Body Image

Hello Beloved Readers!

You may have noticed that body image has been on my mind over the past year or so. Not just because I have a daughter, but largely so. As Ms. Jackie the Boobmonster is now nursing really just for comfort (bedtime, owies, colds), and as my sweet tooth is unchanged, I'm now back up to the 140 lbs I weighed before Robert's birth. Interestingly, and perhaps not surprisingly to you moms and other wise folk, it's a rather different 140 lbs. My shoulders are totally ripped. I mean I found a crease in my deltoid to bicep transition that I didn't know existed. ROAR! But, there is some more soft stuff around my middle than there was five pounds ago. And I find the critical voices are back in my head. Not the mean, "OMG you're so fat" voices that were there before Robert. But more, "Yeah, that's a little squishy, time for more exercise and less wine."

Now, more exercise and less wine is quite advisable, for reasons of general health. (And before anyone gets really worried, we're talking 1 to 1.5 glasses, most but not all nights of the week. The intervention may be postponed a bit further.) But the belly? The belly is fine. The belly is soft but not disproportionate. The belly is appealing to the husband and still fits in all the newly-tailored pants except the ones the over-eager temp nanny put in the dryer (she was sweet but yeah that didn't work out). (And we didn't even ask her to do the laundry - she meant well.) And frankly if the pants did not fit, the real problem would be that I hate shopping, not that I'm "too big." I can do Aikido with Robert. I can heft my kiddos. I can kick box and do yoga. The belly GREW TWO PEOPLE. It is a magic belly. It is a wonderful belly, hailed in song and story (mostly by me and hubby Matt). So where are these critical voices coming from?

Away they must go. I am making a particular habit of letting the nice, kind, nurturing voice answer the critical voice. "Oh, sweetie, you look great, you're very healthy, and your tummy doesn't need to be totally flat, that's silly." Sometimes that doesn't work. Sometimes I have to go to, "What if Jackie sees you acting that way? Do you want her to freak out about five pounds or brag about her accomplishments in Parkour class?" This is a good motivator. What if we all talked like that to ourselves? What if I looked in the mirror when changing clothes and said, "Looking good, hot mama! And hey nice bruise there - good job putting Sensei on his fanny in class last week."This is my idea. It's hard to make those critical voices go away. It's much easier to distract the busy brain with a totally different conversation. What if when girls asked how they looked in an outfit we said, "You look like a badass soccer player?" "You look smart?" "You look beautiful all the time because of that amazing smile?"

Try it on yourself. Next time you hear that voice, don't argue with it. Just change the subject. "Oh, these pants don't fit like they used to." "Hey, good job in yoga class last week!"

You're all beautiful and I love you.

Suzi

InfoCrap and Breastfeeding

Hello Dear Readers,

So, a couple of folks recently linked on my facebook page to an article in the New York Times, "Breast Milk Donated or Sold Online Is Often Tainted, Study Says." Reading the article, I discovered that this is classic InfoCrap of the Drawing Spurious Conclusions and Sampling Error Variety. The study only uses PURCHASED breastmilk. I think the women who want to GIVE AWAY their precious liquid gold are a very different population. The article also implies, by poor clarity and placement of lists, that Eats on Feets is a breast milk SELLING site, not donating, which is NOT TRUE.

What is InfoCrap? Well, until this week, it was going to be the name of my next big project/blog/perhaps book. But someone has it at gmail and blogger. So while looking for a new name, I'll just leave that as a "tickler" out there.

But none of you mamas and breastfeeding supporters will be in the LEAST surprised to find yet another article in the mainstream media which is misconstruing scientific studies to draw alarmist conclusion and sell papers/clicks/eyeballs.

Heavy sigh.

Much love,
Suzi

"Justice" and Breastfeeding

Okay so this is fairly absurd, not to mention ironic in "The Show Me State."

http://www.kansascity.com/2013/10/18/4562040/breastfeeding-mom-faces-penalties.html

I'd like to take a moment to point out that the fine state of Oregon is one of the eleven alluded to in the article which allows exemption from jury duty for breastfeeding mothers. Because WE believe in freedom, and babies. (Sticks out tongue in vaguely Southeast direction.) Even California will let you off the hook for being sole caregiver of a kiddo under five.

