All I gotta say is GO MAMAS!

Seriously though. This isn’t 1875. By now, everyone should know that breastfeeding is the most natural, absolute healthiest and best way to feed babies. There is nothing obscene or disgusting about it. People who think otherwise are the ones with the problems. I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again- people who are “offended” by nursing mothers seem to always have an issue with the act of breastfeeding itself. Because this is America, and this is 2010. BOOBS ARE EVERYWHERE. They are on billboards. They are in commercials. They are in magazines. Hell, you see women showing off their boobs in Wal-Mart. And it’s not just boobs that are bombarding our vision, but it’s sex, too. Sex is everywhere. Women have been turned into sexual objects… things to be lusted after by men. But everyone seems immune to that. It’s breastfeeding itself that people are particularly offended by. But what they don’t seem to realize is that breastfeeding is natural, normal, and protected by law.

As most of you know by now, I both breastfed and formula fed Nathan (because of low milk supply), so I’m not one of those people who are adamantly against formula- but I AM one of those people who fully supports a woman’s (and infant’s!) right to breastfeed because it is so much healthier for baby than formulas (we had first-hand experience with this). If you are someone who finds breastfeeding offensive, first off, please educate yourselves on the matter and you will learn there is nothing offensive about it. The law is on their side for a reason. Secondly, JUST DON’T LOOK. It’s that simple.

He’s doing great. He’s meeting all his milestones. Well, with the exception of feeding himself with a spoon. We’re having issues with that one because he still wants me to feed him. A few months ago, he was starting to spoon-feed himself and was doing well, but somewhere along the way, he decided that the food on spoons is meant to be flung.

He became a food flinger.

And then he would just play with his food and bang his spoon on his highchair. It drove me batty. When I saw the amount of food in his lap, on the floor, and even on the walls, I started worrying that he wasn’t getting enough and that he would lose weight and become a Thin Man again. I didn’t want that. So I just kept feeding him myself.

And it looks like I’m not going to have to worry about him being too thin. So hey, Nathan. You’re going to have to start feeding yourself with your spoon, buddy. Even if it means half of your food ends up everywhere but your mouth and you have to go hungry for a meal or two before you figure it out. Trust me. When you’re around other kids, you don’t want to be the only kid in the room who can’t do something.

Paul and I are both avid supporters of child-led weaning, which is what it sounds like; the child pretty much lets the mom know when he or she is ready to quit nursing, and Nathan has decided he was ready to stop nursing. We lasted 14 months! That is a heck of a lot longer than I anticipated. I had always said I would try to make it for at least a year, which is what the American Academy of Pediatrics urges. Even though I was determined to go at least the minimum recommended time, there were many times where I thought we wouldn’t be able to hold out.

But I refused to just give up. And Paul was such a stong, loving supporter who wouldn’t let me just quit. Breastfeeding was too important, too vital to Nathan’s development for me to just give up at the first sign of hardship.

It was a struggle to work through some of the problems we had, and I think the worst of all was when Nathan wasn’t gaining enough weight. We switched pediatricians to one who was more knowledgeable about breastfeeding, and I even met with two different lactation consultants. Fortunately, the last lactation consultant I met with was able to help me tremendously, resolving most of the problems we were having. 

Nathan was not an easy baby to nurse, but patience and perseverance saw us through, and I am so glad and even grateful to have had to opportunity to provide him with the best possible nourishment he could have. I have given him a jump-start in life with the building blocks for a healthy and strong immune system, given him proteins and antibodies not found in formula, reduced his risk of developing childhood obesity, and it also helped his eye and brain development, to name just a few of the many benefits.

We cut our nursing sessions down gradually. When Nathan started showing a lack of interest during the afternoon feeding, for instance, I stopped that particular nursing session. This went on until we were down to just once a day, and when he started losing interest in that last feeding, that was it. That was the end of our breastfeeding relationship.

Weaning is very bittersweet. On the one hand, I will really miss the bond that we shared and having that time together. But on the other hand, it feels great to not be on-demand anymore.

I am so glad to have had this experience.

