mama milk.

My son is built like a tank.  It's not just his size or musculature.  It's his constitution as a whole.  He's not been sick yet (knock on wood) in ten months earthside.  He goes out in public.  He plays in dirt. He licks everything he can get his hands around.  He does gross things, but he's a baby and doesn't know that yet.  I've made many choices that my parenting peers haven't chosen which probably correlate positively with the fact that he's so healthy... such as not feeding him candy or sweet snacks other than fruits and veggies which are naturally sweet... but I think the biggest contributor is the mama milk.  I know anecdotally there are tons of people out there who will declare violently that either their breastfed baby was sick all the time or their formula fed kid was healthy as a mule and that what I have to say is just luck or God's grace.  Either way, I'm thinking there might just be something to the breastfeeding benefits package.

I've talked about my son here many times.  He's beautiful, tall, curious, and precocious.  I love that kid with all my heart and soul, and I don't see it as an inconvenience that at least 45 minutes a day hooked to my milk machine.  Okay, it's a little inconvenient and uncomfortable- but worth it.  Same with on-demand, unscheduled feedings.  He asks, I give.  It's simple.  Because of him, I spend my lunches and breaks in a small, windowless, semi-dim room rocking along with the buzz and whir of my little Medela Freestyle and do my best to not let these clumsy hands tip the collected milk out, and remind myself frequently to tighten caps THEN place in cooler bag (I forgot once, big mess, lots of tears).

I had no misconceptions going in about the type of commitment it was going to take, I knew about cluster feedings and growth spurts, raw skin and latches, positions and preferences.  I knew so much, but I had no real practice.  Then he was born, and we had a very wide learning curve.  There were days when I wondered if I'd even make it six weeks, let alone the year I had planned... but we pulled it out thanks to supportive women in my life, websites like www.llli.org and www.mobimotherhood.org, and my husband who believed as much as I did that it was not just the right thing to do, but it was the normal thing to do, and that we were going to do that, even if he had to sit on the sidelines for a bit while we learned how to nurse.  He also tells other people how awesome breastfeeding is... whether they want to know or not. (we're working on that) One website I found tonight really resonates with me, http://www.nancymohrbacher.com/blog/2010/10/7/fear-and-surrender.html, which I wish I had had in my arsenal of reading prior to beginning this journey!

I learned rather quickly that some foods I ate made E cry when he nursed.  Specifically, he's sensitive to dairy, and for the longest time was also sensitive to citrus and heavily acidic items like soda.  I didn't need soda anyway, so big loss there.  Anyway, that was part of the learning process.  If he was sensitive to an item, it was akin to that scene in The Exorcist.  My tiny infant could coat one's shirt in a vile cheese-scented goo in no time.  Not every mom is willing to exclude things from her diet to continue breastfeeding in peace, but I did it because I believed.  (and still do!)

While the first weeks were a little rocky, the truly difficult part began when I went back to work in February.  While I went back to work with supportive supervisors who do not begrudge me the two fifteen minute breaks I take to go take care of business, I found myself isolated when I began to struggle with supply as I went from nursing on demand to 'nursing' on a schedule.  Evenings and weekends are easy- I'm a 24/7 milk bar who co-sleeps to keep the milk going on demand.  It's during the work week that I started to have problems... around about May-June my output dropped significantly.  E was drinking more and more during the day and I was making less and less, bottoming out at about ten ounces a day for a time.  It was stressful and I really had no one I felt I could talk to in my circle of people.  All the nursing moms I know are stay-at-home moms, and the working moms I know either combo-fed or fed straight formula.  I struggled silently, prayed, took herbal supplements (more milk plus by motherlove), drank nursing teas, ate oatmeal by the canister, added milled flaxseed to every food I ate, gave my husband sensitivity and semantics lessons after a few comments about how much I was bringing home, and nearly depleted my freezer stocks before a miracle happened and my supply came back.  We did it!

The day I pumped seven total ounces in one ten minute session I not only cried happy tears, but found myself dancing around the room like an idiot and thanking God over and over.  I swear I floated back to my desk on a cloud of joy because it had been so long since I'd made that much in one sitting.  

So, for ten months now I've been building a boy with mama milk.  I've had people tell me that it's ridiculous that I put in so much effort, that I'm the only one who cares that my kid only had mama milk to drink for the first year, or that formula is 'just as good so stop stressing about it'.  I feel that because I'm the mama, I damn well *should* be the one who cares what goes in that baby's body.  It's a vital part of how I mother.  Just because someone can and will have to feed my child while I'm at work does not mean that I can't be a part of creating what he gets to eat.  As a working mom it's even more important because the family depends on my income.  If he gets sick, I need to be with him (even though my husband gets to stay home with him during the day, I feel sick days are a tag-team event should we ever have one), so if my milk can help protect him from illness, I'll move heaven and earth to make milk as long as he wants it.  I intend to be a full-term breastfeeder, which could take me into the taboo world of nursing a child over two years old. *GASP!!*  I may not continue to pump all that time, but definitely intend to keep pumping through the second year until he overcomes his dairy sensitivity or is ready for other liquids.  I may have to do some explaining to coworkers and maybe even supervisors as everyone's pretty mainstream around there and may not fully understand why I'm still making daily trips to the lactolounge.

