Uppity Woman Rising

Ups and Downs and the Fine Print

2010-12-05T11:22:00.002-07:00

A few weeks ago I went to visit a local midwife at her new office for a homebirth circle. The topic was "Postpartum" and I wanted to be available to lend a hand to any new moms who might need help with breastfeeding. I always find it a bit ironic when clients and friends talk to me about their struggles dealing with the aftermath of pregnancy and birth because, truthfully, I'm right there with them. Vivienne is almost one and it was at this circle that I began to realize that I might be just starting to come out of the "haze." As it turned out, the meeting consisted of myself, the midwife, and two pregnant first time mamas who had a lot of questions for me (being the only one present who had any other children). The most intriguing question that I was asked was, "What is the one thing you experienced, or you would share, about the postpartum period?"

I chose to share how long it takes me to come out of the sadness that trickily combines with the joy that I feel after birth. I don't usually realize how sad I am and what a hard time I am having until I start to feel better. That seems to take at least a year, probably more. And it's not like I'm walking around moping all the time. It's really more than just sadness. It's more a feeling like I've lost myself. I don't realize that I've lost myself, however, until I start to emerge from that and reconnect with the world in a way that I recognize as being different. To an extent, I think that this is very normal, but it's not something that a lot of people talk about. Whenever there is a big build up to something special, there is a certain let down that happens when you no longer have it to look forward to anymore (weddings, graduations, moves, etc.). Having a baby combines major life change, hormonal upheaval, increased responsibility, changes in family dynamics and exhaustion, so it is no wonder that so many women who I talk to recognize that they, too, have needed time to come back into themselves afterward.

This past year has been different for me, however, because the usual postpartum struggles have been combined with extreme relationship difficulties which have especially knocked me off my feet. Just today I looked at pictures from last year, Vivienne's birth and the holidays, and was filled with such longing and sadness to go back and experience it all over--but this time happy. I have lived in a deep, deep depression over the past year and a half and some days, truthfully, it has been a struggle to keep going. Around the time of the homebirth circle that I mentioned above, however, I started to feel more hopeful, more competent, more together, and less like I was in danger of not making it through. As soon as I started feeling better, however, I was dealt another emotional blow that left me reeling again, and here I am, struggling to make sense out of things, and taking one day at a time. When someone asks me how I am now, I answer, "I'm breathing." That is something.

The women who I spoke to that day thanked me for my honesty. It's the fine print that often gets glossed over and what a rude awakening it is when our expectations don't meet our reality. I hope, hope, hope that neither of those women suffer what I described. If they do, however, I hope they know that they are not alone.

Security Blanket

2010-11-28T02:02:00.000-07:00

I've had this little blanket since the day I was born. I believe my Mother made it for me and, for whatever reason, it was always my favorite growing up. Don't laugh, but I still have it. I've kept it with me through a lot of things. Now, it is less blanket, more tattered little rag. There was a period of a few years as a child when this blanket disappeared. I think my Dad thought I was too old to have a "blanky." Miraculously, it turned up after a move and I've never let it out of my possession since. I usually keep it wadded in a small ball tucked out of the way under a pillow. If I'm feeling really brave, or really competent, I might put it in a drawer. On nights like this, however, when the clock is ticking away, sleep is nowhere in sight, and I can't put sadness or dread or despair out of my head, this little rag feels like my best friend. Pathetic, I know. But this blanket has caught a lot of tears and carries a lot of history.

I always get the shakes for a bit after I give birth. When that happened after the birth of my second child, my Mom asked me if I wanted my blanket--and I did. If that gives you any idea how much comfort this ratty old piece of fabric gives to me, then you'll understand why I am clinging to it tightly tonight. Sometimes you just need a security blanket.

Serenity

2010-11-27T23:53:00.001-07:00

Today I Am:
Letting go.
Mourning.
Surrendering.
Acknowledging.
Forgiving.
Asking for Grace.
Living.
Surviving.
Seeking.
Remembering.
Suffering.
Praying.

This Is How We Do It

2010-10-13T10:43:00.001-07:00

Yes, two of us have matching slings. Great minds think alike.

I just love this picture! We went to the zoo last week with a few friends and had a great time. As the older children played, a few of us found a spot to sit down, rest and nurse the little ones. All of us made use of slings or wraps during the trip and strollers were used primarily for diaper changes, storage or for giving a lift to a tired older sibling. Babies? They rode in style wrapped tightly to their Mama.

I am able to do so many things that I wouldn't otherwise be able to do because of babywearing. I recently began taking harp lessons and the harp teacher (who just happened to be a La Leche Leage Leader when her own children were young) is, lucky for me, very supportive of babies coming along for the ride. She took some great video of my friend and I at our last lesson with our babies wrapped on. If you would like to see some short clips check it out here. Someday I'd like to write a book about this subject, but for fun right now I'd like to brainstorm just some of the places that I've worn and nursed my babies. The list looks something like this:

On planes, trains and boats (including a catamaran in Mexico).

At athletic events.

Work events.

Religious events.

Community events.

Church.

While bowling.

While cleaning and cooking.

At weddings.

At parties.

At the Dentist.

At Doctor appointments.

In the grocery store.

At the mall.

At the movies.

While playing Rock Band.

While showering, brushing teeth and putting on makeup.

While swimming.

While playing piano.

While teaching piano.

Eating.

Using the bathroom. (You know you have, too. You do what you gotta do.)

Leading support group meetings.

Writing.

Reading.

While helping other children with homework.

While volunteering in school.

While moving.

While doing yard work.

During walks to the park.

I've used ring slings, pouch slings, wraps, the Ergo and mei tei's. I probably get stopped at least once or twice a day with someone asking me about my slings and commenting, "I wish they had those when my children were young." I always want to respond that they DID exist then--slings have been in use for thousands of years. I think what most people are referring to is that slings and wraps didn't become mainstream until recent years, sadly. I consider myself incredibly lucky that I discovered La Leche League and babywearing while I was still pregnant with my first baby (I think I will write about that story another day). If not for those early experiences, who knows where I would be now?

I'm writing this blog post right now with a tired, fussy, teething baby in the sling. I really don't know how I would survive without being a babywearer.

Craptastic

2010-10-04T08:08:00.000-07:00

This one is for all the mothers out there.

Sometimes things seem really crappy, figuratively and literally. Financial problems, marriage issues, not having enough hours in the day--all of these things are pretty crappy. And sometimes when it rains, it pours. So it should not have surprised me in the least when my baby girl decided to poop all over me and everything else within sight yesterday afternoon. Oh, yes. Fresh from my shower and her bath, all squeaky clean and wrapped in our towels, I decided to take my time in getting her dressed and getting a diaper on that tiny heiny.

BIG MISTAKE.

Now, if we were at home and this happened I wouldn't panic too much. I'd get her washed off, get some fresh towels and we'd go on our merry way. It's not so easy, however, when you're staying in someone else's house and don't know where clean towels are and don't want to make a naked run for it through the hallway because, odds are that if you do, your brother in law, nephew, or better yet, the brother of your brother in law who is over for a surprise visit, will turn the corner just as you do. I'm just speculating, of course. That didn't really happen ~~entirely~~.

Fortunately, we survived that and the rest of the day and I was blessed to have friends reach out to me and invite me out for a bite to eat and some company. I also managed to have some fun with the kids and took them to browse around at Borders and see a movie at the dollar theater. It was all good (or at the very least, decent), until my four year old looked up at me during the movie and said, "Daddy?"

Craptastic.

That's the ebb and flow, ups and downs and highs and lows, I guess, of being in a sucky situation. One minute you're in the moment, hanging on for dear life to any sense of normalcy, and the next, you're reminded of what you're trying to escape from. All I can do during these times is hold the babies tight, cuddle up for the long ride that is the night, breathe deep, and take it in stride. Tomorrow could be a fantastic day, after all.

Home

2010-10-03T07:29:00.001-07:00

"There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home."

Dorothy had that right.

Home is so much more than the walls that create a house. The house is nice, but really meaningless. It's memories, experiences, and years upon years of hopes and dreams that make a space "comfortable," for better or for worse.

I'm no longer in my home and I miss so much already. What tangible, physical "things" I have from home fill a small pile on my sister's living room floor. Slowly, I am forcing myself to accept that this is real and I bring one box, one bag, up to my room at a time. We have our clothes. I have my boys' baby albums (and Nathaniel's never even got finished and he's almost 5. Poor typical middle child.) I have the framed picture of Tristan as a newborn that has moved from house to house (and no, I don't have one for my other kids because I pretty much never print out pictures anymore). I have a tutu that I bought for Viv when I was pregnant with her--my first "girl" purchase. THAT had to come, of course. I have this laptop, my fax and my client files. I have a handful of my favorite books, and I could only take the ones I thought I would actually read again and again, so they all have black covers with white lettering and a splash of red somewhere. For the uninitiated, that means "Twilight." Yes, I might read them for the twentieth time. All the others are reference books that have to do with, you guessed it, birth and breastfeeding. I have birth certificates and my passport. The ultrasound picture from Viv. What else? That's it.

Home has been left behind. The place where I dreamed big and created a family is just a jumble of memories that trigger tears. The garden that we slaved over. The corner of the room where I gave birth. The sounds of laughter over dinner with friends in the kitchen that I painted ten times trying to get the color right. That's where we planted a tree. That's where we took our family photo. That's where we splashed the summer away in the pool. That's when I thought we could be happy.

Playing Hide and Seek.

Taking Vacations.

Creating a garden.

Finally got that color right.

Growing Up.

Realizing Dreams.

Celebrating Holidays.

Learning New Things.

First Days of School.

Creating and welcoming Life.

Yesterday, after a full day of soccer games and sweltering temperatures, we were done. The kids wanted to go home. Home, as in, our "new" home because, thankfully, they don't mind living part time here and playing with their cousins every day. I started driving and suddenly, painfully realized that I was driving "home, home." Auto pilot had taken over. That pretty much destroyed me for the rest of the day and here, in the early hours of the next morning, the tears are still flowing, spilling onto the keys of the keyboard, blurring my vision. There's no place like home.

