

It’s got to be the nightweaning causing this. I didn’t force it; Bean just very suddenly stopped nursing at night. Learning to crawl has knocked him out. I was up with him every couple of hours before that, and now he goes 11 or 12 without nursing. Perhaps my bod is freaking out at the sudden change.

The most interesting thing about this experience is while walking to the store, I found myself feeling pretty buoyant at the prospect of a positive test even though I have always maintained that one baby is plenty o’ babies for me. Some days I’ve felt like I am barely making it through with this first kiddo. So, excited? Wha? Clearly this means that the hormonal surge or whathaveyou is also causing me to be insane. Still, I better hold off on making that Essure appointment just yet. Maybe one baby isn’t plenty o’ babies after all…

Who am I?!

Bean really is a bean

Yep, he’s kinda little. 5th percentile little. Despite the fact that he was only an ounce shy of 9 lbs. at birth, he is on the bitty side. Of course, I think he looks perfect, with nice round cheeks and a few rolls and the best big belly I have ever seen, but every time we go to the doctor I feel like I am going to be interrogated about his eating habits and my milk supply. All of those questions…are you doing this? How about this? What about this, and this, and this? YES. The kid eats like a bear. He nurses 4-6 times a day and has three meals, sometimes a snack, and usually juice, too. I was still pumping up until last month, thereby supplementing 2-4 oz. daily. There are only so many hours in the day and only so much room in his stomach. In addition to fruits, vegetables and cereals, I have added high fat yogurt to his diet. And mozzarella. And bagels. And whole wheat bread. And pancakes. My in-laws couldn’t believe how much he ate during their last visit. Still, he is small for his age, and I am dreading the weigh-in at his 9 month check-up and the brow raising that will inevitably follow.

I already beat myself up about the fact that my cervix wouldn’t dilate enough to let him out, even after an 18 hour induction. We almost lost him. My amniotic fluid suddenly depleted at 10 days overdue, requiring the induction to happen immediately. It failed. After the stress of the long, unsuccessful labor, his blood sugar crashed to a level so low that I am amazed that he made it through, that he is even a functioning person at all.

So yeah. I hate these routine check-ups. It brings all of that tension back, all of that stomach-dropping horror of the hospital stay that followed, the spinal tap when his white blood cell count stayed elevated, having to leave him at the hospital in the hands of strangers when I was sent home, only being allowed to hold him at certain times, being asked to leave the room while they ran tests and administered antivirals and antibiotics via an endless series of new blood sticks and IVs ”just in case”…it took Bean, Huz and me months to recover from the aftershocks.

So even when the doctors say he is kinda small but developmentally fine, even when they tell us we are doing a great job but we just need to get more weight on him, my chest tightens. I did all I could possibly do to bring him safely into the world and I am doing all I can to keep him that way. I have fenugreeked, I have Le Leched, I have pumped, I have lactation consulted, I have rebirthed. I feed him a meticulously balanced diet of homemade and organic baby food in abundance. He eats, and eats, and eats. He clearly loves to nurse and eat. He is beautiful and healthy and vibrant. We realize we are blessed beyond belief. So why did/do I always end up feeling inferior around all of these doctors?

Jesus was breastfed

yep, he sure was, and I realize I am toooootally stating the obvious here and that it has been stated already elsewhere but it needs to be stated again by me. Jesus was breastfed, most likely by his mom. I’m thinking they were too poor for a wet-nurse, and even if they weren’t, Jesus was still breastfed and if he hadn’t been he would have died a hell of a lot sooner. Same goes for the beloved Marys, all of the apostles, and every other revered figure in religious history on ad infinitum. Yeah, I know, I seem like I’m picking on the Christians. I’m not. Besides, they’ll (we’ll?) be alright, and what really I’m trying to say anyway is that certain ew!-ers can bite me.

P.S. I know, I need to let this go. I’m working on it.  I’ve decided to instant message my ignoramus of a friend each day with a fact or image regarding breastfeeding until Bean is weaned, and since said ignoramus is a Christian, I will be starting with this one: the oldest-known image of Mary depicts her nursing the Infant Jesus.

P.P.S. I lurve all of my people who gave me lurve for the post before this one.

Breastmilk and blueberry waffles

So I was im-ing with a friend of mine yesterday, whom I used to work with and have lost touch with since my evening activities no longer include hitting multiple happy hours on State St. I was winding down the convo, an enjoyable one with lots of co-rambling in an effort to catch up, and I said “OK gotta go make baby breakfast”. He replied with “what’s baby breakfast?” and I wrote “breastmilk and blueberry waffles”. His response? ”EW!!!!!!”

Ew? Are you fucking kidding me? I replied with a link to ProMom and told him to educate himself, that he should be ashamed. His discomfort was then so great that he launched into a highly uncharacteristic spewing of statements like ”Don’t get me wrong, I love to suck on nipples, too, just not with milk coming out of them”. WHAT??? Did you actually just say that to me? Who are you???? This is someone I considered an intelligent friend (up until this point) AND he is a father of an 11 year old girl. God/dess, please save us.