The biggest obstacle I'm going to have with continuing to nurse him in the coming year(s) is going to be that he's so large and robust for his age.  I'll likely start to hear about how I'm abusing him, or how he's 'too old for that' when he asks for a drink in public.  I suspect my lactivist spouse is somewhat uneasy about it as well because it's just not a part of our society.  My own father made a comment in recent weeks that I wouldn't have to worry about it much longer (my stepmom weaned everyone before they were long into their first year), and that he didn't want me to be like that 'weirdo who used to visit next door who nursed her kid until he was like 4 1/2 or something- that's borderline child abuse, you know'.  Gosh, really?  People seriously believe that's child abuse?  We place our children in plastic buckets and swings and leave them to cry to 'toughen them up' and it's okay, but feeding your child in a manner that boosts their immune system and helps fill in the gaps in nutrition that solids sometimes leave in the early years is wrong.  So upside-down.  

Anyway, it's been a great trip so far.  I hope many more women join me on this journey.  

The return of Aunt Flo.

Today's a good day, or was to a point.  Then SHE showed up.  I haven't missed her much, she comes in, makes a mess of things, then after a few days of dragging me down wanders off to bugger some other poor soul for awhile.  Mother Nature.  Aunt Flo.  Whatever name the she-beast goes by, she's here.  For her first visit in awhile.  She visited briefly in August, but decided to wait until now to come back.  I was starting to get a little concerned in her most recent absence, even took a pregnancy test (negative, of course) just to be 'sure.'

I'm not her biggest fan, well in a way I am... as long as she's here I know that I have possibilities in the future.  It's a renewal.  Sweeping out the nest in case someone else decides to move in.  I'm hoping in 3-4 years someone does move in, hopefully not before then because poor husband couldn't keep up with a toddler and a newbie at this point in time.

I've decided that I am more of a fan of contractions than of menstrual cramps.  Contractions were powerful.  Overwhelming at times... but a quiet powerfulness that had a deep and utilitarian purpose, bringing me ever closer to meeting a sweet new soul who had been previously hidden for months.  Menstrual cramps on the other hand are a dull and somewhat constant ache.  An annoying ache.  

At the end of contractions is a sweet and shiny surprise.  

At the end of menstrual cramps is a pile of 'medical waste'.  

*sigh*

I'm trying something new for the cramps... I have my son's baltic amber taped to my lower abdomen.  So far, whether by placebo effect or other, it's helping.

-L.

If I had it to do over...

I've been thinking about Elijah's birth a whole lot lately.  I've been going over the things I can remember clearly, and as awesome as it was, there are things I'd do differently.

For starters, I'd have held onto E from the moment he was placed on my chest until the moment the placenta slopped its way out.  Unfortunately, I had to get out of the tub a little before the cord stopped pulsing because it was too painful to continue sitting on my too-sore tailbone any longer, and laying on the bed sounded heavenly, but that was about a fifteen foot walk from tub to bed (different rooms).  We went ahead and cut the cord, E was handed off to my husband, and husband held the boy for the next half hour or so while he called grandparents and aunts and uncles to let them know what we did that day.  It was hard to lay there and watch him carry our boy around, though it was a good time to go ahead and do assessments, get that shock of how much he really weighed, and all that mess... it's the idea that after carrying him inside me for so long we were separated, even if I could see him.

I'd have banned all visitors for the first week after the birth.  The minute people heard that E had arrived earthside we were inundated with requests to come visit.  That meant I had to either wear clothes and make my way down the stairs to first floor, or surrender my beautiful baby to my husband to carry downstairs away from my little nest in the bed to the living room below us.  Wearing clothes was not an appealing idea.  Hobbling down the stairs was not an appealing idea.  Handing over my son to someplace I couldn't see him when all I wanted to do was see him, can you see where this is going?  I ended up going downstairs for one group, and handed over the boy for another group.

I would have made it a requirement for all visitors to either bring food or help with the housework that I hadn't gotten to in my final bit of nesting the day or two before E was born.  See, I had a fantastic, high energy day in which I'd finished and put away all laundry, done all floors and bathrooms, and had completely tuckered out by the time I got to the kitchen.  I had a mountain of dishes left the night before, and was *planning* to do them on that Monday after work.  My husband had some errands to run that morning, so he didn't get to it.  I had a different sort of work to do, so I didn't get to it.  One friend brought three meals, and another friend did dishes for us.  That is two visitors out of ten.  I am forever grateful to those two women, because strong as I am, there wasn't enough of me to take care of those things, and my husband was still recovering from surgery.  I made him go get unhealthy junk because I had a pantry full of ingredients, and neither of us slept much the first week.  I guess I could probably have planned ahead and made frozen meals, but the food budget was tight as was my time and energy.