I am grateful. I am grateful. I am grateful.

These are the words that I continue to play over and over again in my head, willing myself to remember how fortunate I am. Trying to take comfort in the support of my loved ones and trying to have hope for the future.

On the first night, as I struggled and wanted nothing more than to get in the car and drive home, I instead stood in the shower, letting the tears bathe me, and told myself, "Nothing lasts forever. Even this." That is my new mantra.

Doctors Have Found The Cure For Obesity, Eating Disorders, STD's, Cancer and More!

2010-09-19T09:39:00.001-07:00

Ok. I'm excited about this one...

Several of my friends recently dealt with gallbladder issues and a few of them had to have surgery as a result. I started doing some research (because you know I love to research random stuff) and came across some amazing new studies that I just had to share!

It appears that there is a group of doctors who believe that the gallbladder is actually the cause of a ton of health issues Americans are currently dealing with. (Who knew?) Everyone from the First Lady to your friendly neighborhood pediatrician is trying to figure out how to fight obesity, but researchers now say that removing the gallbladder could prove to be an easy method to reducing obesity rates, as well as reduce incidences of other public health hazards such as eating disorders, sexually transmitted diseases, cancer, and even the common cold!

Here's how (I'm just going to summarize it for the sake of time and brevity): As anyone who lives without a gall bladder can tell you, maintaining a low fat diet and limiting fatty foods such as red meat is very important (I hear there are some unpleasant consequences if this is not managed well). A group of doctors has determined that a simple outpatient surgery to remove the gallbladder soon after every American child is born would ensure that these children grow up consuming healthier foods and lower fat diets out of physical necessity. They claim that parents will be properly motivated to monitor fat intake because to not do so will result in very unfavorable diaper changes and bathroom breaks. The doctors advocate performing the procedure in infancy so that a low fat diet is ingrained as a part of life from the get go and because it is simply easier to perform surgery on babies. Essentially, these children will grow up being "naturally thin," which doctors claim will reduce many of the body image issues that past generations have dealt with and we will see a dramatic decline in the number of eating disorders amongst both males and females. They then reason that fewer eating disorders will encourage the development of higher self-esteem during the childhood and teenage years, thereby leading to lower rates of promiscuity. This, in turn, will dramatically slash rates of sexually transmitted diseases. A thinner population consuming less meat will also mean a nation with stronger immune systems (less colds and illnesses) and the reduced fat diet and limited meat consumption will reduce heart disease and a slew of different cancers, particularly stomach cancer. While they didn't include this finding in their article, I just realized another benefit--less red meat consumption means lower greenhouse gases from fewer cows raised to be steak!

When asked if they were concerned that many parents might react negatively to this new recommendation, the doctors said that they weren't worried at all as many parents already request surgery for their infants in the form of circumcision. They also noted that societal pressure to conform will drive rates of gallbladder surgery up (parents won't want their little Bobby or Susie Q. to be the only one in their kindergarten class with a gallbladder), which will also create job stability in a time of recession for doctors performing the surgeries, hospitals where the surgeries will be performed, pharmaceutical companies that will manufacture the antibiotics that will be necessary to combat infection after surgery and cosmetic companies who can obtain the gallbladders for a minimal price to use in their newest skin cream formulations.

The doctors did point out that they don't have any solid studies to support their beliefs but directed questioning reporters to a statement recently released by the American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP), emphasizing that despite there not being any medical evidence to support routine gallbladder removal in infants, the AAP has a personal bias that leads them to encourage it nonetheless. They also pointed out that with modern laproscopic techniques, the procedure can be performed with minimal scarring and because babies don't feel pain right after they are born like grown-ups and fetuses in utero (who are commonly anesthetized during fetal surgery) the only anesthesia necessary is a bit of numbing ointment on the incision site.

Ummmmm. No. This obviously isn't true, but it sounds familiar, doesn't it?

Okay, okay. I'm going to move on very soon to another controversial and uncomfortable topic of conversation, but I just couldn't resist putting my own spin on this argument and having a bit of fun with it.

Food For Thought

2010-09-17T10:20:00.003-07:00

I really appreciate the kindness and generosity that has been shown to me as I share my experiences on this blog. It's not easy putting it all "out there" for the world to see and I truly value comments and feedback.

My last post dealt with some deeply personal decisions that I have made as a parent and I am so relieved that you were all so gentle with me. It is never fun to be in the "hot seat" of parenting. We all try so, so hard to do the best that we are able and sometimes we are stellar and other times, well, not so much. (If you had been at my house last night around 4:45 p.m. as we were trying to get loaded up for karate lessons you would have wished that you weren't. It was loud.)

After giving it some thought, I realized that some readers might not understand some of the language that I used in the last post concerning the topic of circumcision and why I referred to it as a strictly elective and cosmetic procedure. I would like to explain...and please understand that if you made different decisions as a parent, or hold beliefs different from mine on this topic that this is not my attempt to put you in the hot seat--I am merely going to share and explain how I went from being 100% pro circumcision to deciding against it for the future.

Now, y'all have Google, just like I do, so I'm not going to cite a ton of sources or direct you to a gazillion websites. If you want the information, the research world is your oyster and you merely need to hit "Search." I will tell you, though, that I am a researcher, as anyone who knows me can attest. I majored in History, where it's all about, "Know your sources," and truth be told, I can't buy a kitchen spatula without researching it to death. So I might not be able to help it if a source or two slips in--I'm an addict--an information whore, if you will. Sigh...

So without further ado, here are the main reasons why I chose to circumcise my sons, and why I no longer believe any of them:

Probably the biggest concern that I, and other Americans, worried about was health reasons. We have a long-held belief that removing the foreskin will protect males from everything under the sun from UTI's, to STD's, to penile cancer. I began to realize over time, however, that circumcision is one of the only times that we justify removing an organ as a preventative measure, particularly with infants.

Statistically, 310 men will die in 2010 from penile cancer. Likewise, 39,840 women will die from (and 207,090 will be diagnosed with) breast cancer. But I don't hear anyone advocating for the prophylactic removal of young girls' breasts. Some adult women decide, based on genetic testing, strong family history, or diagnosis of cancer to have their breasts surgically removed, but they do so as consenting adults who have given informed (we hope) consent. Many children suffer from chronic ear infections, but no one is recommending that we put tubes in every infant's ears at birth. Many other children and adults will get their tonsils taken out at some point in their life but, again, we don't make an across the board decision to remove them without cause during infancy. Someday, one of my children might develop appendicitis, but I don't demand that his appendix be removed at one day of age, "just to be on the safe side." Many babies are born with heart murmurs and most pediatricians recognize that this can be a normal variation that takes care of itself with time and monitoring. It would be unethical to perform heart surgery on all infants because a few might continue to have heart problems that don't resolve on their own with a tincture of time.

Let me give a similar example from my professional life. Some babies (it is estimated to be around 4-5%) have limited tongue mobility due to a short frenulum (a band of tissue under the tongue). This is commonly referred to as "tongue tie." Tongue tie can significantly affect breastfeeding (and bottle feeding as well), causing low milk transfer, decreased milk supply, and pain in the mother. It can also affect dental health (increased cavities, abnormal palatal formation, increased need for orthodontia, etc.) and can cause speech delays and impediments. The treatment is called a "frenotomy" and involves clipping the frenulum and "releasing" the tongue. It is almost always able to be performed as an in-office procedure, takes a few seconds and babies can nurse immediately afterwards. I see a lot of tongue ties as a Lactation Consultant because I see a lot of moms and babies having breastfeeding problems where the underlying culprit turns out to be issues such as this and, as part of my job, I counsel parents as they make the decision whether to treat or not once a diagnosis has been made. The procedure is minimally invasive in most cases, but many parents are hesitant to submit their babies to a procedure that might inflict pain or discomfort. (Ironically, some of these parents do not think twice about circumcising and have no clue whether or not pain medication was used. Hmmmm.) Even knowing that the treatment is minimally invasive and has great benefits when warranted, and knowing that 94% of mothers report immediate improvement in nursing after the release, I would never, never, tell all parents that they should have their baby's frenulum clipped, "just because."

I had a mom call me last night experiencing pain with breastfeeding. Should I just assume, without seeing her or her baby, that because she has pain with nursing that she should march her baby over to the pediatrician to get clipped? Of course not. It would be unprofessional, unethical, and unnecessary without first determining the actual cause of the pain such as helping with posititon and attachment, examining the baby and mother's anatomy, treating for bacterial infection or thrush in the mother if necessary, etc. Ironically, it used to be the standard of practice for tongue clippings to be performed routinely at birth (there are even tales of midwives keeping one fingernail sharpened for the sole purpose of severing the frenulum at birth). It fell out of favor with the rise of bottle feeding and was discouraged from being routinely performed (at the same time, interestingly, that circumcision rates rose significantly).

A few months ago, my son got a splinter in his foot (running around like the barefoot banshee that he is) and we went to the doctor because the area surrounding it became inflamed and I was worried about infection. He advised soaking it in warm water and keeping it clean. Guess what? The next day it was fine. We didn't need foot surgery. If it had developed a problem or an infection, we could have then treated it with medications or other measures, but the situation didn't warrant anything invasive and so we kept it simple.

I used to also worry about the cleanliness factor with circumcision until I realized that, if anything, boy bits and pieces are easy to keep clean--they are all on the outside. Now that I have a little girl, diaper changes are a bit more involved. There are many cultures that believe that women need to be circumcised because it is cleaner, has supposed medical benefits, or keeps a woman virtuous by limiting her sexual pleasure (much like circumcision was first introduced during the Victorian era in America as an alleged way of discouraging male masturbation--I don't think it worked). As far as the cleanliness reason goes, female circumcision would appear to make more sense than male circumcision does, but I don't know a single person who would advocate for little girls to be circumcised, nor am I (though it was in vogue here in America awhile back--ask your grandparents).

