Reaching

Dear Readers,

Merry Christmas, and other wishes of peace and joy as you would apply them. I am relieved to have pulled off the holiday with a minimum of carnage. Holidays have never felt natural to me and the first once after leaving my partner of 20 years was no exception. So today after handing my beloved progeny to their adoring father at the appointed time and after taking a MUCH needed nap, I took myself to dinner (at a VERY busy and delicious Indian restaurant) and a movie.

I went to see MockingJay (part 1), which I very much enjoyed - I loved the books. (Suzi you make no sense. You want to beat up anyone who so much as speaks rudely to children and you loved a trilogy which starts with gladiator children? The hell?) Watching Philip Seymour Hoffman was rather poignant. As the reader will likely recall, we lost Mr. Hoffman to a drug overdose early this year. The pain and anguish of addiction, to the addict and those that love the addict, is beyond measure to those of us blessed to have avoided the affliction. As a member of the loved ones category (no not Mr. Hoffman, I merely admired him from afar), I will liken it to repeatedly sticking myself in the heart with a hot poker.

We poorly understand our brains. Moving along in 2014 to lose Robin Williams to suicide underscores this point most painfully. Suicide is dreadfully understood, and widely misinterpreted. But for someone who spread such joy and laughter to die so sadly, so desperately, is inexcusable for us as the wealthiest nation in the world. We can heal amazing things. We can reattach limbs, faces even. We can cure cancers we couldn't even find 50 years ago. And we do a really shitty job healing the human spirit. From veterans earning subsistence wages and suffering from post traumatic stress to men so rich they could buy any cure we could provide, we are doing a really shitty job of healing minds.

When I suffered from post partum anxiety with Robert, I was afraid to ask for help. I thought if I admitted to anyone the horrible images that wouldn't leave my brain in peace, that Robert would be taken from me, destroying the tenuous breastfeeding relationship for which I had fought so hard, and breaking my heart. I thought if I asked for pharmaceutical relief, I would hurt him. I thought I was bad and wrong for having these thoughts in the first place, involuntary though they obviously were, and that admitting to them would be shameful. So I suffered, needlessly, and largely alone.

Thank heavens when I had Jackie, I had a midwifery team that I trusted. I knew they valued my bond to my child almost as much as I did. I knew they knew I am a good and loving mother. And on this go, suffering from both post partum depression AND anxiety (two for the price of one!!! But wait - order now, and the insomnia package is ABSOLUTELY FREE!!!) I was desperate enough to reach out to them at a horrible moment when I had been crying for hours and couldn't figure out why.

A long, difficult path followed. I tortured myself with various attempts to avoid pharmaceuticals for a few more months, until I decided that Jackie was better off with a little bit of SSRI in her gut than with no mother. Because lost to the world literally or otherwise, that's where we were headed. And I am so thankful I did. And I also know, I am so very lucky. Lucky to have that team of caring professionals with the right training. Lucky to have the resources to afford them. And lucky to have a caring community of friends and acquaintances who either are enlightened about mental illness or are polite enough to shut the hell up. Either way I am so very grateful.

My college classmates and I lost a bright and beautiful light a while back, to, ostensibly, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. She had suffered terribly for years, ineffectively treated and at times really just abused by a health system that did not understand at all what was going on with her. Shortly before she died, she posted a note indicating that CFS sufferers died mostly from three things, one of which was suicide. At the time I didn't realize her post might have been a cry for help. Shortly afterwards she was gone. The cause of her death has not been officially disclosed, but I know in my heart that I missed an opportunity to be of use. To demand that she call me or I would call 911. To tell her she was not alone. To tell her I would miss her. I wasn't very close to her, but her artistic spirit and sweet smile are memories I will carry with me always.

These memories remind me not to let it happen again. To always reach out. Obviously I can't save all the babies. I can't really save anyone - mostly people have to save themselves. But we can't do it alone. We have to know that we are loved. We need a reason to keep trying. I am so grateful that I did when it was my turn to suffer, to feel that my brain had betrayed me, to wonder if I would ever feel like myself again.

Please always reach out. Don't give up. Someone loves you. Someone will miss you. Someone will be so heartbroken to think they could have helped you and didn't take the right chance.

I pray (in my odd nondenominational pagan yogini faith way) that I always reach for my loved ones when they need me, or just want me. That they always ask and that I always answer. What if we each just let someone cry on us? What if we each just said, "I love you, I want you around me, I would miss you so much if you weren't here with me"? Would it help? Would it give someone the one more breath they needed to gather the strength to keep trying? I think it would.