So that said, I will say that in my experience it usually helps to start with factual statements of need in a polite tone. "I would like to serve my civic duty, but my son is dependent on me for food and child care, and my first responsibility is to him." Or something. Meanwhile I'm pleased to see that some proposed legislation is on the docket in MO. It's 2013, people. Babies matter. Other self-righteous statements of indignance.

Mama Suzi is on your side, ladies.

Much love,
Suzi

My Milk Sharing Story

Hello Beloved Readers!

I crafted this missive in text edit on a flight home in July because I didn't want to pay for Gogo Inflight. Other topics seemed more pressing until now, so here it finally is.

So, I've been a little in the closet on my milk sharing experience. I think I was waiting until it was all the way done in case a relative reads my blog and freaks out. But since I believe strongly in walking my talk, leading by example, and giving other mamas someone to point to when they are trying to make an argument (point all you want ladies! I'm here for you!) it's time to come out and share this story.

At the recent annual potluck picnic for Alma Midwifery, my assistant midwife (who stitched me up with purple thread) affirmed my milk sharing - "Some mamas make buckets full and some mamas make thimbles full." I was more in the shot glass range. But what a wonderful way to put it. And what a clear sign that the time for this blog post is here.

I couldn't keep up with my kiddos just via pumping. Nursing I did fine, they gained weight and grew tons and pooped and peed and cuddled and had milk dribbling down their absurdly adorable chins. But the pump ain't no baby. Some mamas produce great for the pump. Some mamas can't get squat for the pump. Some mamas are queens of hand expression - my hat is off, ladies, I never figured it out. And is that the cheapest pump or what! And you never forget it, and it never short circuits… sigh. Anyway, point is, I couldn't feed my kiddos exclusively my milk while holding down an office gig. With Robert, I negotiated for working Wednesdays at home, which meant I could feed on demand AND avoid a nearly two hour round trip commute (some of which I gave back to my job, to try to push the point that we were both better off this way). With my current gig, I talked about some alternatives with my boss. He was understanding and respectful and gave it honest consideration but essentially we couldn't come up with a solution with which we were both comfortable. I was a bit disappointed, but because he handled it so gently and politely, totally not mad at him at all. So for Ms. Jackie, I needed a different answer.

Like with Robert, I tried getting up at 5 in the stinking morning to pump. The exhaustion is crazy enough without this kind of behavior and I STILL wasn't getting enough. Matt would bring Jackie to me at lunch to nurse, which is super awesome snuggly fun, and replaces a bottle, but I'm a mama who gets less at the pump after nursing (a lot of us do) so in a way this netted out to zero. Well, not really because of the snuggles, and nursing does better than pumping at keeping up supply. But it didn't solve the problem. And while I am long past judging any other mother who turns to formula in this situation, I just was too scared of getting that ONE canister with the deadly bacteria in it.

So one morning I was up too early, totally exhausted, pumping and not getting enough, and crying. I emailed some girlfriend mamas who I knew would understand in my moment of darkness. And my beloved friend Mama A.D. (those are her initials, not a reference to the birth of Jesus) emailed me back privately. She gave birth to her third baby a few months after I gave birth to Jackie, and was still at home with her. She said she remembered from her previous kiddos that she tended to have more than she needed, so after she filled and froze all her containers for her nursling, she could fill some bags for Jackie.

While I was tremendously grateful and relieved, I was also a bit nervous. What would hubby think? Would he play along? Would the difference in our personal biospheres cause me or Jackie to get yeast again? A non-trivial risk to Suzi the Yeast Factory. I went to Eats on Feets and researched the idea. They had a list of questions to ask potential donors, which I emailed to A.D. and she graciously answered. Of course there was no way to know about our personal differences in microscopic organisms, so I researched pasteurization on the same website, and printed out the procedure for Hubby Matt. He was a bio major, so when the time came to pasteurize the milk for the first time, he said, "It's just like Chem lab!" Bless his geeky little heart. We quickly discovered that straight up pasteurized milk was unpalatable to Jackie, but cut 50/50 with my milk, she would take it.