I also worried about the whole, "But he won't look like his Daddy" thing. As if this really mattered. I mean, whatever is the green eyed child of brown and blue eyed parents to do??? Again, I don't hear anyone insisting that a large breasted girl have a breast reduction solely to match her small breasted mother, and vice versa. If I wanted a twin, I guess I could clone myself. The truth is, children don't need to look just like their parents and neither do their genitals. Just ask any adoptive parent.

Next, I thought about the religious reasons often cited. Only that, as a Christian, I didn't have a leg to stand on there. The Bible is pretty clear that Jesus was the fulfillment of the Covenant, thereby making circumcision no longer required. The Book of Mormon and numerous Popes have also made mention against the practice.

I could go on and on, but you know what? Here's what REALLY happened. I had a change of heart. My heart was turned. Like all good conversion stories, I suppose, it didn't matter what anyone else said or did, I wasn't going to change my mind until something changed within me first.

I'm going to share something about myself here (as if I haven't done that plenty already, I know): I am the definition of "bleeding heart." I feel very intensely. Sometimes I have to shut it off because I can become lost in my empathy for others. I am thrilled, by the way, that I have this quality as, while I can sometimes be an insensitive prick just like anyone else, I really try hard not to be.

Side story--I got chewed out a few weeks ago by a random guy at the gas station who felt I was taking too long to fill up my 22 gallon tank and buy a drink. I was so upset. Angry, sad, embarrassed. It really bothered me. (I don't do so well with confrontation. That's the people pleaser in me.) Then, all of a sudden, I had a huge epiphany...that is exactly how my children feel when I let loose on them for whatever reason. My heart just broke and I vowed to be much more present to how I communicate my anger and frustration. It's a work in progress, but I'm trying very hard because I can empathize.

My feelings about routine infant circumcision (whether performed on a male or a female) are also affected by me employing empathy and putting myself in the baby's place. And you know what? I thank God all the time that I don't live in a time or place that condones female infant circumcision, and I'm not being snarky by saying that. I have literally given prayers of thanks that I have been spared that, and many other, atrocities. My children's bodies are not my own to do with as I please. When they grow up they will have full autonomy over their bodies and can do whatever they want. If they want to have pierced ears, tattoos, or be circumcised, they can make those decisions as consenting adults. Much like I cannot in good conscience advocate that all babies have their appendixes taken out at birth in the hopes of avoiding an emergency surgery in the future, I can also no longer choose circumcision for any future children that I have. That pesky, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you," and "Treat thy neighbor as thyself" thing just makes it impossible for me now.

I am also becoming more and more aware that there is a lot of denial in our culture about this topic. (Did you read my last post about that?) Men sometimes insist that they want their sons to be circumcised because "It was done to me and I survived." Surviving and thriving are two very different things, however, and it most certainly seems to be the case that violence begets violence. Remember the whole, "Ignorance is bliss" topic of discussion the other day? Let's think about it. If circumcised men determine that they don't want their sons circumcised because they view it as perpetuating violence against their children, then they must also be forced to recognize that their own mothers and fathers were perpetrators against them. The psyche protects itself fiercely and many people would rather cling to flimsy justifications and cultural excuses than confront their own trauma. And my empathetic heart understands that completely.

So here's where I stand: Soap and water go a long way and basic hygiene takes care of most issues. Condoms and safer sex practices prevent STD's and cancer, well, we're still working on understanding that bugger.

Now, chew on all that. Digest it. Flush it down the toilet if you will, or take it to heart. Either way, thanks for reading.

Edited to add: The issue of human rights here is pretty huge when you consider that a majority of circumcisions are performed without anesthesia. I stayed during my second son's circumcision and forced myself to watch the whole thing as I thought it was only right for me to offer him the comfort of my presence during a traumatic event. Since I was there the whole time, I was able to ensure that adequate pain medication was used. First, a numbing ointment, then a local anesthetic which was allowed time to take effect before the circumcision began. Many people are not aware of how tightly adhered the foreskin is to the glans--it is the equivalent of your nail on your nail bed. Before the skin can be cut away it must first be loosened up from the glans. This is accomplished by taking a metal instrument and ripping underneath the foreskin. I don't use the word "rip" lightly and it is not meant to be alarmist or dramatic. It is simply the best word I can use to describe what is done--and I watched the whole thing, so it's not simply rhetoric. I am, to my knowledge, the only one of my friends to stay with her son during a circumcision and it remains unclear to me how many people really know what their sons have gone through. Many simply assume that pain medication was used without knowing details. Some have told me that they believe only a numbing cream or a sweetened pacifier was used (if they weren't there it's hard to know for sure, of course). My oldest son survived his circumcision without any pain medication at all. It begs the question...if someone were to jab a metal knife under your fingernail, all the way down to your cuticle, and then circle around your finger, would you want a lollipop or some numbing cream, or perhaps something more?

I am also surprised by how many people call me about their "sleepy" babies who aren't nursing well after their circumcisions and don't put two and two together that the issues are related.

Da Nile Runs Deep

2010-09-15T16:04:00.000-07:00

What is it about intuition? Specifically, why do we listen to it sometimes, but ignore it the rest of the time? The saying, "Ignorance is bliss" really resonates. Or the Oprah ism, "When you know better, you do better." Well, perhaps ignorance is bliss in some situations because if you did know better (listened to intuition) you would be forced to make a different, maybe even more difficult decision, or confront something about yourself that you don't care for too much. I've been mulling this over and I'm going to warn you--this is going to get personal and bitterly truthful.

I got started thinking about all of this yesterday after a friend called me asking me if I had any resources to share with a doula client of hers. She had been helping this family quite a bit with breastfeeding issues (she is also a Board Certified Lactation Consultant) but found out some new information about the baby yesterday. The family had planned to have the baby circumcised at the pediatrician's office and had no qualms about it originally. It was discovered during the procedure, however, that the circumcision would need to be delayed for at least several months due to some anatomical issues concerning the baby's urethra. Suddenly, this family now needed to obtain information on caring for an intact son whose foreskin has been forcibly retracted.

I thought back to decisions I've made in the past, especially concerning my children, and the guilt that plagues me over many of them. Would I carry the guilt had I listened to my intuition at the time? Was I even connected enough to my intuition at the time to have noticed?

When my first son was born there was no question in my mind--he would be circumcised. My husband felt strongly about it and it just seemed the thing to do. I didn't really know or care too much about what the long term implications were for this decision; I didn't stop to consider that elective cosmetic surgery with no medical benefits was unethical and I certainly didn't give pause to the fact that I would find a similar procedure performed on a baby girl abhorrent and abusive. I can't even blame misinformation on my lack of caring. I grew up with intact brothers and I had a wonderful Bradley instructor who shared a lot of information about circumcision. Interestingly, the only thing I took away from all of those experiences was this: that I was 100% insistent that he be circumcised with a local anesthetic (I could at least acknowledge how barbaric cutting off a body part without pain medication is).

Thus began my attempt at conscientiousness. I asked my obstetrician for a referral for a pediatrician who would use pain medication for the circ. During the interview with the pediatrician, while I was still pregnant, this issue was paramount and took precedence over everything else. You support breastfeeding and don't over prescribe antibiotics? Great. Now let's get down to the really important stuff...cutting off my son's foreskin for no reason.

Then came the fateful birth-day where my intuition was ignored as well. The coerced induction-epidural-threatened c-section-vacuum extraction-episiotomy birth that went completely against everything that I had prepared for. But I didn't go to medical school, right? So when my doctor said the word, I went along, sadly and begrudgingly, but with blind faith.

And then I was horrified to learn that our beloved pediatrician, the man that we chose for the sole reason of his use of anesthetic during circumcisions, was not the doctor from the practice making rounds at the hospital and this doctor had a completely different take on things. Anesthesia is dangerous, it only takes a few minutes, they don't feel the pain, blah, blah, blah. If I wanted it done with my pediatrician, well, that would require an in-office appointment and well, we really encourage you to do it in the hospital, it's easier and safer and you can just do it now and not have to worry about it. I tried to listen to my intuition. I called the office and scheduled the appointment.

And then I cancelled it.

It seemed too daunting, too difficult (selfish, selfish) after such a difficult birth, with my husband going back to work in a day, to get myself and my newborn son to the office and back in one piece.

So I turned him over, blindly trusting that this doctor was right. What did I know anyway? My intuition must be wrong...

Months later, I cried to our pediatrician over how much guilt I felt about what my poor baby was put through unnecessarily. He asked me somewhat jokingly, "Are you Jewish or Catholic?" As in Jewish guilt, Catholic guilt, etc. I said, "Worse! Mormon and Catholic! A double whammy of the worst kind!"

I spent the next four years readying myself to do everything differently. Midwife. Check. Homebirth. Check. Pain relief for circumcision. Check.

Wait a minute! That didn't feel right. I was going to such great lengths to grant this child a peaceful and gentle entrance into the world but I was still planning to subject him to unnecessary surgery for a purely cosmetic reason? That's pretty incongruous.

Still, I made the appointment when he was three weeks old. And I agonized. And I cried. I sat in the doctor's office and sobbed tears of sadness and regret. Because he was perfect, simply perfect, just the way he was. The way he came to me. His birth, one of healing and empowerment, brought me a sweet, angelic son who didn't need any "tweaking."

I had an out. My husband saw how much distress I was in and said gently, "We don't have to do this. We can leave."

But we were there. But I had made this decision--I can't change it now. But he will be different than his brother. But, but, but.

At least I stayed with him. I could give him that much. And the skilled and experienced mohel/family doctor did his job well. But did I? Did I mother him well? I ignored my intuition--that higher self that knows so much more than it lets on. That voice that nudges, then whispers, then screams. But ignorance is bliss, right?

There have been many other times when I have chosen not to listen, or have ignored that voice until it could no longer be ignored. Perhaps part of my journey on this earth is to come to terms with, recognize, or acknowledge my own power. Sometimes it's there, and I sense it, but talk myself out of believing it. Sometimes I think it's absent, but now I wonder...?