Please keep trying. I love you. I would miss you if you weren't here with me.

Much love always,
Suzi

PS - this is very much inspired by a particular someone in my life right now, and I would like to hasten to reassure all of you that it is NOT me, I am NOT in danger, and I'm really just fine. Promise.

What is Privilege?

Hello Beloved Readers,

We tree hugging lefty yuppies are mostly making noises of outrage tonight, about the fact that a "Peace Officer" shot a young black man and got off without a single charge (at the state level anyway). And then we, or let me just speak for myself since it's not like I was elected Representative of Liberal White Yuppies, *I* get to go quietly about my business, reasonably confident that no one is going to shoot my son when he does something that frightens them (like, say, buying Skittles and iced tea for his younger sibling). This is a privilege that should be a right. I have it. My darker skinned neighbors and fellow citizens do not.

This is not okay.

Can I give up my white privilege right now to make it fair? Not really. Would I if I could? Probably not. I'm too scared. I don't want to know what it's like to be watched like a hawk if I go into a store in sweatpants. I don't want to have to wonder if my mortgage application was turned down because of something about my appearance. I sure as hell don't want to have to wonder if my kids are going to get shot by someone that's supposed to be protecting them. I'd like to say I'm courageous and noble and I'd give it up in a heartbeat. But that's easy noise to make since I can't really do it.

What can I do? I can vote. I can hold an open heart and mind and not assume that I have totally expunged all ignorance or assumptions of privilege from my world view. I can educate other people who look like me, who maybe don't realize that they have privileges they didn't earn. I can lend out my white privilege, sort of - maybe offer to go with a friend when she applies for a mortgage or something. Shouldn't be necessary but hey if it helps, I'll do it.

I think the most effective thing I can do though is try to raise awareness amongst those who are as privileged as me and more so. I say most effective because I'm in a position to do it, I'm reasonably good at having these conversations, and I haven't been worn thin by decades of aggression and hostility that passes as normal zeitgeist pointed at me when I do something really unreasonable like go to school or try to get a job.

I spent a long time whining that people who have been swimming up this stream were cross with me when I did something totally ignorant. (I'd like to assert that it was never hateful but the effect can be essentially the same - I'm not sure this is really a useful point.) A lot of folks were really sweet and patient and brave with me and took the time to explain what was going on for the people who were cross with me. I'm grateful, now that I get it a teeny bit. So maybe that's what I can do, too - if someone wants to borrow me to go explain to another Europeanish person why what they just did was really a bit horrid, please do so. I'll do it if I can.

What can each of us do? What do our particular talents and situations lend themselves to? How can we make a world where my kids' classmates all have a really equal shot at a good life? Not a handout, just a fair chance.

Thank you for listening.

Love,
Suzi

Some News

Dearest readers,

So, I have some news. (Not injury or illness, so exhale, and thanks.) And I don’t quite know how to share it. So I’ll just blurt it out.

On May 1^st, I told my husband of 16 years, partner of 20, that I am divorcing him. It was the hardest thing I have ever done, including birthing a 9lb+ baby and holding my father’s hand while he died. The ensuing period has been the most intense I can recount. I would have liked to share this information with you sooner, but I wasn’t ready to do so in a calm and dignified manner.

This decision was not made quickly, rashly, or lightly. It was not selfish, bad for the kids, or based on an extramarital relationship. We have had a long standing struggle which over the years we have worked on with varying degrees of intensity and via various methods (mostly therapy). Tons of therapy, tons of help from family and friends. We tried until it was killing me. And then, even then, it took me another six months to finally admit to myself that it was over and I needed to end it.

He is not a Bad Person. He is a good person. I am not a bad person, I am a good person. We are not suited to each other, in fundamental and irrevocable ways. Nothing “happened,” in that there wasn’t one precipitating event that ended an otherwise functional marriage. We both did shitty things. Probably my side of the shitty behavior scale is heavier over the past two years. I’m not sure there’s much point in speculating whose side of the shitty behavior scale is heavier over the whole 20 year relationship. The point is, if we’re with the right person, we won’t behave that way.  I’m not naïve enough to think I couldn’t make the same mistakes again. Everyone has the capacity to be an asshole, and I need to be very careful to continue healing, growing, and learning about and loving myself, so that I don’t find myself right back in the same situation with someone who on the surface looked different enough to be not the same guy.