So when I got my first shipment, and looked at all those bags of Liquid Gold, I realized everything was going to be okay. Okay is defined as not going to make me so anxious and upset as to finally go totally off the deep end. I would be able to make my business trip (about 36 hours long). I would be able to concentrate at work. I would be okay. Jackie would be okay. Of course Jackie would have been okay with a bit of formula. But I wasn't sure I would.

Mama A.D. sent me two shipments. In between, Mama R.C., who has been previously referenced on this blog as one of my inspiring angels during the misery of first learning to breastfeed with a bad latch and thrush, mentioned that she had tons of milk in her freezer which her second baby didn't need (he was past bottles and chowing on lots of solids) and she needed the room in her freezer and she hated to waste food but she was going to have to throw it out. ACK! Don't do that, send it to me! This seems like a good time to mention that both these women are hundreds of miles away from me. I have my own FedEx account, (you can just sign up for one and use a credit card for payment) and would email my milk donor mamas a form to print to send back the milk, after I had sent them my fancy cold shipping box with my fancy cold packs. This thing has made five, maybe six trips, and could go a couple more, so I say it was a great investment. I also sent Mama A.D. some breastmilk bags, so the transaction would be as costless for her as possible.

So I got a bazillion bags of milk from Mama R.C., and that got us almost all the way to one year. We needed a bit more, or it was going to get sticky at the end. My first two milk donor mamas are dear friends whom I would trust with my kids (and literally had already in R.C.'s case, as she graciously held Robert for an hour when Matt was at a rehearsal and I was on my way back from a business meeting). But I needed one more. And the universe lined me up. A fellow volunteer at the Nursing Mother's Counsel of Oregon, who is a lactation consultant, shared that she knew a mama who had stockpiled a bunch of milk for her baby before a week abroad, and the kid had refused to drink it, so she had it to spare. This was a total stranger. I trusted my fellow counselor, and as an IBCLC I knew she would never suggest accepting milk from a heroine addict or something. But it was still a big leap. I asked to meet her. The mama graciously came to my home, bringing a couple bags of the milk to see if Jackie would take it (she wasn't sure if maybe she had the dreaded lipase problem and that was why her son had refused the goods). She was very gracious when I had transposed two numbers in my address and she was wondering up and down the block. She was so gentle and understanding about my concerns, she instantly put me at ease. We pasteurized her milk, gave it to Jackie that week, and my little excellent eater was happy to take it. So Matt went to pick up the rest of the goldmine from her home, and we sent her flowers as a thank you. (My previous two mamas got Moonstruck Chocolates, but I didn't know if this mama was a fan or had sugar restrictions or anything, so flowers seemed safer.) Her stash saw us comfortably through Jackie's first birthday and the subsequent pump-weaning. I was saved. Jackie never had to have formula, about which she probably wouldn't have complained but I was super freaked out. I never had to cancel a business trip or leave work in the middle of the day to feed her. And my husband learned more than he ever wanted to know about the varying fat content of different women's breast milk.

I will be forever grateful to these mamas. I wish I could pay it forward in kind, but instead I will have to seek to inspire other mamas to consider sharing milk if they are at the bucket end of the spectrum. I have heard so many inspiring milk sharing stories since. A mama who was diagnosed with breast cancer in pregnancy. Two dads seeking to provide their adopted baby with breast milk. Mamas on life-saving medications not compatible with breastfeeding. Mamas with IGT (Insufficient Glandular Tissue) or who had been through breast reductions. In the face of stories like these, I felt embarrassed asking for help feeding my healthy, privilege kiddo so I could stay at my middle-upperclass white collar job without distraction, even though I could afford formula. (What, me, load guilt on myself? Why do you ask?) But from friends who had enough to share, I could accept help. And from a mama who was so kind and understanding as our third donor, it was easy.