"Check his phone." I heard it clear as day in my mind. My voice, but not my voice. "No," I argued with myself. Again, the voice, clear and powerful, "Check his phone." And then my world turned upside down. Again.

The family member who abused children in the family, including my own. Did I have a voice then? Was it there and I ignored it?

My friend's baby who I just had a feeling about, a feeling that I ignored. "It's all in my head. If she needs me she'll let me know. I'm sure they're fine." Weeks later I learn that the intuition was correct and if only I had listened, perhaps some difficulty could have been avoided?

My second child, who is so strong-willed and difficult for me to understand. Something tells me there is something to be done there, but fear holds me back and keeps me hoping for an easy resolution.

So now I have laid myself bare and I ask you to contemplate as well. What does your inner voice whisper to you? When have you listened, and when have you wished that you had?

Vivienne

2010-09-14T08:47:00.003-07:00

This tiny marsupial
Emerging from her pouch
Exploring and expanding her world.
Who makes her nest
Upon my breast.
The loveliest flower
Whose eyes are oceans,
Seeing souls.
The Peacemaker.
The Healer.
The Almost Never Was.
Whose nestling body
Heals wounds.
Whose smile can melt the hardest heart.
Who finds a beat and moves on impulse.
This tiny dancer
Whose name means "Full of Life."
Who is the namesake of The Lady of the Lake,
Imparting her magic
In every smile and kiss.
Sprinkling her fairy dust
And enchanting her broken mother.
Who inspires me to wonder and awe
And stillness and fortitude.
A lifeline.
Needed as much as she needs me.
Who breaks my heart with every tiny step.
Who lays in peaceful contentment
And reminds me of mortality and eternity
With every quiet breath.
Who is loved beyond all measure.
My third child
Who fits right in
And isn't fazed by chaos or calamity.

Who dreams in color and noise
Creating bliss.

Buyer Beware: Formula Companies and Breastfeeding Don't Mix

2010-09-12T08:50:00.000-07:00

First it was "Breastfeeding Support Packages" in the Pediatrician offices. Then it was "Breastfeeding Support Bags" in the hospital. Now there are "Breastfeeding Support Hotlines" that new mothers can call if they have questions or concerns about feeding their baby. Sounds like a good idea, right? What could I possibly find to complain about doctors and hospitals supporting breastfeeding? Well, if it was true support, then nothing. But all of the above-mentioned forms of "support" are really nothing of the sort. The packs, bags and hotlines are all clever marketing strategies sponsored by formula companies and I hope it won't seem too far-fetched of me to suggest that formula companies publishing and doling out breastfeeding support and information is about as transparent as cigarette companies supporting smoking-cessation programs. It doesn't make any sense.

That's why I love, love, love Christy Haskell's blog post "Formula Companies: Hands Off My Breasts!" on The Stir, and Motherwear's Breastfeeding Blog, "Were You Sold Out For A Sandwich?". Both of these posts give some sad but true examples of what women are really up against when it comes to the machine that is the multi-billion dollar a year formula industry.

Case in point: as I mentioned before, many of the major formula manufacturers are now sponsoring hotlines that are advertised as being staffed by Board Certified Lactation Consultants to help new mothers with feeding questions. Never mind that this is a complete fallacy as no IBCLC would or even could ethically work for such a company. Instead, employees took one-week courses and have been unleashed on the public being touted as "experts."

Well, let's examine what kind of advice these "experts" are disseminating. Recently, on an international message board for lactation and health care professionals, a member revealed that she had called Abbott's (the maker of Similac) hotline and pretended to be a new mom with questions about breastfeeding. Not surprisingly, the advice she was given was not great and--shocker--she was encouraged to begin supplementing with formula. When she called back to reveal that she was actually a lactation consultant and wanted to talk to someone accountable for the incorrect information she had been given, she was immediately transferred to a supervisor who said:

"We are aware of the information that person gave you about mixing breastmilk with formula to increase calories...and we have discussed it with her extensively!" When I asked how she knew about it...she didn't answer. THEN I posed the question...are you a member of LACTNET...she said "YES!" (Marie Ivey, LACTNET, September 10, 1010).

Please, please, please do not rely on a formula company to educate you about breastfeeding. There are many, many wonderful resources such as La Leche League and Kelly Mom where you can access up to date and accurate information. If you need an International Board Certified Lactation Consultant you can locate one in your area through ILCA (International Lactation Consultant Association). If you want to support real breastfeeding materials being available at hospitals and doctor's offices, check out or start your own organization such as Arizona's new "Best Start Bag Project." It's a lot to combat against, but it's worth it.

Soundtrack of My Life

2010-08-30T18:39:00.003-07:00

"Landslide," Stevie Nicks

I took my love and I took it down.

I climbed a mountain and I turned around.

And I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills

Till the landslide brought me down.

Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?

Can the child within my heart rise above?

Can I sail through the changing ocean tides?

Can I handle the seasons of my life?

Mmmm. I don't know.

Mmmm, mmmm.

Well, I've been afraid of changing

Cause I've built my life around you.

But time makes you bolder, children get older

And I'm getting older too.

So take this love and take it down.

Oh, if you climb a mountain and you turn around,

If you see my reflection in the snow covered hills,

Well, the landslide will bring it down, down.

And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills

Well maybe, the landslide will bring it down

Well, well, the landslide will bring it down.

Oh, where to even start?

Change is hard. Really, really hard. Especially for a person like me, who is so afraid of making a mistake that it paralyzes me and I remain stagnant rather than risk a wrong turn.

That has been my life for the past year. A lot of little steps forward, but many more back. Worse yet, I have spent most of this year hibernating and hiding and willing myself to remain detached from my feelings so that I can just survive. Survival has been the name of the game.

Sure, I've managed to function in the most base sense of the word. My children are fed and dressed. Homework somehow gets done. Everyone gets to where they need to be. My clients are taken care of. I socialize and smile and sometimes genuinely have fun. Most times, though, it feels like I have an avatar living my life and I am really just hiding under my covers. Maybe I just dreamed my life...

This past year has been full of unbelievable highs and devastating lows. My marriage completely fell apart and I filed for divorce shortly after I discovered I was pregnant with my third child. In an effort to minimize change and maximize my support network, my husband moved back in and we now live mostly separate lives aside from our children, though we still live under the same roof. It has been so, so hard.

I have been so, so sad.

Sometimes the sadness gets replaced by anger. I feel robbed of so much. My pregnancy was very lonely, despite the outpouring of support I received from friends and family. I felt incredibly abandoned and rejected by my spouse. Whereas most couples celebrate the birth of a new baby together and many describe it as a bonding experience, we experienced the event completely separately. There were no tender kisses, no hugs. No shows of affection. We had one day, shortly after she was born where I thought, "maybe...," but it was gone as quickly as it came.

"1000 Oceans," Tori Amos

These tears I've cried
I've cried 1000 oceans
And if it seems
I'm floating in the darkness
Well, I can't believe that I would keep
Keep you from flying
And I would cry 1000 more
If that's what it takes
To sail you home
Sail you home
Sail you home

Time continues to march on and I continue to live in limbo. A lot of the time I am terrified. Pure terror. Afraid of the unknown, of what lies ahead. Afraid of who I will be, what my life will be like, when I am no longer someone's wife. Sometimes I catch glimpses, and I see myself in a new life; strong, focused, powerful...happy. Sometimes I long for that future and I want nothing more than to be free from the pain and regret that I am now surrounded by constantly.

There is very little peace in my life. Maybe there never was and I only imagined any happiness.

Some days I get lost in nostalgia. Even the smallest things can trigger it. My son asking to go to the park bombards me with memories of sunny days and happier times. Times when my life felt right. Days when I was overcome with happiness looking at my family and the life I had managed to create. When even if things were hard, I was committed. Boy, was I committed.

I don't do a lot things that I used to for that very reason. I have been practicing the "art of detachment," as I call it, because a divorce means many, many changes in my life. I will no longer live in this house, first and foremost. I find it increasingly difficult to invest time and energy that I don't have into a home that may not be mine for much longer. I realized this the other day when I remembered that I haven't played my piano in over a year. I used to love to play but as the years go by and life becomes ever more busy, I can only find snippets of time for music. I have been staying away more recently, however, because I have been trying to detach myself from my belongings. There won't be anywhere to put a baby grand piano in my sister's spare room...I am afraid that if I care about my "things" it will be harder to let them go.

I confronted that fear today and dusted off my piano, pulled out some sheet music and spent a few minutes playing. It was bittersweet.

I am turning to music. Another suddenly single friend is taking horseback riding lessons. The newly divorced character that Julia Roberts plays in "Eat, Pray, Love" learns Italian. Hmmmm. I think I see a pattern here. Instead of the "art of detachment," perhaps I should call it the "art of distraction."

All I know is that I'm trying desperately to find my way.

"I Go Away," MDNR

It's over,
Indulgently, sober.
How did I get here without feeling anything?
Stay true, see it through they say.
Tick tock, time just slips away.
And when the air is clear
The way I go is the way I feel.

I'll go away, I'll go away, I'll go my own way.
I'll go away, I'll go away, I'll go my own way.
I'll go away, I'll go away, I'll go my own way.
I'll go away.

Who Moved My Cheese(burger)?

2010-08-25T17:14:00.000-07:00

On the heels of yesterday's post...

I got to listen to a friend on the radio the other day. She had the guts to call into the Jay Lawrence show on KTAR to chime in on the whole "What do you think about women breastfeeding in public?" debate. She did such a great job and I just loved some of the things she said. To listen yourself, click on the link above and either sit through a lot of migraine-inducing comments or scroll through to 32 minutes and 55 seconds.

One of her points set the too-tired wheels of my brain spinning and inspiration hit! (Get ready for it--we're going to make millions). When asked if there was a certain amount of decorum that should be used by nursing women she made a comment about being a vegetarian and being completely grossed out by watching someone eat a juicy cheeseburger, but emphasized that she doesn't have the right to storm up to the person and demand that they leave or cover themselves to make her feel more comfortable witnessing the consumption of animal flesh (I paraphrase, but you get the point). I have to say, I couldn't agree more. But maybe we shouldn't be too quick to dismiss the idea. I think there could be quite a market for "Carnivore Covers."