In anticipation of some frequently asked questions, I offer the following. Kids: our children are on a 50/50 schedule with us, always both kids. They are adjusting well, certainly with some normal stress and accordingly difficult behavior. They are already showing signs of being accustomed to the housing switches and I think they seem happier although of course it could be that everything seems happier now that I am happier. We know that a two house schedule might not work for them forever, and we will continue to act in the best interest of the entire, now binuclear, family.

I am very proud of how well we have handled our divorce. We are a team to co-parent these children. We are a team to help Robert navigate the world from the perspective of a quirky little genius. We are not asking anyone to take sides. My mother, five minutes into our phone conversation when I told her this news, asked if she could call Matt and say she still wanted to be his mother in law. She has since repeatedly declared her pride in how “gentlemanly” we have both been during the whole thing. We are hurt. We are angry. We are scared. We feel a lot of unpleasant things. I for one am scrambling to furnish a house (NOT my comparative advantage) and establish new normal routines, while continuing to keep up with my full time career and solo parent my adorable, challenging children, all while processing the huge emotional upheaval of ending a 20 year partnership. But I am happy to report, with perhaps a couple of ugly moments during negotiations in the counselor’s office, we are not trying to tear chunks out of each other and we are absolutely not asking anyone to get divorced but us. We are not fighting in front of the children or asking them to take sides. We are both determined to do the absolute best by these kids we can.

I hope I get back the friend whom I called my best friend for almost 20 years. I don’t know if I will. We both hurt too much right now to try. But we have moments of connection about our beautiful children which give me a glimmer of hope. Perhaps. Either way, I wish him all the best. He is a wonderful father and a beautiful person, and I hope he will be happy again, soon.

I never knew what friends I had until this. People came out of the woodwork to support me when my father died. Northeast Indianapolis brought deli trays when Matt’s parents died. Many things have surprised me in how blessed we are. But nothing like this. I have received extensive housing before I bought my new  house. I have cried in my colleagues’ offices. I have texted and messaged with people at all hours. I have only received three hurtful comments, and all of them I understood (they were sort of blatantly obvious) to be about that person’s personal experience or level of understanding of human relationships. Almost no one has written Matt off – even people who clearly were “on my side” checked on him to make sure he’s okay. I have the absolute best sister and brother (in law) on the planet. Friends I assumed would drop me like a hot potato have hugged me and told me they are here if I need them.  Friends have helped me move and fix up my place, watched my kids so I can pack, offered to take me drinking (custody and work schedule doesn’t leave a lot of room for partying but the offers were appreciated). The good and loving and supportive have outweighed the petty and the disappointing and the hurtful by orders of magnitude, and I am so very grateful.

Please feel free to ask questions. I’m not the fastest correspondent in normal times and right now, whoo nelly, I sort of fall behind on email for two weeks and then have a huge burst of communicativeness. But if you can be patient, I can be honest, unless they are not my answers to give.

I will always be okay again eventually, until I’m dead. It’s what I do.

As always, I am grateful for your notice and support.

Much love,

Suzi

Assorted Uterine Topics

Hello Beloved Readers!

Time to talk uteri. Menstruation in particular. Ew, right? Nope. The more we talk about things the more we normalize them. The more we normalize them the more we can talk honestly and ask for help and learn from one another. Those of us who have had babies in the family know that one tiny little person can turn you from "One only discusses poop with one's doctor" to "HELP CAN YOU TELL ME HOW TO GET BABY DIARRHEA OUT OF A MICROSUEDE COUCH!?!?!" I'm using my bizarre brain/mouth filter for the greater good. So I'm talking period, period. (Tee hee.)

Right, so, two months before I turned 40, just to rub it in, my period got all "random mode" on me. I'm told this is perimenopause. Oh, then I'll ask my mom, she'll know. Except to get my mom to admit that something is uncomfortable you pretty much have to saw something off. (Please don't test this theory.) So when I asked her about it, she didn't remember. She has an absurdly detailed memory, so this probably means it didn't rate her attention. Fair enough. My sister is three years older. I can't honestly remember whether I've asked her or not, but either we somehow think of more interesting things to discuss when we find we have more than five minutes together without my kids, or she didn't have any helpful feedback on the topic. I actually got the most useful information from the receptionist at work, who, bless her, does not appear to have complained to my supervisor for me asking. And by useful, I mean, "Yup, that's how it went for me. Welcome." She actually said welcome, with a sort of bemused expression. I wanted to hug her. But I didn't. Which is probably why she didn't bother to file a complaint. So anyway, there's one topic I think should get discussed more.