For more information on breastfeeding, visit:

Kelly Mom which was my go-to site when I had questions
La Leche League
Breastfeeding.com

Thankfully. Because a baby needs to eat. And feeding a baby is in no way considered indecent exposure, as most states recognize that and have adopted laws explaining breastfeeding is not in any way indecent.  Women who choose to bottle-feed are not asked to feed their baby in a germ-infested bathroom or asked to hide. I mean, women walk around with their boobs hanging out of their shirts all the time, and that’s ok.  It’s so hypocritical to portray women as mere sexual objects in movies, advertisements, and television shows, but it’s taboo for women to use breasts as they were intended: to feed our babies.

Quite the double standard.

Well Portland, Maine, is launching a campaign to raise breastfeeding awareness by placing life-sized cutouts of modestly breastfeeding mothers around the city. They also recently passed a law requiring employers to provide nursing mothers with either paid or unpaid time to pump, and requires employers to make a reasonable effort to provide a room for pumping other than a bathroom.

I think this is simply wonderful!

Before I had Nathan, I wasn’t sure if I was going to breastfeed or not. I live in an area where almost no one breastfeeds, and I have never seen anyone opening nursing in public around here. I didn’t know anything about breastfeeding, so when my OB/GYN asked if I was planning on it, I was slightly taken aback and unsure which choice I should make.

So I went home, and Paul and I did hours and hours of research.

For MONTHS.

I wanted to get absolutely as much information as possible, so I became a sponge and absorbed all the information I could find regarding breastfeeding.

And I came to the conclusion that for me and my family, breastfeeding was the best possible choice I could make.  I know that every family is different, as is every baby. Just because a choice worked for me and my family does not mean it will work for someone else’s, so I am in no way being critical of those who chose not to breastfeed. But for me, it was the only choice.

Even when my milk started to dry up when Nathan was only 5 months old and we had to put Nathan on a formula suppliment, I continued to breastfeed. I pumped numerous times a day, took milk-producing herbs, kept myself hydrated and ate lots of oatmeal. Breastfeeding helps Nathan develop antibodies to fight sickness, prevents ear infections, is gentle on his tummy and easily digestable (as opposed to formula, which caused him to have bloody bowel movements and painful gas), decreases his risk of SIDS, helps prevent obesity either as a child or as an adult, and the essential amino acids found in breastmilk promote brain development and eyesight.

I’m so happy that public awareness about the benefits of breastfeeding is spreading. Slowly but surely, Americans are finally starting to see that man-made formula is not an equal substitute for breastmilk. Formula is great when you’re out of options and the health of your child is at stake,  but it shouldn’t be a first choice. The stakes are too high when something puts your child’s health at risk, and speaking from experience, that is exactly what formula does.

You can visit http://www.llli.org for more information concerning breastfeeding.

And, of course, I have been fretting for nothing. My kid’s perfectly normal! He’s normal! Ok, not that I ever thought he was ABnormal by any means, but I couldn’t help but worry that he didn’t start crawling until he was 11 months old.

And I’ve also been stressing about his refusal to eat any “regular food.” The little guy very vocally prefers his food pureed still, thankyouverymuch. I was so proud when I finally coaxed him into eating a cracker. I have since tricked him into eating (and LOVING) graham crackers and even animal crackers. But he’ll only eat the animal cracker if I take a bite first and tell him how unbelievably mouth-watering it is. He will not eat, or even attempt to eat, anything else.

Yet.

The boy doesn’t understand that Mommy will always be more stubborn than him.

Always.

So I have faith that eventually, I will coax and cajole him into eating more regular foods as opposed to baby foods.  This kid can be mentally exhausting sometimes because it can be, at times, challenging to stay one step ahead of him.

Ok, so back to the doctor’s appointment, he’s totally fine. The doctor assured me that all babies develop at their own rate. She said that while some babies may crawl when they’re 6 months old, it is also perfectly normal for them to start crawling when Nathan did. And take walking, for instance. Some babies can start walking at 9 months whereas others start at 15 months (which is the average) but it could be as late as 18 months. All of that is normal.