Coming soon to a store near you! I can see it now...

Normalizing "Normal" and Holding Ourselves to Higher Standards

2010-08-24T12:40:00.002-07:00

There's been a quite a media frenzy lately about public breastfeeding and, while I feel like I am beating a dead horse and others have said pretty much all there is to say about it, I'm going to take a stab at it (again) and again, and again because this is an issue that should really be a non-issue, but it sure keeps rearing its ugly head, ad nauseum.

For a great overview of this subject and for a few links to news stories that have hit the airwaves lately telling sordid tales of brazen breastfeeders getting kicked out of places left and right for having the audacity to feed their nurslings in, horror(!), the electronics aisle of Target or, as happened a week ago right here in sunny Arizona, at a McDonalds where the mother was threatened with a call to the police (never mind that Arizona law completely protects a woman and child's right to nurse in public), read the excellent blog post "Public Breastfeeding--Shame On You!". Anyone who doubts that this is a legitimate issue is sorely mistaken.

One of the most common misperceptions that I hear when breastfeeding is discussed is the idea that when a woman nurses in public she is somehow doing so to gain attention, or is purposefully "flaunting" her body around, trying to make a scene, prove a point, etc. I wonder, however, if this same logic would apply to any number of other scenarios. For example, someone recently shared with me an experience that she had while receiving physical therapy at her doctor's office. Out of nowhere, the doctor asked the clients in the room what they thought about women nursing in public (can you say "unprofessional?") because he had recently witnessed a mother nursing her child at a restaurant and thought it was completely inappropriate and that "these women" must be looking for attention and just want an excuse to "show off" their breasts out in public. I don't know about you, but that strikes me as an extremely judgmental assumption to make about a person that you don't know anything about. I know that most of us have made such judgements about others based on appearance, behavior, or any number of other factors, but how often have you made a snap judgement about someone only to get to know the person and discover that you were completely wrong?

Just for fun, let's play out the above scenario but replace the "immodest-and-attention-seeking-whore-of-a-woman" stereotype with a different, but equally juvenile, one. I imagine it could look something like this:

Dr.: "Oh. My. Gosh. You won't BELIEVE what I saw at lunch today!!! I was just sitting there, minding my own business, when this MAN walked in and...(dramatic pause) he was wearing a PINK shirt (gasp)!!! I mean, doesn't he know that PINK is a color for GIRLS??? He must be gay to wear pink out in public and I don't like "those people." Hey, whatever floats his boat, right? But I don't agree with it, and I certainly don't have to SEE it when I'm out trying to eat lunch at a nice restaurant. I'll bet he has AIDS--all gay people do, you know. Eeeek! The nerve of some people, trying to force their agenda on the rest of us!"

My response: "Well, you make a lot of presumptions there. What if none of those things are true? I can think of a lot of other possibilities other than the one you describe. Maybe you hit the nail on the head, but what if you're wrong? Maybe he HATES pink, loathes it with his entire being, but it's his 20th wedding anniversary and his wife bought him a pink shirt for their anniversary (because she saw Clinton Kelly wearing one on her favorite show "What Not to Wear") and he didn't want to hurt her feelings so he wore it, much to his chagrin? What if he is a heterosexual man who happened to need some new shirts and when he went to Macy's all that was left in his size was pink shirts and he's just a go with the flow kind of guy? What if he is a history buff and knows that historically boys were often dressed in pink long before the color ever had feminine associations and became the property of little girls? What if he is color blind? What if he just likes PINK?????"

Can we really infer something about a person because of the color shirt that they wear? Of course not! The entire argument is ridiculous and so are the assumptions made about women who happen to nurse their little ones wherever they happen to be (ie., in public).

I also want to address another huge misconception that I hear all the time: the stereotype that men can ONLY view breasts as sexual. Here is a quote from the facebook page of a friend (written by a man) that sums up this stereotype:

"Men lose about 10 IQ points whenever the are around breasts. It is a chemical reaction which we are unfortunately not able to overcome. No matter how intelligent or mature we all succumb to this biological reaction. We have a difficulty separating the function of the breast from the overwhelming notion of seeing them as sources of entertainment. We re like children in acandy store salivation over the gumdrops." (copied as it was written, typos and all).

Really??? REALLY??? This is so untrue as to be laughable. Any woman who has ever gone to a male ob/gyn is sure hoping that this isn't true (and any man who has ever had a physical exam performed by a female doctor, as well). Heck, what if a woman went to a FEMALE obstetrician who happened to be a lesbian? (Oh horror!) The fact of the matter is that men and women alike are required to put aside sexual connotations of the human body all the time, and they do so on a daily basis without any big to-do, as in the health-care industry example. I know this firsthand, because I am considered a health care worker and I see and touch women's breasts all the time and there is nothing remotely sexual about it--it is a clinical function of my job. Men and women are also able to visit an art museum and see nude statues and put that form of nudity in its proper context, as art, or history, or whatever, and most people I know, even those who are very modest and morally conservative, can watch a program on National Geographic that depicts tribal nudity and accept it for what it is without getting offended. I am going to go out on limb here and assume that they can do all of the above and not have it impede their private sexual lives.

Is it so far-fetched to ask that we, as a society, put breastfeeding in its proper context as well? We are really selling men short if we buy into the notion that they cannot separate the different functions of the female breast and interpret those differences appropriately. Women certainly are expected to. While we put a lot of emphasis on the sexual function of the female breast, the male breast can also be very erogenous, but our culture doesn't impose the same restrictions on men as we do on women--in part, at least because, though we HATE to admit it, women are still viewed in many ways as a form of property. How many times has it been said that a husband didn't want his wife to nurse because those are "his" breasts? How many times do women say that they cover up while nursing because their breasts "belong" to their husbands and they don't want to risk any other man seeing them (and what, claim "ownership")?

The very experience of giving birth forces a woman to lose a great deal of modesty and, for many women, their own views of their bodies change a great deal after childbirth and during breastfeeding. At a recent support group that I led a father came to pick up his wife who was struggling with some breastfeeding issues. She was sitting in a chair, nursing her new baby for the first time pain-free after finally getting help at the meeting. Her breasts were exposed (she was in good company) and her husband commented on her lack of modesty. My witty co-leader said, "Her modesty went out the door when she had ten different strangers put their hands inside of her at the hospital and watched her give birth." That sums up exactly what many people just refuse to "get." There are situations where modesty just doesn't apply or even matter. Ask any woman who has given birth unmedicated (a woman with an epidural may or may not experience the same loss of inhibitions) and she will tell you that it is an out of body experience and that she is often lost in "labor land" and could care less how naked she is and who sees her. Breastfeeding is similar for a lot of women and men who spend a lot of time around nursing women just get over it. Trust me.

Another common issue is confusion over how to fit breastfeeding into a moral framework that commonly has religious origins. That is really a blog post for another day, but Rixa from "Stand and Deliver" recently wrote a fabulous post on just this subject, using examples from the religious tradition of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (LDS, otherwise known as "Mormonism"). It's compelling.

Though we commonly hear the sound bites of "breast is best" and all of the "benefits" of breastfeeding are constantly touted such as "fewer" illnesses in children, these statements are actually complete fallacies. Breastfeeding doesn't impart any "benefits." Rather, it is simply the normal way that a baby expects to be fed, children who are breastfed have normal levels of health (not better) and those children who do not receive normal nourishment are "mal"nourished, and suffer from MORE illnesses. Breastfeeding is normal, pure and simple, and when the public at large accepts it as such the conversation mentioned earlier with the physical therapist would never happen because he could be surrounded by 50 women nursing, in all different states of dress or undress, and never even take notice.

Coming Into My Own

2010-03-19T08:39:00.002-07:00

So many things to write, so little time.

I have been sitting on this post for awhile because I wanted to write some other things first, but it seems that this is the story that wants to be shared, so I will share it (though many of you have probably already heard it).

But first...

I was interviewed today for an article that will appear in this Sunday's East Valley Tribune about some of the ways people choose to celebrate pregnancy, specifically, belly casts. My good friend Rose made my belly cast at the end of my pregnancy and is whipping it into a work of art as we speak. The interviewer asked me some questions that I hadn't given much thought to before and it took me awhile to formulate my answers. One of the most obvious questions, perhaps, was "Why would you want to have a belly cast--what does it accomplish?" Another was, "Why did you wait until your third pregnancy to create a belly cast?"

As the interview went on I realized a few things. Celebrating and honoring this pregnancy was significant to me for many reasons, and while creating a physical, tangible, 3-D reminder of this short period of my life was certainly one of the main ones, I believe that there was an even more profound underlying reason: I have, perhaps, finally begun to come to a place of self-acceptance that I don't believe I had at 23 and pregnant with my first baby. Back then I was caught up in the ever-pervasive fear of the unknown and battled self-image issues surrounding weight gain, stretch marks, and the other myriad of changes that my body was going through. While I know several first-time mothers who have managed to overcome or even avoid those same issues, confidence and self-acceptance have developed over time for me, and I'm certainly still working on them. I recognize a significant shift in my thinking over these last eight years, however, and I believe that my journey as a human being has been considerably influenced by my journey through motherhood thus far.

My belly cast celebrates and commemorates my pregnant body, but it also honors who I am as an individual--it is a way of documenting my own history, telling a part of the story of who I am, of who I am becoming, and of who I want to be.