Next one. Menstrual maintenance, I'll call it. I hate tampons. Freaking hate them. Totally eff up my biochemistry, expensive and wasteful, stinky, and after three in a day get rather uncomfortable to insert, and blah blah blah. Well, after a while cloth diapering, it occurred to me, hey, they make this stuff for menstruation. I got jealous of (then) Robert's fuzzy, colorful diapers, as compared to my funky, plasticky pads. So I decided to go a-Googling. Now, there are a bunch of options here. Luna Pads. Others. I have a lovely fleece one made by a work at home mama, but it's too bulky for anything but bedtime. GladRags is the one commercially available brand I found that I'm convinced has NO synthetics in it, which is my preference because it's the most breathable. So those are working well for me. And. DIVA CUP! Yes, that's in this hilarious video. It's a pretty simple idea. It collects the menstrual effluent and holds it there until you empty it. Wait what? How is that better than a tampon for breathing? Yeah I was worried about that, but it is. I theorize that it's because (1) it's nonabsorbent, so it doesn't monkey with the particular balance of fluids in your vagina, and (2) the effluent was in there anyway, so as long as you take it out and rinse it off as frequently as the package suggests you aren't introducing any real problems. Well how do you rinse it off in a stall at work? Either (1) you don't, you just empty it, put it back, and rinse it next time, or (2) pee on it. Yep. Pee is sterile, unless you are ill. They don't suggest that in the instructions but I tried it sort of out of curiosity and it seems to work. So if THAT doesn't make me a hippie freak, I'm obviously immune to the diagnosis. And anyway each month when I'm done I wash it with soap and then boil it for five minutes.

So when Jackie reaches "maturity" (snort) and it's time to start teaching her how to use all this stuff? I'm totally starting with cloth. We live in Portland and that's hopefully a good decade off, so by then it'll be so normal none of the girls in the locker room will tease her. HA! Good one. Well screw 'em. I'm raising my kids to think for them damn selves. Which probably means she'll tell me to go see a shrink and go running for the Tampax.

Okay so there's that topic. Maybe I'll think of something more tasteful for next post. Snicker. Don't hold your breath.

Much love always,
Suzi

Addendum: Okay so this wound up being wildly popular on my Facebook feed, and demonstrated that I need to share more about the Diva cup.

One interesting feature is it has volume measurements on it, so you can see how much flow you produce on a given day. If you are a data nerd raised by scientists, this is fascinating. If you are worried about your cycle for some reason, this is reassuring. If not, it's harmless.

Also the first few months I used the Diva cup I swear it made me fart more. Most likely in the process of either putting in the cup or chasing after it, I was pushing bubbles or other material the wrong way in the nearby rectum. Harmless, not a problem, don't let it scare you away, but an amusing side effect that I don't think was mentioned in the little leaflet in the box.

Someone mentioned that it can interfere with an IUD. It shouldn't, according to the website and what anecdotal evidence I have access to.


One thing I think freaks people out about a Diva Cup (or non-applicator tampons for that matter) is sticking their fingers up their vagina. Um. There are a bazillion reasons to get okay with this. Fun reasons, health reasons, figuring out when to try to have a baby reasons, figuring out what's going on while you're growing a baby reasons, and just because it's part of your body - are you scared of reaching into your mouth to get a seed out from between your teeth? But I think this may be a topic for broader discussion at a later date.

Lastly, another friend said her 14 year old LOVES GladRags, so I shan't give up hope...

Even more love,
Suzi

I will be okay.

I wrote a poem. I'm fairly ignorant about these things but it's what was on my heart. So here it is.
Love,
Suzi

I will be okay.

I’m always okay again, eventually.

Not because everything was fine.

But because I kept putting one foot in front of the other.

Not because it didn’t hurt.

Because I believed it would hurt a little less each day.

Not because I wasn’t sad.

But because I was brave.

Let me cry.

Let me rage.

Let me fear.

Let me wonder.

You may hold me

You may comfort me

You may offer me your sympathy and understanding.

But do not try to stop me.

Do not try to take away my anguish.

Let me feel.

Or get out of the way.

Without these feelings there is no joy.

To feel joy I must feel grief, anger, fear, hurt, doubt.

Without these I cannot love.

To have faith I must allow doubt and move forward anyway.