And the whole food thing is normal, too. He’s  been used to eating pureed foods, and some kids take a while before they’re willing to accept more textures and tastes. He won’t be eating his pureed foods forever!

Nathan has also gained weight beautifully, as you can tell in his pictures.  We had so many issues with weight gain in the beginning that I almost gave up breastfeeding, but I am so glad that I didn’t. (I mostly have my husband to thank for his unconditional love and support through those hard times.) Now, Nathan is 13 months old and nursing wonderfully. He has never been sick. He has never had any ear infections. He is happy, healthy, and a bit of a chub-a-lub. We plan to wean whenever he is ready, as recommended by the American Academy of Pediatrics and the World Health Organization.

So I’ve felt like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

I know, I know. I worry way too much. But I’m really working on trying to accept things the way they are and not worry so much about that which I cannot control. Nathan is healthy and happy, and that’s what counts. He is unique… he is Nathan.

I’m going to have to make a hat out of tinfoil and start wearing it every day. Tinfoil is supposed to block others from reading your mind, right? Because if that’s the case, I think I’ll have to make more than one.

I bet right now, you are wondering if I’ve lost touch with reality, aren’t you?

Well, I haven’t. But I’m pretty sure Nathan is so in-tune with me that he is starting to read my thoughts. Not in a coherent way… not like I’m thinking about the color red and so he will, too. More like, if he’s sound asleep and I start thinking about him, he wakes up. Or if we’re all asleep and I have a dream about him, he wakes up. Or sometimes if I just think about his name in my head, HE WAKES UP.

WITHOUT FAIL.

In order to keep him asleep, I have to try to refrain from thinking too deeply about him.

I’ve also noticed that we both get fussy simultaneously. When I am in a bad mood, so is he. When he is in a bad mood, so am I. When one of us is happy, so is the other. It’s like our emotions and feelings are feeding off of each other, constantly linked. His emotions seem to be like a mirror-image of my own.

Other moms have always told me that children are linked to their parents like that. But I never knew it was so strong. It’s like a little piece of my soul has detached itself from me and has formed its own body.

I can’t let Nathan see me become frustrated. If I do, the poor little guy loses his cool. And trust me, it’s not fun when Nathan loses his cool. You’d think the end of the world is rapidly approaching. But even when I strain to hide any negative emotions, SOMEHOW HE STILL KNOWS.

It makes things difficult.

Especially breastfeeding. He’s going through his difficult breastfeeding phase again. He only likes to nurse laying down in bed. If I try to sit anywhere, he acts like I’m torturing him. But then while we’re laying in bed, he’ll stop feeding and fling himself away, flailing his little arms and legs around in a fit of protest against, well, that’s the problem.

I DON’T KNOW.

It’s so stressful when your child doesn’t want to eat. I try to sing to him, rub his little head, give him gentle kisses… but so far, it doesn’t phase him. I try not to let him see how anxious it makes me when he flails around instead of eating, but my little mind reader picks up on it anyways, upsetting himself even more.

I’m trying to make it to a year. That’s three more months. I will consider myself very fortunate if Nathan continues to breastfeed much longer than twelve months. Until then, I’m thinking about making that tinfoil hat.

Nathan has been endearingly nicknamed Mr. Monkey Feet. I’ve talked about it here, where I described his discovery of his legs and feet and how he loves to attempt to eat himself. I love watching him play… he kicks his little legs and feet all over the place. He must love the sensitivity his feet have because he just HAS to touch everything with them… his toys, his face, the speckles of dust in the air…  he even attempts to pick things up with his toes.

Once he intertwined his toes in such a way that they got stuck.

He strained to pull them apart.

They finally came apart with such force that it scared him.

He drew his feet up to his face, suspiciously eying them like he was wondering how his own feet could dare to betray him like that.

He even strains to touch my face with his inquisitive little toes when I’m breastfeeding him. Which, by the way, is getting harder and harder. His arms flap around in one direction and his feet are constantly seeking something to contact. It’s like he has four antennae constantly waving around, feeling his surroundings.

It can be quite annoying.