The following is also a part of that story, written the morning after my daughter's birth:

Vivienne Camille

On Tuesday, December 15, 2009 I began to feel very “crampy” all day with a lot of low pressure that signaled to me that labor might begin in the near future. I was one day away from 42 weeks and was encountering a lot of dismay from friends, family, and even strangers that I was still pregnant. It was my desire from the beginning of this pregnancy, however, to let my body do whatever it needed to do without any unnecessary intervention or prompting. I had never experienced a fully spontaneous labor (my first was a hospital induction at 41 weeks and 1 day, and my second was a homebirth encouraged to begin with the stripping of my membranes and castor oil at 41 weeks as well). My midwife and I both agreed that performing cervical exams was unnecessary and so I also never knew what my dilation or effacement was. I was extremely fortunate to have a midwife who never wavered in her belief that my body worked perfectly and who was so willing to facilitate the birth of my dreams even as the dreaded 42 week mark approached.

At any rate, the cramping and sporadic contractions continued all day and night Tuesday and into Wednesday morning when I also began exhibiting a lot of bloody show throughout the day. I thought something might be happening, but I continued on with my normal life, running errands, co-leading a La Leche League meeting, cleaning house and finishing up some Christmas shopping. I told my friends and family that it was possible that labor would begin later that night or the next day, but I remained noncommittal. I was in communication with my doula and midwife during the afternoon and evening and began having a few contractions that were significantly stronger and longer, but they still seemed too spaced out for me to feel like I was really in labor.

At around 6 p.m., I texted my midwife and let her know that the contractions seemed to be stronger and were coming more frequently. I planned to try and pay attention to timing them for a little bit and would then let her know what was happening. After timing contractions for an hour, there still didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to them with some closer together and some 15 minutes apart or more, and lasting anywhere from 30 seconds to 1 ½ minutes. Suddenly, at 7:30 p.m., I had a very intense contraction that was very long and that I had to vocalize through. This particular contraction really commanded my attention! I called the midwife and let her know about the shift. She asked if I wanted her to come, but I was afraid of having anyone there too early, convinced that this was still early labor (I actually insisted that I was NOT in labor to my whole family who called to check on me during this time). How wrong my perception was. Finally, I agreed that the doula and midwife could go ahead and start getting ready to come over, but I assured them that they didn’t need to hurry.

A few minutes later I had another very intense contraction and felt like I wanted to get into the birthing tub to see if that relaxed me (still thinking that I was in for a long haul). Things moved very quickly from that point. The contractions came faster, longer and closer together and the water felt great, but didn’t slow anything down. I had to vocalize the entire time with low moans and at 8 p.m. started feeling “pushy” with the contractions and grunting at the end of them. It finally clicked in my head that I was much further along that I had previously thought and I asked my husband to call the midwife and tell her that I was starting to push a little bit. Fortunately, she had wonderful foresight and she and my doula were already well on their way, but after hearing this update they hurried even faster. For the remainder of the labor I was in the tub, working hard, vocalizing, grunting and pushing with contractions and wondering why I wasn’t getting any breaks (transition, anyone?). I became very belligerent and yelled at everyone a lot—I couldn’t tolerate any distractions. I didn’t want to answer any questions or hear any unnecessary talking. I apologized to everyone afterwards, but in the moment I was completely and utterly lost in labor land.

I felt my water break on its own with a POP! (another first for me to not have my water broken by any outside influence or intervention). The fluid was perfect and I began to push in earnest with the contractions—not at all coached, but working completely in sync with my body and what it needed to do naturally. As things began to get more difficult I needed some validation that I was actually accomplishing something and asked my midwife to feel where the baby’s head was. I still had not received any vaginal exams, and never had my cervix checked for dilation, but she agreed to check station for me and reassured me that the baby was coming. I instinctively shifted my position, moving one leg into more of a squat, and could feel her moving down much more effectively after that. I reached down and was able to feel my baby’s head as it came close to crowning and I felt a renewed sense of commitment. I needed some cheerleading at this point as I began to doubt myself and my team didn’t let me down. Before I knew it, I could feel the baby on my perineum and the infamous “ring of fire.” Fortunately, my midwife had me focus and slow down my pushing so that it was slow and controlled to deliver the head. My doula got behind me in the tub and helped support my weight as I birthed the shoulders and the rest of the body and I was able to reach down and pull my baby up out of the water and into my arms. I kept asking if it was really a girl (I had remained skeptical throughout the pregnancy) and still didn’t believe everyone until I looked for myself. She was born at 9:27 p.m., December 16, 2009, just two short hours after I first began to think that I might be starting labor. She weighed 9 pounds, 2 ounces and was 21 inches long. She was born absolutely perfect and healthy and we fell instantly in love with her. We had not decided on a name yet, but knew when we met her that she was Vivienne Camille, a name I had been holding on to and loving more and more for her towards the end of my pregnancy.

After she was born I was able to relax in the birthing tub awhile longer just holding Vivienne and waiting patiently for her to take her first breath. Her umbilical cord remained attached and uncut for approximately the first hour. I held her in my arms, stepped out the tub with help and got into bed where I birthed the placenta. The midwife was awesome and showed Tristan and Nathaniel (my 7 and 4 year old sons) the placenta, amniotic sac, and the umbilical cord that Tristan helped his Dad cut, so that we could all see where the baby had lived for the last 10 months. She nursed beautifully and took her time staying with me during her first hour of life and then the midwife examined her thoroughly and declared her perfect! I also felt wonderful and did not have any tears. As challenging as natural birth can be, the payoff is certainly how good you feel afterward. I truly felt great!

The experience was everything that I knew it could be and was made that much better by the fact that my sons were able to witness their new sister’s birth. I was surrounded by loved ones and had an absolutely amazing birth team. I wouldn’t change a thing and now I get to enjoy this incredible gift. I also hope that my experience helps other women understand that birth is not something that always needs to be manipulated or hurried and that babies really do come in their own time, and in their own way. At the end of my pregnancy I began to really sense what an anomaly I was, as it is practically unheard of to remain pregnant for 42 weeks, to be okay with waiting patiently, and to avoid an induction or scheduled c-section simply for being “overdue.” So many of our beliefs about birth are shaped by fear, and I hope that my story encourages women that they, too, can trust their bodies and their babies. I would also like to emphasize how incredibly important the choice of a care giver is—I would never have been “allowed” this birth with a care provider who didn’t explicitly believe in the normalcy of birth. I am so grateful for this experience, the incredible outpouring of love shown to me during my pregnancy and labor, and for my beautiful Vivienne.

Inner Dialogue

2010-03-10T13:01:00.000-07:00

One of those days...so tired. Can't sleep. Gotta get moving. Can't get anything done. Nothing to show for anything. All I hear is "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy," "Tatiana, Tatiana, Tatiana," "baby cry, baby cry, baby cry." Phone rings incessantly. Text messages dinging. Baby wrapped on tightly. Won't nurse. Won't sleep. Boys fighting. Always arguing. Noise is overstimulating. Pump--too full. "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy." Always driving. Always rushing. Never enough time. Never enough energy. Never enough. Trying to be kind to myself. Telling myself the things I tell other mothers. This too, shall pass. Let the other things go. Understanding that the dread, the sadness, is also hormonal. Feeling it take over nonetheless. Wanting to be so much. Feeling so little. Never enough hours. Never enough. Failed marriage. Failed. Not enough. Disconnect. Don't feel. Keep on...

Claustrophobic. No one to talk to. No escape. Understanding why so many are medicated.

Dirty dishes. Dirty laundry. Can't relax in my environment. This too, shall pass.

Trying so hard. Succeeding so little. Crying as I write...writing to get it out.

Moving on.

Okay.

The Great Escape, a.k.a "Have You Seen This Boy?"

2010-02-24T09:40:00.001-07:00

Apparently, my eyesight is going in my old age.

Let me explain...

I have a four year old son who I love very, very much, but who routinely gives me a run for my money, if you know what I mean.

Nathaniel was born at home, very peacefully, surrounded by loving friends and family, and proceeded to be one of the easiest-going babies you've ever seen. My first child was what we refer to as "high need" for his first two years, so Nathaniel's laid-back nature was a welcome relief. Little did I know or suspect at the time, but he was faking us out. Two and half hit, and so did the fiery temper, proclivity towards violence, death threats (no, I'm not joking), and escape antics. If you see a naked toddler walking down the street by himself--he's mine! Thanks.

So...fast forward to this past Sunday. A friend had invited us to a birthday party for her little girl who was turning one (I had the honor of being the doula at her birth) and the kids were excited to go. Nathaniel was having a rough day, however, and after many warnings was told that he would need to stay home with Daddy instead of going to the party. Understandably, this news did not go over well, but we decided to stick to our guns and follow through. I went upstairs to get ready and when I came back downstairs I immediately noticed that the front door was open a few inches. We have a latch for the front door placed high and out of reach, but it sometimes doesn't get re-latched and even if it is latched, Nathaniel has figured out how to pull a bar stool over to the door and un-latch it himself. My husband was on the couch in the living room with the baby, but hadn't heard a thing. As soon as I saw the open door I immediately knew that Nathaniel was gone (I'd already chased him down the street twice in the last two days).

So we began searching. And searching. And searching. When I didn't find him right away after walking down our street I hurried home, jumped in the car, and started driving around the neighborhood calling his name and asking every person I saw if they had seen a four year old, blond haired little boy named Nathaniel who was missing. My husband and older son continued walking around the neighborhood, checking for him at neighbor's houses, as well as searching our own house and all of his favorite hiding spots. This continued for almost an hour with no sight of my son. Soon we had a search party enlisted. Friends came over and started driving around, looking. People I don't even know hopped on their bikes and in their cars and started looking. We decided that if we didn't find him in a few more minutes, we would call the police.

During this whole time, my panic level continued to rise, rise, rise. At first I didn't get overly worried because this is, unfortunately, a common occurrence with this child. (On the day that I gave birth to our new little bean, I was chasing after Nathaniel who ran away and out of sight from me, yet again. At 42 weeks pregnant and having strong contractions, I had to resort to giving up the chase and waddling home to hop in the car and drive after him). He had never made it farther than down the street, however, so I was pretty confident initially that we would find him quickly, hiding behind a bush in the neighbor's yard. As time progressed, however, a feeling of dread took over and I began to imagine that every car that passed by me had my little boy inside, driving away from me forever. As I stopped each person on the street, I began sizing them up, sure that they were lying about not seeing him, picturing him locked inside their home. I thought about all of the known sex offenders in the area. It was horrible.