To love I must allow myself to be hurt.

Not to be mortally wounded.

Not to sit defenseless while I am abused.

I will care for myself.

I can take care of myself.

I can leave if I need to.

I do not need you.

I simply want you.

I must allow myself the risk of hurt

To allow myself the possibility of love.

I will trust you

Because I trust myself.

I am strong.

I am brave.

I will be okay.

Therefore, I can love.


 

Happens to Everyone, Right?

Beloved Readers,

As you may well have noticed, I am a yoga enthusiast. It can be tricky to get a real yoga class squeezed in between work, kid time, laundry, and oh, right, sleep. So the other day, I left work at 4:40 to rush over the river to a 5:00 class. (Which turned out to be a 5:30 class, which renders all the ridiculousness to follow even less necessary.) My favorite studio is just at the first exit off I-5 North after crossing the lovely Willamette, so I take that route even when it looks like a parking lot. Which it did on this lovely evening. Going six miles per hour, I reasoned, even if I completely lost control of my cute little Prius, I wasn't going to kill anyone - likely not even bruise them. So it made perfect sense, of course, to change my clothes in the car. Right? Are you with me? Come on, I've pumped milk in that car... Right. I'm glad you agree.

Now I didn't want to give any truckers a free show, so I calculated how I could effect the whole transaction without actually being bare at any time, while still waiting to get up the on-ramp. I wiggle my shoes off, move forward a bit, move the waist of my skirt up a couple inches, go ten feet... so I'm working on merging into the stop and idle traffic just as I'm getting my underpants off my second leg, glancing at the person who's going to be neighborly and let me merge in front of him. I'm changing totally on autopilot, I've totally forgotten that it's even going on, just as the guy waves me in, I bring my right hand up to wave thanks... and then realize I've got my hot pink panties in that hand.

So that's how I waved my panties at a stranger on the freeway. I was mortified and giggled my way across the river. But that's the nicest smile I think I've gotten in traffic for years and years.

Right. Happens to everyone, I'm sure.

Much love,
Suzi

Massage, Weaning, and Other Matters

Beloved Readers,

Hello! I've missed you. I won't presume the feeling is mutual. I've had stuff going on, and I've been quite remiss. You would be well within your rights to be mad at me. But I am quite determined to finally write my weaning post. Why would that take me so long? Surely Ms. Boobjuice knows all about the weaning.

Nope.

Fairly useless on this topic. You can scroll back to see that in fact Robert called it quits, not the other way 'round. Jackie is still a boobmonster, and will turn three in September. Actually at this rate *I* will be turning to *you* for weaning tips. I have to preferred to think that I will let the kiddos decide, but with 32 pounds of squirmy mischief climbing on me at 5 in the morning, I may have to re-think that philosophy.

Luckily I have some other ideas for you.

One is to look at Kelly Mom. That website is a wealth of information.

Another is "Nursies When The Sun Shines," which is pretty much what it sounds like - a book to help a toddler understand that if they crawl into your bed and yank on your jammies at midnight, they ain't getting the good stuff.

Which leads me to another thought. A lot of us have cried "ENOUGH!" when in fact what we really want is to sleep for more than three consecutive hours. I am not going to judge you on either count. But if you think it's time to wean and are feeling conflicted about it, maybe consider if there is an interim step that would address your needs and your concerns at the same time. Like no nursing from 9 pm to 6 am, or something. Or to have your mother in law shut the hell up about how nursing past a year will turn your son gay. (I love that one. I thought men who loved boobs preferred women? And who the hell gives a crap if he's gay? People are so silly.)

With Robert, pretty soon after his first birthday I limited him to bed time and wake up time, and if he asked and it wasn't one of those, I explained that to him. (At 16 months I'm sure he found my reasoning terribly compelling.) In retrospect, this probably led to him weaning at 21 months instead of the 24 months I had hoped for. (And yes, with the balm of time I have acknowledged that those three months probably wouldn't have made a big difference to either of us.) I was a bit heartbroken, which my husband found confusing. Have y'all noticed that the sweetest, most supportive, allegedly pro-breastfeeding people do not understand why weaning leaves mama feeling like baby just broke up with her? I mean sometimes. Probably some mamas it doesn't. But I felt so rejected.