Let's rewind for a moment to, say, 1800. "Before there was formula, there were sisters and grandmas." When a mama died in childbirth, a wet nurse was found. When a mama couldn't produce enough, a sister helped out. There are even historical references to aunts and grandmas relactating when mama died or couldn't feed her baby. Handing over bags of frozen milk is the modern equivalent. I found nursing so intimate and loving, I would hesitate to hand Jackie to another mama to nurse. At the very least, I couldn't have watched. But accepting frozen Liquid Gold from trusted friends to give my kiddo? Heck yeah.

I should also point out, if you have more than 100 ounces to spare and fit a somewhat stringent list of requirements (like no Advil, yikes), you can donate to milk banks. This gift literally saves lives when fragile newborns need human milk. The stories are heart wrenching. Had I enough to spare I wouldn't have qualified because of the Sertraline (which also saves lives, thank you, but that's another post). Please consider this option if you are in a position to do so. And for Pete's sake, please don't make cheese out of your breastmilk when you could be saving babies. I like cheese and I don't care about your dietary tastes, but I like saving babies more than I like new culinary experiences.

So that's a lot of links. It's a big topic. Sometimes it takes a village just to FEED the baby, let alone raise her up to be a responsible, happy, useful person. The planet has enough resources if we take care of it right. This is also true of lifesaving, amazing, wonderful human milk. Please share if you can and accept help if you need it.

Much love as always,

Suzi

Gallows Humor

Beloved Readers,

Hello! I hope you are all well and surviving the beginning of the school year, High Holy Days, back to school sales, or whatever else your calendars hold, with aplomb. It's been a bit too long since my last post, but I think you will understand when you hear what we've been up to. On August 10, less than four months after my father-in-law succumbed to colon cancer after a nearly five year battle, we lost my mother-in-law as well. We don't know exactly what happened yet, but it was at the same time sudden (we got a call that she was found unconscious, put Matt on the next flight, and she had passed before he got to Indianapolis), and not unexpected. She had been in ill health for many years, was suffering from cognitive decline, and was of course struggling to find life and comfort without Gary after so many decades at his side. She was buried next to him on what would have been their 49th wedding anniversary. Some couples don't make sense without each other, and in a way it's a mercy that she didn't have to try to figure out how to do so.

So Hubby Matt has had a bit of a rough year, to say the least. I've had tough times over the years, and in my family, when the going get tough, the tough get sarcastic. Mom and I were giggling while we were at the side of Dad's death bed. Well, not RIGHT at his side, and certainly not at him. But we have always found comfort in the "laugh rather than cry" approach to trials and tragedy.

Not everyone finds this comforting. Exhibit A, Matt looked more horrified than consoled when I tried to look on the bright side, "Well, it can't happen again!"

I think I'm learning when a joke would not be appreciated and keeping it to myself. You could ask Matt if he thinks I'm figuring it out but frankly I'd rather you didn't. But more interesting, I think I'm finally figuring out where this comes from. I've always interpreted it as toughness, or optimism. A way to keep going through the tough times, to get done what must be done (Have you noticed how the first two weeks after someone dies are just a huge freaking to-do list?) without letting grief or anger slow you down (too much). And perhaps it serves that purpose. But more likely it's just a convenient way to hide from pain. If you can laugh, you won't cry, or at least you get a moment of rest from crying (raise your hand if you have done both simultaneously. Yep.) If you can make angry jokes, you don't have to think about how sad or unfair or just freaking inconvenient this next challenge is. I thought I was being optimistic, but maybe I was just being scared. I've thought of this humor as feisty and strong, but maybe I just didn't want to do the hard work of grieving when it's inconvenient. I've yet to thoroughly examine whether the jokes and comments are actually funny. It's not really the point. The real point is, I think maybe I can understand why Matt doesn't find these comments funny. He's wrong, of course, I'm a total crackup. But we don't all handle grief in the same way, and what has comforted me in the past strikes him as perhaps too stark.