I drove home and planned on beating down every door in the neighborhood and ransacking each home until I found him. My husband had one last idea--could he be hiding in the car??? He went to open up the back seat of the Tahoe and...GUESS WHO WAS SITTING SMUGLY IN THE THIRD ROW, STRAPPED INTO HIS CAR SEAT, NO LESS???

For almost an hour, this kid had watched and listened to me drive around, calling his name, describing him to strangers, talk about calling the police, and he hadn't made a PEEP the entire time! He's a bit of a peanut and I couldn't see him from the rear view mirror without really trying, and I wasn't really trying anyway since I was convinced that he had been abducted by a psycho. AHHHHHHHH!!!

All he said was, "I want to go to the party."

I guess he figured that if he stowed away in the car and strapped himself into his seat that we would have no choice but to take him to the party. The little stinker.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Fortunately, we hadn't called the police just yet so we avoided a very embarrassing explanation and possible CPS investigation.

The moral of this story? There isn't one, other than that I definitely have my work cut out for me and am scared silly for his teenage years. Unfortunately, I think he takes a bit after me in the personality department. I remember packing up a Barbie doll and some carrot sticks and running away from home with my sister and a friend while the adults were watching football because we were bored and decided that we should go live at my Grandparent's house--they had ice cream. We got about a mile away when my parents finally found us. I also remember writing out my last will and testament, bequeathing my beloved keyboard and Cabbage Patch doll to my siblings, and writing notes that began with, "This will be the last time you will see me." I would then make plans to live like an Eskimo in the plowed snow pile at the end of the cul-de-sac. Let's just say I had a flair for the dramatic.

At any rate, we are now making plans for new and improved latches on the doors, a possible alarm system, and I pretty much know that I can never let him out of my sight for a split second. This kid is smart, resourceful, and feisty to boot, though, and I'm sure that he is already planning his next great escape. God help me.

Donna Reed Wanna-Be

2010-02-18T23:10:00.002-07:00

When I was a little girl I used to spend a lot of time playing at my Grandparent's house. It was great--they had a finished basement that was just for the kids with lots of toys, music, beds for us to take naps in, and a small black and white t.v. that we used to watch old re-runs on. I'll never forget watching "Donna Reed." I can't remember any of the specifics of the show like character's names or plot lines, but the image of the show left a lasting impression. I don't think I'm alone. I know a lot of my friends who lament their messy homes and inability to shower daily, and I'm right there with them. When I walk into my house and see dirty dishes, laundry piled up (even if it is clean laundry), furniture that hasn't been dusted in who knows how long, and then I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror (and catch a sniff as well) and realize I have been walking around all day in dirty clothes covered in dog hair...well, it sends me on a downward spiral that usually ends with me consuming some form of chocolate or going somewhere where I can spend money, because that's sure going to make it all better.

I think it is time for me to make an official declaration--to the world, and to myself: I am not, and never will be, Donna Reed. I do not have an immaculate home where nary a speck of dust resides. I do not have perfectly coiffed hair and I do not wear elegant dresses and pearls to do my grocery shopping in. I love to dress up, I love to look nice, I love to get my nails done, I love to wear makeup, and I love to have a clean and organized house, but most days, I do not. Most days, I don't even come close. I'm dreading the day when my kids wise up to this fact and start criticizing me for it or hanging their heads in shame to be seen within a hundred feet of me when I drop them off at school. I do know a person here or there that seem to have superhuman capabilities and are able to have perfectly manicured homes, lawns and bodies all at the same time, but I am pretty sure that they are all on some form of medication. Since I am not on any medications, I guess I'm plum out of luck, as my Grandmother used to say.

Today I got the spring cleaning itch and decided that come hell or high water (another Grandma saying), I was going to get my house clean, dammit! I soon realized, however, that to accomplish even half of the things on my to-do list would require ten replicas of me working all at the same time. There really aren't enough hours in the day. Add to the mix a two month old baby and...well, let's just say that I feel like throwing a party for myself that the dishes are done and the bills are paid. The rest--we won't talk about it.

But as I was beating myself up today for all the things that I don't do well, I had a small epiphany and caught a glimpse of the things that I am proud of. I might not be able to knock out a to-do list as quickly as I'd like, but I wouldn't trade the moments that I spend nursing my little one for anything. Breastfeeding gives me a reason to sit down, put my feet up and spend time with my baby. Watching her nurse hungrily and look at me and smile all at the same time gives me a feeling of joy that I can't even describe. Watching my baby grow and develop and thrive and knowing that it's because of me is amazing. I am her whole world and she doesn't ask for anything else, except that I be there. I am so proud to be a nursing mother. I am proud because while over 70% of American women initiate breastfeeding (meaning that they ever attempted to put their baby to their breast even once), very, very few are still breastfeeding a few weeks later, hardly any exclusively breastfeed for the recommended six months, and only 20% are still breastfeeding at all at one year (the recommended minimum length of time--the World Health Organization recommends a minimum of two years). In light of the current breastfeeding statistics in America, my children are true anomalies. None of them have ever had a drop of formula and they nursed for two years and three and half years, respectively. The two month old can nurse as long as she likes, just like her older brothers. It is not easy to go against the tide, swim upstream, buck the system, take your pick. I am happy with, and confident in, my choice to nurse my children and I will celebrate that.

Breastfeeding has also opened my heart and mind to other aspects of baby care that I might not have explored otherwise. I am proud that I know how to use slings and wraps to wear my babies. While I might not get as much done around the house as I would like to, I get a whole heck of a lot more done with my baby in a sling than I would otherwise. Everywhere I go, I am stopped by people who admire my slings or who comment on how cool it is that I am able to push a shopping cart hands-free, cook dinner, do dishes, or vacuum, all while wearing my baby. My baby is very calm and content and easily transportable when I am wearing her. My sister offered today to watch my baby and pointed out that I can pump milk for her. I could pump for her and leave her with someone else, and the time will come eventually, when I will leave her for short periods of time and then, gradually, for longer periods of time, but for now--I don't want to leave her. I love holding her and caring for her and I am so happy that I am able to stay home and enjoy this time with her because I know how quickly it will pass. I am grateful for any time I have with my babies because I know that I am incredibly fortunate and that there are many other mothers who may want to be home with their children, but aren't able to be. I need to remind myself of this when my nerves are frazzled and I feel overwhelmed. "This too, shall pass."

I might not be Donna Reed, but I looked out my patio door today and saw the cloth diapers that I had hung out on a clothes line to lay in the sun (sunning them takes stains out), and I felt a twinge of pride. I was busy berating myself for not getting to other things on my master list when I realized how cool it is that I cloth diaper my baby in an age when convenience means everything. I might not have clean window sills but, by golly, my baby wears some of the coolest diapers you've ever seen and, yes, it requires a little bit of extra effort on my part. Saving the environment...one baby's butt at a time. Sure, let's celebrate that too!

I am also proud that I took control of my last two births and researched the heck out what my options were. The results were amazing, beautiful, intervention-free home births that left me feeling more empowered than I can describe. Ever since my first home birth, whenever I am approached with a new challenge I think, "Hey, I had a baby at home, I can do that." I am learning to not limit myself as much. I still have a long way to go, but I'm getting there. My birth experiences have also inspired me to reach out and support other women as they consider their options for giving birth and breastfeeding, and I feel honored and humbled every time I get to share in that experience in any way, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant. That's really awesome, when you think about it.

So the gist of this post is that, while I could make a list a mountain high of all of my many failings, inadequacies, regrets, etc., and I can acknowledge that I am far from perfect and fall short from my own expectations constantly, it sure does help to stop and remember some of the things that I feel I am doing well and treat myself with a little more forgiveness and acceptance. It's something I think we all can do, no matter what path we're on and no matter what our individual circumstances are. We might not all be Donna Reed, but that's okay.

"I Do Not Think It Means What You Think It Means"

2010-02-04T06:31:00.002-07:00

"Inconceivable!"

I hope that anyone who would take the time to read my blog (yes, all five of you :)) would also share my love for the "The Princess Bride." If so, then you will probably understand what I mean when I tell you that I am having a "Vizzini" moment right now. I might have used a word without fully understanding its meaning. Crap!!! (No, that's not the word--with three kids I am well aware of what "crap" is). You can see the word at the top of this page in the title of my blog: "Uppity."

You see, when I decided to take the plunge and create this blog I did it really quickly and without putting much thought into what it would be called, what the heck I would write about, and who would read it or care what I had to say anyway. I just got excited about the prospect of having an outlet to write something (I used to love writing all kinds of things growing up but now I am pretty much relegated to writing grocery lists, and I really can't pretend that I even do that). So I got excited about a topic, felt like ranting a bit, and just WENT for it. Then, when good old Blogspot asked me for the name of this earth-shattering blog that I was going to create, I decided to use the first thing that came to mind--Uppity--a word that I thought meant something along the lines of "feisty," since that was how I was feeling that day.

Sooooooooo...imagine my horror when a good friend pointed out to me today, "I do not think it means what you think it means." Uh-oh. Yeah, a quick Google search (gotta love Google) revealed the truth, and here are some of the various definitions of "uppity:"

According to Merriam Webster: "putting on or marked by airs of superiority." Oops.

As if that isn't bad enough, here are some others: "presumptuously arrogant," "self-important," "haughty," "snobbish." Not looking too good...

To top it all off there is also reference to "uppity" having racial connotations as well. Yikes!

But just when I started to feel like a real twit...a glimmer of redemption!

"Rebelliously self-assertive, not inclined to be deferential." (Hmmm. Sorta reminds me of "fiesty." Might work).

Here are some others:
"Self-asserting."
"Not yielding easily to persuasion or control."
"Bold."

I also found the term "uppity woman" defined by one website as "...a woman who refuses to keep [her] place, to limit [herself] in any way, to live down to others' expectations. ...A woman who gets up again and again, every time life knocks [her] down. [She's] learned how to survive. Now it's time to learn how to prosper." (http://www.uppitywomen.net/)

Now THAT'S what I'm talking about!