So with Jackie I was bound and determined not to do the same thing. I decided I'd let her decide. Well, at this rate, I'll be nursing her before she takes her driving test. Not my particular preference. So I have started enforcing the "it's too freaking early, I'll tuck you back into bed but no nursies" policy, and if I'm feeling "touched out" or if she's been chewing on me or if I'm trying to slice up steak for stir fry, I'll say no. More news as events warrant on whether she loses interest or I cut her off at the source.

Meanwhile I want to share that I had a FANTASTIC massage today at Dragontree Spa in NW Portland, and a lovely conversation with the therapist about birth. Tee hee! I love my cute little crunchy granola city. I also loved my massage - I may request her next time. And massage is SO. LOVELY. But you knew that.

AHhhhhhhhhhh.

Much love,
Suzi

Self-Love

Beloved readers,

Before I start this topic, let me acknowledge that I owe several folks a post on weaning.

Okay self-love - is she talking about masturbation? Because she totally would. Yes, I would, and no, I'm not.

I've been doing a lot of hard work in therapy lately, and a lot of it boils down to trusting that I have worth. Wait, what? Suzi is so outgoing she talks about boobs and sex and money on her blog. She says "breastpump" to high level executives at her multinational bank. (Some would just say I'm crazy but that's not really tonight's topic.) How could Suzi be anything but full of self-confidence?

I'm wildly co-dependent. A lot of us are. I've been getting a lot out of "Co-Dependent No More," which I highly recommend. And through this process I have realized that I define a lot of my value in how I can make someone else feel, or conversely, in being careful not to make other people feel certain things. Example: If someone is mad at me, I go into "fight or flight" mode, the world is going to end, and I will do crazy shit to make that person not be mad at me anymore. This behavior, as you might guess, is not serving anyone particularly well.

So I was thinking about this. Some of you will remember, and many of you might enjoy, my post about body image, "I Have A Really Great Ass." (Which I do.) If you haven't read it and don't care to, I'll spoil the ending here: I challenge the reader to say five things they love about their body. Unconditionally complementary. Preferably while looking in the mirror. Out loud. Repeatedly until you believe it, and even better, until it's comfortable to say.

Tonight (in a wine bar with a rather ordinary caprese salad and a pleasant glass of chardonnay), I have another challenge for myself and for you, my beloved readers.

Tell yourself that you have worth. You have value. You matter. You add to the universe. And say at least five reasons why. Here's the tricky part - they can't be because of something you cause other people to think or feel. No, "I have value because I make other people feel good." Instead, "I have value because I am kind."

Here's mine.

I have value.
I am kind.
I am strong.
I am brave.
I am loving.
I am industrious.
I am passionate.
I am good.
I add to the universe.

I want to do lists for a bunch of people I know and love, but the point of this exercise is for us each to tell ourselves these things, and know them all the way down to our bones, and feel them in our hearts. So then we don't NEED each other to be at peace. We may WANT one another's companionship, love, comfort, and so on, but we know that we are each sufficient in ourselves, without any particular person or thing outside of us. And then later, when I do get to tell you all the wonderful things about you, well that's just icing on the cake.

Do yours now. Say them out loud. Say them in the mirror. Do it even if it's scary. Keep doing it even if it makes you cry. Practice every day, until you can say them with a smile and calm sureness in your heart.

I love you all, and I love me too.
Suzi

Eyes On the Ball, Please

Hello Dearest Readers,

I hope you are all well. I'm just back from Kindergarten Roundup for my little guy. I only cried a little. Matt laughed at me a disproportionate amount, I think. He probably feels differently about that. I am amazed at how much of public education is NOT free. I mean, we're in a position to shell out the $400/month to get "whole day" kindergarten, so we're quite blessed. But hello? 2.5 hours of school for "free" and if you want it up to 6 hours you have to pay. That changes next year in Oregon, and is not the case at schools where the majority of families qualify for nutritional support. But yikes. People. You want to know why America is losing labor competitiveness? It ain't the unions. It's the fact that WE DO NOT TEACH PEOPLE TO READ OR DO MATH. Sweet cuddly Jesus.

Anyway, enough of THAT rant for five minutes.

So this happened. It boils down to, if someone is the PR face of the company for your social media platform, maybe you should be sure they actually know your company's policies. So I fault Delta, not for their breastfeeding policies, but for their employee training. And no, I'm not going to boycott Delta. They have never asked ME not to nurse or pump on a flight. (And it's a dang good thing as I'm sure you can all guess.)

What I want to comment on is, why should any mom even think she has to ask permission to feed her kid? It's not the clean room at a microchip factory. It's a mode of transit. Kind of like a glorified charter bus. Here is a great story about nursing on a public bus. But back to my point.