This is an example of how men strip away the power of females, in ways overt and subtle, every single day. 

Men who are threatened by breastfeeding are threatened by women, period. Women who are threatened by images of breastfeeding have let men cause them to fear and revile their own power.

“Ew?” Should I go off to a cave each month to menstruate as well?

I will not apologize.

I will not censor myself to lessen the burden of my unabashed conversation on people who cannot handle the power that is expressed through my motherhood.

I will not apologize for being proud to say that I’ve got to go so I can feed my child breastmilk and blueberry waffles. 

I will not apologize for the time and money spent reading about breastfeeding, pumping and taking supplements. I worked my ass off for months to learn to breastfeed and have a decent milk supply.

I will not nurse my baby in a restroom out of fear of alarming other patrons in public places. Ever. I am sad for women who have done so.

I will not shush my baby when he sings and yells in restaurants.

I will not be embarassed if the mom I am dining with is getting dirty looks from the table next to us when she is talking too loudly because she is so excited to actually be out with another mother and baby.

I will not say I’m sorry if your chair is out too goddamn far and we need you to move it in for our stroller to get by.

I will not thank the guard at my building profusely when I ring him to get up and let us in through the handicapped entrance because we are using a stroller. It shouldn’t be fucking locked, ever.

I will not apologize for having the audacity to earn a master’s degree and then “waste” it by becoming a mother.

I will not apologize because I could not keep my job when I became a mother due to my former employer’s mind-boggling policies, and now that I don’t have one, I am not in a rush to work for anyone else again.

For these and a million other things that make up my life as a person, a woman and a mother, I am not sorry.

I will be treating all apologetic expressions that exit my mouth reflexively as though they are the most heinous of curse words, because by apologizing reflexively when there have been no transgressions on my part, I am cursing myself, and all other females as well. I will not do it anymore.

This post made me weep and rage. It hit me right in the center of my chest. Thanks to Thinking Girl for the linkage, and many more to a cat and twenty for saying it so perfectly.

I am not naughty and I am not yummy

But I am bad and delicious.

This great post got me thinking, what is up with books and articles by authors that profess to sell MILFdom? Why do they use childlike terms to try and do so? Being a MILF is a state of mind. It will not come from high heels and stripteasing, unless those things make YOU feel good about yourself. You all know that I will rock some badass outfits and I do know my way around a pole, but I am not into sex as performance art for the sole benefit of my partner. I gave that up in my early twenties and I hope you did, too. 

If stilettos hurt like hell and you feel more like a polecat than a pole dancer, than do whatever it is you need to do to make YOU feel good.  Fuck those books and articles. They are the baby industry’s equivalent to Cosmo’s “30 ways to please your man tonight” schtick (you already know how to please a man, everybody does. It does not take thirty ways. More like two or three. If you forgot how, watch Clerks again. Dante sums it up succinctly while painting his girlfriend’s nails.)

God forbid something like breastfeeding, or the residual roundness of your belly post-pregnancy, should make you feel empowered and therefore hotter than you ever felt before you birthed your precious bambino. It does for me. Do you know how strong I had to be to walk around this city with my baby within me, getting off and on the bus, navigating crowds, and using the ohsomany flights of stairs by the el tracks because of always-broken escalators? Do you know how strong I am to do it now with a baby attached to the outside of me? Huz does. I make sure he knows. Yes, my body has changed. Before, it was coquettish and sly. Now it says look out, here I come, and I am a veritable wet dream of capability and sensuality I never knew possible before I did things so physical as pregnancy and labor and breastfeeding.

And like I said, the childlike word choices in these books and articles? No, thank you. The word “yummy” is a something a kid uses to describe things like candy or pancakes. I am delicious 99.9% of the time, but I most certainly do not taste like candy or pancakes. “Naughty” brings to mind an image of a misbehaving toddler from England.  When I am being bad, I am decidedly not acting like misbehaving toddler from England, I promise you. I suppose the childish word choices are supposed to play into that “spank me I am a bad little girl” fantasy so many people have, which is a great fantasy, but it sure as hell doesn’t encompass the range of our sexuality, especially now. I am a GROWN WOMAN, I am a MOTHER, I am a WIFE. Striving to be yummy or naughty is limiting as hell at best, and degrading at worst. We fucking gave birth. We are gorgeous animals!

So here’s a tip from me, because I love you alot and you know that and we are tight now. If you struggle to find yourself sexually after having a baby (and it is not because of the un-godly fatigue or your partner not helping you worth a fuck) it just may be that you are looking to the wrong role models. Just be you, baby. I mean it. Say this word with me: fecundity. The word alone is hot. Say it out loud, say it alot: I am fecund, I am fecund, I am fecund.

I am fecund, I am round like an OOOOOOOOO, I am voluptuous, I am zaftig; I am a dripping mango, I am a hothouse flower, I am (insert your erotic imagery of choice here) and I am so fucking strong. Take a bite of this.