A quick comment on Pat. It seems a fitting tribute to her memory that, as the family gathered in the house this weekend to work on cleaning it out for sale, the foodies in the family descended on her cook book collection like flies. Like Gary, she liked to play host, and feed people well. And she loved her family very much. In tribute to her legacy, we should all eat something with way too much cholesterol in it, and share it with a loved one, and demand that they sing after dinner.

Much love,
Suzi

My Baby Has Wings

Hello beloved readers!

So, I think I have alluded already to Robert's ... okay I have deleted five attempts to characterize the situation in some pithy manner. At the recommendation of his preschool teachers, we have had him evaluated by the school district for various things. He has qualified for extra support under "developmental delay" in adaptive - self care like potty use, brushing teeth - and social.  We are also in the process of beginning to evaluate him for Autism spectrum disorder, emotional disturbance (anxiety), and "other health" (ADD/ADHD), all due to results from this initial screening. (Before anyone freaks out, I am NOT going to let anyone medicate my four year old for being a space cadet. If it looks necessary when he's 14 we'll talk.)

Robert is crazy smart. I'm not bragging - although I value intelligence I don't think it's the only positive quality in a child and I don't even consider it the most important one. But the kid is 4 and a half and just tested as reading at the first grade level, he can do some addition and subtraction, and he made an analogy before he was 2. He walks on his tiptoes almost all the time, goes up and down stairs same foot first always, he's very sensitive to sound and certain types of touch and food textures, he freaks out when routines change or at transitions unless he gets a bunch of warnings.

So the kid probably has Aspergers. Plus anxiety, possibly OCD (my gene, sorry kid) and possibly ADD (that's Dad's gift, so I'm off the hook). He's introverted, which is NOT a disorder despite what society might think, but in addition to his other sensitivities it makes preschool a challenge. All of this has added up to some disturbing behavior, weird violent statements you wouldn't expect out of a four year old, or at least that I didn't. And of course then his grandpa up and died in April. Oops. That probably didn't help.

This evening I was singing the requested bedtime song, realized I had forgotten a verse, and went off to get my song book. I came back in singing the song, and Robert insisted that I get back in bed next to him, resume petting his back, and start the song over from the beginning. "My goodness, you're so particular!" I teased. "Yeah, that's just the way I am," he replied, smiling. This of course totally cracked me up.

After seeing X-Men - I think the second one? I dunno, but the one with the guy with the wings. I had a typical Mama Suzi reaction. Not a major plot point spoiler, so I'll share the bit that's relevant - you see a sort of flash back to when the kid was a 'tween and started growing wings. He was alone in the bathroom trying to get them to stop, with a bunch of sharp kitchen tools, including a zester which I have. (I almost threw away the zester when I got home.) His mom walks in on him and you see the shapes above his shoulder blades where his wings are developing. I think the movie character mom just gasps. Countless times after seeing that movie I imagined myself in that mom's place, gathering the little boy in my arms, insisting that no matter what grew out of his shoulders he did NOT deserve to be zested, that he was my little boy and I loved him and we would figure this out together. I imagined me putting neosporin on his skin and tucking him into bed. I figured out how I would have shirts and suits tailored to accommodate his wings, rather than letting him bind them as the character does in the movie in an attempt to hide his "mutation." I figured if he itched when he molted I'd go find a bird vet to ask what to put on him, on the down low of course. And then because my imagination is faster than the speed of lint, I would picture taking him to Charles Xavier's school, but not wanting to leave, so I'd be like the dorm mom, cooking for all the kids and cuddling them and telling them that no matter how their parents reacted to their special gifts, they were wonderful and deserved to be loved.

Yes I am a huge geek. Geek is sexy. I'm down with it. (For fun some time ask me about the Harry Potter movies.) I never really thought any of this would come true. But it has. Robert has wings. He is amazingly bright and creative and thoughtful and sensitive and charming. And these gifts have a cost. We need to find ways for him to learn navigate an overstimulating world without being overwhelmed. We need to prepare him to deal with bullies and prejudice. (Aikido class starts next Saturday.) And we have to be extra careful to show him how much we value our own special gifts, and understand their costs.