You ever hear a parent call an airline and say, "Can I give my kid a granola bar on the flight?" Nope, pretty sure you haven't.  If you are horrified at the sight of granola bars, do you get to tell another passenger to put a blanket over their kid's head while they eat said granola bar? Nope, you don't. Rather, in the country of free speech, you can say it, and everyone else will give you a big "you crazy" face and no one will dignify your complaint with a response.

It's food. Yes, it comes out of breasts. Yes, breasts are beautiful. You know what else is beautiful? Eyes. And smiles. And cheeks.

Let's grow up and move on and work on some ACTUAL problems now, please. Like the "public" education we are NOT providing to our citizens. Democracy is dependent on an educated, informed populous. China has a gazillion engineers to throw at Apple's iPhone factories.

Eyes on the ball people. Get over the boobs. Teach some math.

Much love always,

Suzi

PS - you know what works even better than a nursing cover? Not staring at my boobs while I'm feeding my kid. You gonna stare at my boobs while Robert eats a granola bar? Didn't think so.

News Flash

Parenting is hard.

I'll wait while you recover from the shock of this brand new information.

Robert and I had a really tough morning. We both freaked out and I behaved about as well as he did. So I do not feel awesome about that. I then confessed myself to the preschool teacher, who presumably would call child protective services if I had in fact turned into a monster. She chuckled at that suggestion. I confessed to several coworkers, my husband, a dear friend, and a few Starbucks workers (note to self - go back and put more money in tip jar) just to be sure. None of them appeared shocked, made moves towards a phone, or, in some cases, seemed to understand why I was telling them this. But they were all very gracious and kind.

Sigh.

After numerous kind souls said assorted versions of calm the eff down, I seem to have at least distracted myself enough to act like a vaguely normal person for the rest of the day. I even got a little work done. And we had arranged child care for the evening, so I went to see Frozen. (I liked it. Too scary for our kiddos though.) So I got a time out. Which of course made me miss my kiddos terribly. I wanted to come home and cuddle them. But I was supposed to be having a break. Hence the movie. How else was I going to get through a whole evening of break? Sigh. I refer you to my post on why all the mamas are crazy, here. Tonight was another shining example of this phenomenon. Not that I needed any more of those.

Each time I have a moment like this, I think, this is That Seminal Moment where I will Learn the Valuable Thing and Henceforth Be Transformed. And sometimes it kinda is for a bit. And then something changes, for the harder, and there's another Seminal Moment. And I'm all mad at myself for not Learning My Lesson the previous n times, where n is large. And this leads to Capitalizing All The Things. Which is really not good prose.

I'm trying to learn to be more gentle with myself. I kinda suck at it. But if nothing else, I certainly don't want my kiddos to be as hard on themselves as I am on me. So there's that. Either learn how to treat myself gently, or learn how to fake it really convincingly.

Okay, wine poured, bathtub a-calling. I want a hot tub. A lot. I bet I can get a psychiatrist to write me a prescription for one so I can pay for it with flex spending dollars...

Much love always,
Suzi

Going Back to the (other) Job

Hello beloved readers!

I hope you are all well and enjoying a lovely start to 2014. I'm back to the "grind," which makes me chuckle, because it is so much easier than staying home with two small children. Seriously. None of my coworkers has EVER pooped on the floor in my office. Just for comparison.

But that doesn't mean going back to the breadwinning gig after maternity leave is easy. Not at all. I'm pretty sure we all cry. Possibly more than the first day. Possibly the first month. I believe in trusting your mama instincts, and if you decide to give it up, I ain't gonna judge you. But, I will say this. One, it's worth giving it a real try, like at least six weeks, because this is a BIG readjustment. Remember you can quit in a heartbeat but coming back is harder if you decide it wasn't the right decision. And two, there are a LOT of things you can do to ease the transition. Here are a few ideas.

Weeks before resuming the breadwinning gig:
So, if you're going back tomorrow, do NOT let this section freak you out. In fact, just scroll past it. No sense getting upset over what you can't do.
But if you have a while, read this bit.