I would have had my birth area more prepared than it was so my husband didn't have to run like a gerbil on meth to get things unpacked.  I also would have put more air in the walls of the birth pool like a very wise woman suggested, but I didn't realize just how firm I'd need the sides to be.  I would have just had the laptop sitting in the birth room, ready to push play and plugged in.  When the computer battery died early in labor, B stashed it safely out of harm's way in the bedroom on a shelf, so I had no music to relax to (not like relaxation was really an option as fast as things progressed) and I think I would have enjoyed that in the quieter moments.

I guess I think about these sort of things because even as awesome as our experience was, and that there's still no way I'd have considered another place on the planet than home for this, I want to think of how to make it better if we do it again.  Maybe this can help someone else have an awesome experience!

Political Spiel.

So, today was voting day across the entire United States.  That's good for two reasons: (1) the people get to once again pick representatives, and (2) THOSE GAWDAWFUL ADS WILL FINALLY STOP RUNNING!!

I personally despise the pre-voting season, as ordinarily rational adults scream at each other about how the representative they have chosen is either the right guy or the wrong guy, when it really doesn't matter in the long run because they're missing the big picture.  I noticed this during the last presidential election: Republicans were pitted against Democrats (I still think the bigger issue was that there was a choice between Geezer/Dingbat and Tan guy/Bigmouth) and people were sooooo angry.  In that race, I was a supporter of the guy who won because what I saw in any debate was this: one man had answers and ideas for some of our country's ills, two other guys had horrible accusations for the guy with ideas (and one woman could see Russia from her house, but that's another story in and of itself).  While the ideas weren't perfect, and they would be further fouled up by the body of representatives who would later be tossed those ideas to vote upon, they were still ideas, and I am a woman who likes at least an idea to fix problems.  That's why you'll rarely find me whining about a problem, instead I think of ways to solve it, then I grouch about how ineffective said solution was, and set about finding something better should problem arise again.

At one point during the presidential season I got into a discussion with a friend about how if she had a problem with the ideas in play, perhaps she should come up with better ideas.  Ideas are a good start and who knows, someday it could grow beyond an idea to maybe a movement because people like ideas and gravitate toward folks with good ones.  She scoffed at me and said it wasn't her job, that's what 'That Idiot' was hired to do.  It was too much responsibility to expect her, a mere citizen (who had never served her country or sacrificed much of anything save sales tax) to be thinking for the herd.  I was speechless.  My brain nearly imploded at this concept.  (we later parted ways never to speak again because of something related to telling me how to parent... again another story for another time.)

I'm getting off target again.  There is a point to all of this...

Today we set about choosing people to represent us as we are for all intents and purposes a government for the people, by the people.  Those representatives are human beings charged with the task of bearing forth our wishes for how we are to be governed in all aspects of our lives.  They often get a bad rep for making decisions we don't agree with, but we as a collective people are lazy.  We send these fine men and women up to the Big House with our well wishes (and some grumbling if he or she is not the one we picked), but we then expect them to be able to read our minds and think for us.

They are people, yes.  That's one of the requirements for the job of assembling the government for us and by us.  They are not all of us though.  They're not even a small fraction of us.  They're a small group of individuals who are not a representative sample of our population.  They haven't a freaking CLUE about what's in our hearts and minds.  For all they know, we all resemble Wal-Creatures, live for NASCAR, and sit on a beanbag eating cheetos and watching re-runs of Roseanne.  Or maybe they think we all drive SUVs and live in fancy quarter million dollar vinyl mansions in little additions out in the Hell known as 'Suburbia'.  Or they think we're all farmers and blue collar workers.  Who knows?  The only thing that is absolutely certain is that our representatives can only represent so well on their own.  They are not in place to think for us.

Here is my challenge to all of you- regardless of who is picked or what party label they come in wearing, get off your lazy duff and think for yourself.  If you don't agree with a policy, challenge it.  Learn to write to your congressperson or visit their local office.  Learn where the   Learn to write to your city councilmen.  Go to the city council meetings if you are available.  Learn to lobby if you're passionate about something.  Start an organization or join one if one already exists.  Do not settle for grumbling about that man or woman we all helped send to sit at the table for us unless you've done your part to help them make that decision with full consideration of their constituents.

Our rights will only be upheld through our diligence and personal effort.  Expecting some random stranger you've just picked, likely at random or because you hated their commercials less than the other guy's stuff, is not the same thing.