So, I think that I will change my tag line to reflect MY definition of "uppity," which in addition to "feisty" or "spunky" I also think of as meaning "speaking one's own truth whether or not it is popular," and "challenging the status quo," and will hopefully avoid any confusion in the future.

Now this uppity woman must go up, up, and away to shuffle kids off to school. Until next time...

"My name is Inigo Montoya..." (finish in the comments section) :)

The Big "BUT..."

2010-01-29T21:59:00.008-07:00

Some subjects really light a fire.

Breastfeeding is no exception. We are all taught growing up to avoid discussions about hot button topics like politics and religion, but it seems that breastfeeding stirs up as much controversy as those two things combined.

Yesterday I shared a link on Facebook from PhD in Parenting titled, "Covering Up Is a Feminist Issue" that provided some thought-provoking insight into women being asked or coerced to cover up while nursing. I thought the post was brilliant and used vivid images to illustrate how subjective it is to be "discreet." The point seemed to get lost on many, however, and some of the discussion that followed in my friends' comments was really disheartening for me.

Immediately, women and men (or one man, rather) alike began sharing their opinion that while they are all believers in breastfeeding, they firmly believe that it should be done under cover, a.k.a. "discreet." Comparisons between breastfeeding and urinating were made, and for many the issue was a "moral" one concerning issues of modesty. Quite frankly, it was a lot of the same old tired arguments that I always hear day in and day out.

You know, I get where they are coming from, I really do. I come from a very conservative religious background where modesty is extremely important and adults actually wear special undergarments (essentially a version of long underwear) in part to keep them dressing "modestly." Before I had children and nursed myself there were many things that I passed judgment on or swore I would NEVER do (breastfeed for years, sleep with my children, HOMEBIRTH??? Heaven forbid. Ha!).

The real gist of the matter and the underlying assumption behind all of these comments is a view of the breast as sexual, therefore any view of the female breast is also somehow sexual in nature. The human breast, however, is NOT a sexual organ from a biological standpoint. Identifying breasts as genitals is also incorrect. The definition of "breast" from Merriam Webster is "either of the pair of mammary glands extending from the front of the chest in pubescent and adult human females and some other mammals."

Breasts are mammary glands. Milk-secreting tissue. Not genitals. Not sexual organs. The fact that we view breasts as sexual is strictly cultural. We have been taught to view them that way, and taught very well. From infancy we are told to "cover up," (bikini tops for babies???) and all of the images of breasts that we see are usually hyper-sexualized ones designed to sell products. All of this makes it SO hard for women who want to nurse their babies because they have been told up, down, left, and right that "Breast is Best" but now have to find a way to reconcile the experience of breastfeeding with the societal and cultural norms that say just the opposite and instead emphasize the sexual breast.

What is amazing is that to many, many people in the world, the breast is NOT sexual. I'll never forget talking to a woman who went to a foreign country where breasts were not viewed as sexual in any way, shape or form. In this particular culture, legs were considered taboo. Imagine her surprise when while mountain climbing her hiking guide helped her up a steep hill by pushing on her chest--he would never dream of touching her legs.

I'll also never forget a story that hit the news several years ago about a woman in an Islamic country who had been sentenced to death by stoning for adultery. We're talking about a VERY modest, conservative culture. Her death sentence was postponed, however, until her baby was fully weaned which was not expected to be for at least 2-3 years.

I have seen images of women wearing burkas, completely covered head to toe, with an exposed breast showing, feeding a child.

Even in some of the most conservative cultures, they "get" breastfeeding.

Now, I know what people will say. "That's fine for them, but that is not OUR culture." True. But here's the catch...culture changes constantly whereas biology is pretty stable. We have managed to change our culture numerous times regarding other issues--especially where health is concerned. Make no mistake; breastfeeding is a public health issue, not just a feeding choice (but that's a blog post for another day).

We used to have a culture of smoking, but we changed that. We used to have a culture of slavery, but we changed that too. Culture changes and evolves on its own, and it can most certainly be changed deliberately through education.

But let's forget all of that for a minute and get down to the nitty gritty (and here's where I get UPPITY)...

INFANT/TODDLER/CHILD FEEDING IS NOT SEXUAL!!!! Period.

Whether it is at the breast, or with a bottle (or spoon, or cup, etc.), the act of getting food into a baby is not sexual AT ALL.

If seeing my baby at my breast is somehow offensive because the breast is "sexual," then perhaps all bottle feeding mothers need to go into hiding or under cover when they feed their babies because, technically, they are using a prosthetic breast made out of silicone or rubber to feed their babies. If the breast is sexual, and a bottle is a fake breast/nipple, then it is essentially the same as other prosthetic sexual devices made out of silicone and I, and anyone else concerned with "modesty," "decency," and "discretion" (words often applied to breastfeeding) should find it offensive to see bottles used so brazenly out in public. That's right--I said it--and the same logic applies for a pacifier.

Of course we don't have any problems with babies being fed with bottles because we live in a bottle feeding culture where bottle feeding is seen as the norm and breastfeeding, while touted as important, is made almost impossible to do for many women because of the intense cultural restrictions placed on it. Meanwhile, baby bottles adorn everything from onesies to baby shower invitations and parents leave the hospital with "Breastfeeding Support Bags" containing formula graciously given to them by the formula companies (yeah right). The marketing gurus at the formula companies are geniuses.

I should also add the disclaimer that we all know that there are women who, for various reasons, cannot, or choose not to breastfeed, and this is in no, way, shape or form a condemnation of bottle feeding mothers, or mothers who pump, or those who partially breastfeed. This is a call to unity and a plea for compassion!

So let's stop creating an issue about this non-issue. Why do you insist that you don't want your children to see a woman's breast when she is feeding a baby??? If a woman wants to cover herself because that is how she feels most comfortable, she absolutely should, but if we condemn the women who don't feel comfortable covering themselves, and we never SEE breastfeeding, our culture will not change and our children will continue to grow up ONLY ever seeing images of breasts as sexual instead of for their intended purpose. In turn, women will continue to have to fight uphill battles to simply be able to feed their babies every time they turn around as well as fight the "women as sexual objects" stereotype.

My friend commented during the above-mentioned Facebook discussion that he wouldn't want his twelve year old son to see a woman's breast while she nursed because his son would inevitably view it as sexual. I contend that his son would only view the woman as sexual as she nursed her baby if he was taught that he should. This teaching can occur in numerous ways, both spoken and unspoken, and will be greatly determined by his previous experiences and by the reactions to the situation of others around him. If seeing a woman's breast while nursing her child is commonplace for him, he might walk into a room and barely even register what is happening. If, however, he has rarely or never seen such a sight and everyone around him acts flustered, orders him out of the room, or talks about the woman in a derogatory manner after she leaves, he will quickly figure out that something "indecent" just happened.

I am grateful that my children are very used to seeing myself and other women nurse so that they can hopefully grow up with an untainted view of how beautiful a woman's body is in the truest sense of the word as they witness their mother give birth and breastfeed their siblings without shame or condemnation. When my children see women nursing they don't say, "Look at that woman's breast!" they say, "Mama, that baby is drinking his milk just like I used to drink my milk!" I certainly hope that they can grow up without all of the hangups that the rest of us have surrounding our bodies. Unfortunately, they will also grow up with the children of all the people who believe otherwise, have never seen breastfeeding, or who have heard from everyone around them that "Breastfeeding is great, BUT..." add your ending--"only when done discreetly," or "only until x,y,z age." There is always a "but."

What is discreet anyway? Who defines what is modest? For some people, being discreet and modest means covering themselves with a blanket, shawl, or commercial "hooter hider" (boy, I can't stand the names of those things--you want to talk about vulgar? But that's a whole other matter). Other people consider discreet nursing to mean that they are simply not showing full breast exposure when they nurse. Still others insist that to be discreet a woman needs to leave the room entirely and go to a secluded place away from other people. How is a woman supposed to figure out what level of "discreet" is acceptable and will spare her the wrath or condemnation of others around her when there are so many possibilities and definitions? Furthermore, why does she even need to take on the responsibility of caring when her responsibility is simply to feed her baby? What if her baby refuses to be covered? Shall we adopt the standard of modesty that is common in cultures where women are shrouded from head to toe? Some people have foot fetishes--maybe I should stop wearing flop flops for fear that someone will see my exposed foot and fantasize about it.

This is not "feminism for feminism’s sake" as one poster commented, or showing breasts "just to make a point." It's simply about feeding a baby, however it gets done. Nothing more, nothing less. When we can finally stop having these debates, nursing will be so much easier for so many women and maybe, eventually, we can get to a place where breasts can be viewed as mechanisms for feeding babies more than as sexual objects and women can just go about their lives without worrying about what everyone else thinks. Women can never win, no matter what they do, and that is what makes it about feminism.

This picture says it all:

The news caption read: "Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez talks with people who were affected by flooding in Araira in Miranda state, about 50 km from Caracas, Venezuela, Saturday, Feb. 12, 2005, after floodwaters receded following a disaster that has left at least 15 people dead. (AP Photo/Miraflores, Marcelo Garcia)"

Notice there is no mention of the woman's breast and no one seems to even be paying attention to the fact that she is nursing. How refreshing it would be for American women to not feel the need to hide out when they are out in public, or to cover themselves with extra clothing in the summer, or to be asked, even when fully covered to leave a restaurant or public place for nursing (thankfully, this is illegal now in Arizona, but still happens). If they choose to cover themselves for any reason, great! This is not a call for women to brazenly bare their breasts just to get a rise out of people. I am simply saying--what if it just didn't matter what she did or didn't do and we could all get over it because she is just FEEDING HER BABY??? Ahhhh. That would be the day.

I'm sure I will have much more to write about this in the future, but I think I have exhausted the topic for now.

It's time for me to go hide in my closet and nurse my baby anyway, lest someone see my mammary glands.