My baby has wings.

Much love,
Suzi

Royal Cuteness, Brave Duchess

Hello Beloved Boobjuicers and Friends!

So I have a (in my not quite as humble as it should be opinion) fantastic blog post on milk sharing all drafted up, but I need to comment on Young George, born to the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge (a FINE hamlet in which I spent a DELIGHTFUL summer of '94, but I digress). There are a lot of things I have to say.

One. Duchess Kate, AKA Kate Middleton, looks FANTASTIC. She is glowing with joy and beaming with pride, as she should be. George was NOT SMALL, at eight pounds and six ounces (so obviously anyone who fussed that she didn't gain enough waits may now apologize to the new mama). Well discussed here. She is showing her beautiful, magical belly (dude it just GREW a PERSON thankyouverymuch), not hiding it under some tent or behind strategically placed diaper bags. And that is a fabulous dress and she looks PERFECT. I have had a GLASS of WINE and have become quite LIBERAL with the ALL CAPS. Forgive me. I am NOT SHOUTING, merely EXUDING ENTHUSIASM. Right, anyway.

Okay two. She is reported to be breastfeeding. Huzzah! As illustrated in this amazing spoken poem by another brave and beautiful British mama, Holly McNish, the Duchess lives in a country which might be even more uptight about using breasts for feeding babies than my beloved homeland. (Seriously people, if you never click on any other links I ever post, watch that one. That poem makes me tear up every single time I watch it. I'm over four years into my nursing story and this HITS HOME.) (Oops, more all caps.) So point being. What a powerful example to send. I am praying and praying she will nurse in public. Even with a cover it would be such a powerful message to send. We need leadership like hers (and lots of other amazing publicly nursing celebrity mamas) to show that breasts are first and foremost for feeding babies and woman who choose to do so have nothing to hide.

Three. She chose her health care providers, reportedly, according to her wishes, not Royal Tradition. In this case, that meant OBs in a hospital. British health service standard is a midwife at home. I think you all know or can guess where I stand on midwifery versus the medical model of care. But even more important than that, to me, is informed consent and mothers' rights. She wants an OB, the Queen's gynocologist, a hospital, and a phalanx of nurses? Good on ya, Duchess. Have at it. She must be allowed to choose the birth setup in which she feels most comfortable, in order to maximize her odds of a healthy birth, healthy baby, and amazing, soul-touching transition from pregnancy to mamahood. As should every mom.

So here's the bottom line. This new mama is BRAVE. With every freaking camera in the British Empire trained on her, she's showing her tummy. She's nursing. She's choosing the birth she wants (it would seem). I hope she is able to maintain her bravery through those nerve-wracking early weeks and months, when incognito mamas have seemingly 100 unsolicited opinions per topic. The Duchess, you can be sure, will have a thousand times more flung at her.

I would LOVE five minutes with this mama. and not just because I love sniffing adorable new babies. SOOOO CUTE. Oops. I stopped after one glass but then I had ice cream. Anyway, if I got just one minute, I would say:

"Thank you for your brave choices. Keep trusting your instincts. As for the help you want, turn down the help you don't want. Get as much support as you can, real support not just a zillion staffers running about. And know that you are AMAZING and doing a wonderful job."

Now a quick digression. I'm hearing a lot of snarky attitude about the attention that His Royal Highness Prince George of Cambridge has received in the press and from the public. In pointing out that no baby is more important than any other, they are of course quite right. But I think they are missing the real points here. What a fantastic opportunity to open discussions on prenatal care, birthing choices, post-partum support, breastfeeding, and parenting. And further, what is more hopeful than a healthy baby born to loving parents?  This is a wonderful time to turn away from the news of economic uncertainty, disease, starvation, scandal, blah blah blah, and say, "Wow, that's really wonderful. I think I'll go hug my kids/partner/best friend."

Much love to the Duchess, the Duke, His Royal Highness Prince George of Cambridge,
and as always much love to all of you,
Suzi