• Start pumping as soon as you can stand it. NOT sooner than you can stand it, mind you. If it's only two weeks out when you can finally find all the parts of your pump and hand the baby to someone else long enough to use it, then so be it. But it will be easier to accumulate a stash the sooner you start, and you'll have an easier time finding a few pockets of time to pump if you start earlier in the day. Most mamas make more milk in the morning, too. "But baby is ALWAYS on the boob!" Yeah, they do that. Try pumping one side while nursing the other. Remember you can pump and then nurse almost immediately. Baby might be annoyed if the milk comes out slower where you just pumped, but baby will not starve.
• Accumulate a stash or form a back-up plan. Donor milk? Formula? Whatever it is, know before you have to get on the train to work, if at all possible. Also realize you only need ONE day of milk the first day you're gone. You'll almost certainly get more milk when you're away from baby all day than when you're sneaking in sessions between nursing and trying to pee alone. It's very comforting to have more, but not strictly necessary. Also there are a lot of resources on how much is one day of milk, how much to give at a feeding - this is at LEAST one more blog post, so I shan't cover it now. But there are tips and tricks to be had.
• Go to the office/plant/school and figure out where you're going to pump. Nurse in that spot if you can, to help your lizard brain form an association between that location and making breastmilk. Do you work out of a car? Get a car charger for your pump and window shades or a nursing cover. 
• Talk to your boss about your return. More ideas below, but in particular, make sure they understand that you will need a little while to get back up to your awesome pre-baby level of productivity, but that you are eager to return and appreciate their understanding. Note that this is a good line to take even if Boss is being an asshat, because always taking the high road will serve you well in negotiations, and if, heaven forfend, you find yourself having to file some sort of official complaint later. If you even slightly suspect this might happen (or perhaps even if you don't), it would be good to keep notes about your conversation and/or create a "paper trail" by following up with an email.

First Day Back

• Come back on a Wednesday, or part time for a couple weeks. Going from zero to full time in one step is even more exhausting and confusing than ramping up slowly. If your work will accommodate it, try to come back 3-4 days a week at first, with a break in the middle, not mon-thurs. If that's not an option, set your first day back for the middle of the work week, so you get a short first week.
• Expect to be useless your first day back. Between the emotional adjustment, figuring out your pumping routine, and remembering how to use your frontal lobe for something besides when you can manage to shower, you are unlikely to cross off your typical number of todos on this day. My first day back after kid 2, my computer refused to work all day, which frankly I took as a blessing. I had someone else to blame for my utter lack of productivity!
• Put your pumping sessions in your calendar as busy. If you don't want to announce to the world what you are doing, call them "mama breaks" or mark them private (if this is on a computer). This is not something that others can ask you to defer or skip. This is an appointment, and everyone else can work around it. Period. If ER Docs can pump, your work can let you pump too. (And I know two docs who have pumped on ER shifts.)
• Find your allies. These could be other moms to vent to. These could be non-parents or dads who are sympathetic to your situation. Could be HR. Whatever it takes, it helps to know that you are not alone, and someone is in your corner.

Going Along

• Always ask for what you need, politely, unapologetically, and as far in advance as possible. This works remarkably well. We women tend to apologize for even taking up oxygen. This is not necessary. You might have to explain and/or negotiate, though. For example, a sales person hosting me for a meeting once suggested I pump in the bathroom. Ew. I said, "Well, it's food. You wouldn't make a sandwich in there." He said, "Oh. I hadn't thought of that." Totally innocent, not intending to be gross, just totally unfamiliar with the concept. (I ended up in a perfectly comfortable file room.)
• Do not be shy or ashamed. You have no more reason to feel this way about providing your milk for your baby than you did about having the baby in the first place. Just be matter of fact and most folks will be happy to accommodate.
• Take it one day at a time. I know, I know, I just told you to do all this advanced planning. But I found myself staring at every drop of milk that came out, thinking about business trips that were weeks off. Not good for my psyche. Trust that you and your baby are going to be fine, and figure out what is in front of you first. You don't have to solve tomorrow, it isn't here yet.
• Be proud of every drop of mama milk you give your kiddo. Don't beat yourself up over a bit of formula or the possibility of using donor milk. Every ounce of liquid gold is a win. Just focus on that.
• Be creative. Can your caregiver bring your baby to nurse on lunch breaks? Can you get kiddo to daycare 15 minutes early to nurse one more time? Can you tell the caregiver that you'll text when you're on your way and you'll want to nurse when you arrive, so please don't feed kiddo or if you just fed kiddo let me know and I'll pump first? Communication helps!

Always

Be proud of the awesome job you are doing. Reach out for help when you need it. Know that lots of mamas are there with you and we got your back!

Much love,

Suzi