But breastfeeding dilemmas aside, it’s really amusing watching him play because he’ll lay on his back and will pass objects from hand to foot… and sometimes he’ll just rest his hands and let his feet do all the playing.

He’s my Mr. Monkey Feet.

Nathan has recently figured out how to wave.

Well, kind of.

He mostly just flaps his arm around, like a cat playing with a feathered toy. He doesn’t bend his wrist yet, but it still counts as a wave because he does it whenever I wave at him. He doesn’t wave all the time, but when the mood strikes, he’ll wave hello, good bye, and good night. As long as there is nothing else he can focus his attention on.

Like entangling his slobbery fingers in my hair.

Or trying to pick my nose for me. Thank you very much, son, but I assure you, I can pick my nose myself. He’s gotten really bad at this when I am trying to breastfeed him. Things will be going fine, and all of a sudden, his arm shoots out of nowhere and before I have time to yank my head away, he’s stuck his finger in my nose.

And he can’t just stick his finger in my nose and leave it at that.

He wiggles it.

It is quite disconcerting.

And it makes me sneeze.

But I don’t just sneeze once. I am one of the unlucky few who sneezes MULTIPLE TIMES IN A ROW. I am like the machine gun of sneezes. Rapid-fire sneezes. My sneezes could be used as a weapon. I could just use Nathan’s finger as the trigger, aim, and then sneeze someone to death.

Nathan thinks this is funny.

 I don’t.

Well, at least he’s not picking his own nose yet. Once that happens, I can expect to find dried boogers wiped all over the place. He has an infinite supply of boogers. I’m constantly having to suck them out of his nose with the giant bulb syringe, which he LOVES. If my secret weapon is my rapid-fire sneezes, Nathan’s secret weapon is his arsenal of boogers. So yeah, I’m glad he hasn’t discovered his own nose just yet.

Be thankful for the little things, right?

Ah, another Monday. In case you haven’t noticed by now, I’m not a big fan of Mondays. It is the first day of the work week, which means that my husband has to go to work for five days. Today signified the end of our wonderful weekend alone together… I had so much fun with Paul!  The hotel was great, and of course, my husband brought in all our gear.

Including my breastpump.

My big, bulky, cumbersome, hospital-grade breastpump.

He walked through the lobby, arms laden with suitcases and bags, with this huge  gray case that says “MEDELA” on one side and “LACTATION SERVICES” on the other. And it was rattling with every step he took. Loudly. I could see all the bystanders gazing curiously at this cumbersome container as he walked by. He might as well should have hung a flashing neon sign around his neck that said “BREASTPUMP COMING THROUGH” because I swear, it seemed a sea of people parted to make room for him and my breastpump. He stopped briefly to converse with a friend of ours who also attended the wedding.

“Yeah, this is a breastpump,” Paul said nonchalantly with a little smile as his friend looked curiously at the glaring words “LACTATION SERVICES.” I could feel everyone nearby who was staring at my breastpump look from the pump to my boobs.

Suddenly, I felt very self conscious.

Which reminded me of when I went to the hospital to rent my breastpump. Nathan had to stay home with Paul because I couldn’t take him to the hospital with me, so I was on a schedule and in a hurry. But I became lost in the maze of hospital corridors, and the doctors, nurses, and anyone who looked like they knew where they were going were all walking so briskly that I couldn’t stop them to ask for directions due to the fear of being trampled on like a mere mouse in a herd of elephants. Somehow, I meandered my way onto the maternity floor. When I exited the elevator, a group of guys were loitering near the door to the maternity wing, probably chatting about their newborn babies or whatever it is that loitering guys do outside a maternity ward. I looked to the left, then to the right, trying to get my bearings.

“Can I help you?” one of the gentlemen asked.

“Um, sure. I’m here to rent a pump,” I stated matter-of-factly, forcing myself to appear confident and cool. My forced boldness, however, was immediately shattered when looks of confusion clouded every single one of their faces.

“A pump?” he asked.

My heart sped up. Sweat dotted my brow. Did I ever mention I have anxiety issues sometimes?

“Yeah. A… breastpump,” I replied. Only, in my mind, it was all in slow motion. It didn’t seem like I said a breastpump the way a normal person does… it seemed to come out thickly, like someone had halfway pressed the pause button on my speech, making the world come out slowly: Brrrrrreeeeaaaaassstpuuuuuuuummmp.

They all looked from my face to my boobs.

“Oh, go through that door and go right,” the guy said, looking a little off guard. This is silly, I thought. Why am I so scared to say “breastpump?” Should I call it something else, like “boobpump?” Or what about “lactation device?” That was when I made up my mind that I would call my breastpump exactly what it was and I was going to force myself to get comfortable saying it.

After I picked up my big, bulky, cumbersome, hospital-grade breastpump, I hoisted it over my shoulder and began the trek back to my car through endless hospital mazes once again. Only this time, I stopped anyone who looked like they knew where they were going.

“Excuse me, I came here to rent this breastpump and I can’t find the parking garage,” I said to one marathon-walker. She looked at me rudely and pointed vaguely in the right direction, eyeying my giant breastpump.

When I came to a thick crowd of bystanders who wouldn’t let me through, I said, “Coming through with my breastpump, folks.” They immediately parted and made way for me and my breastpump. Almost everyone I passed looked at my big, bulky, cumbersome, hospital-grade breastpump case with the words “LACTATION SERVICES” printed glaringly on the outward side. I fought the urge to turn the case around and have the words “MEDELA” facing outward instead.

So my husband was less embarrassed than I was, but it was still funny watching him carry in my breastpump and all the strange looks he got for doing so. I love that man!

Ok, not literally, but sometimes it feels like it. So, I’ve mentioned before that he has teeth now… well, he’s now biting me full force during our nursing sessions. He’s like a maniacal Pac Man, only with teeth. He’s gnawing on everything again, including me. Little bitty ice picks teeth have sprouted through his bottom gums. And guess what? He has two more bulging on the top… that means two more miniature enameled fear mongers teeth are waiting to emerge, biding their time till they can stab at me as well. If it hurts this bad with only two bottom teeth, I can’t even imagine how bad it will be once the top two come through as well. Now, when he bites, it’s like reliving a contraction all over again. So when the top two come through, will it be like a never-ending experience of childbirth? Lord, I hope not.

I’m doing everything I can think to do: I’ve tried unlatching him giving him a stern “No, Nathan. No biting.” He thinks it’s a game. He grins at me, not understanding that he’s causing pain. Once, on accident, I screeched, sounding like a ethereal mix between an angry evil witch and a murderous three-legged hyena. Only because the pain was so intense that a knot of nausea formed in the pit of my stomach, my vision was obscured by a fine white fog, and I thought I was going to pass out. When this happened, his faced turned into a crumpled ball of pure unhappiness, he thrust out his lower lip, and started bawling giant, glistening Nathan tears. He was just pitiful and it took a few minutes of rubbing his little head and telling him he could still share my quest for world domination to get him to calm down. I was smiling on the inside, secretly hoping my accidental screeching scared him into realizing he can’t bite.

No such luck. In fact, he was scared to nurse during the following session, and after an hour of cajoling, I finally coerced him into feeding. And then he bit me again.

I got on the Internet, which has the answers for everything. I mean everything. Don’t know how to make grilled cheese sandwiches? Google it. Don’t know how to scratch that elusive itch in the middle of your back without using the handle of a ladle? Google it. Well, Google has failed me on this one. I’ve read articles, done the research, and he is still biting.

I bet you’re wondering if I’m reading to give up and wean him. Well, I’m not going to. Don’t get me wrong, it’s very tempting. I would much rather him gnaw on a bottle than on me. I think about it every single time he bites. Every. Single. Time. But I’m not going to give up just yet… I have a few more tricks up my sleeve to try. We’ll see, Mr. Nathan, who has more willpower here. I am bound and determined to make it to at least the one year mark, as recommended by the American Academy of Pediatrics. Once again, we have reached a temporary setback. We’ve had our fair share of problems breastfeeding. We’ve made it this far and overcome all obstacles in our path. What’s one more hurdle to jump? This, too, shall pass. Eventually.