Mini-Update

Last night, I was writing my previous blog post out on the porch, enjoying the sunset and sounds of Texas summer. I'd invited Mal to come out with me, but he was watching videos in the floor of our bedroom.

Anyway, at a little bit after 9, Mal opened the back door and said, annoyed, "Mommy! I'm TIRED!" I asked him if he wanted me to help him go to bed, and he said yes.

We came in, and, of course, nursed for a few minutes, then he said, "I want to go outside now." I have to admit, part of me was like, "What? I thought it was bedtime!" but I went back out with him, and at that point it was pretty much dark. We looked at stars, he looked for fireflies (I guess it's too late for them now), and he desperately wanted to see a shooting star.

We started hearing a very high-pitched whinny, which sounded kind of like a cartoon version of a little pony. Maybe it was a baby fox? Or a bird? Anyway, Mal decided it was a horse, and it kind of freaked him out. He wanted to come in before the horse got us.

I actually had him sit in my lap outside a few more moments, explaining that horses don't really attack humans (but you don't want to walk around the back of one!), and that whatever it was was probably just crying for its mama.

When we did come in, he decided it was a baby horse missing its mama, who had gone to get dinner at McDonald's.

And he was asleep within 10 minutes of that.

It's not always that simple or easy, but it's a lot better than two hours of insisting "you don't have to go to sleep, but you have to stay in bed!"

I understand it's different for kids who have to be somewhere the next morning; no judgement here. Mostly just thought it was a cute interaction I wanted to remember. :)

And this is how he went to sleep Saturday night: we were driving to watch the sunset. We missed it. :)
This is the only thing that works besides "deedees."

Drying Out

It would seem that I am no longer in the milk-producing game. While I've been ready to wean for some time now (and maybe my body is responding to that?), my child is NOT ready to wean.

During the day, it looks like this: He asks for "deedees," latches on, gets nothing so asks, "other side," latches on, gets nothing, and then goes about his business. We have several of these check-ins during the day, less when we're busy. So that's not too bad.

What's pretty bad is nighttime. See, my son still does not have the ability to self-calm or to "just" go to sleep. Without nursing or riding in the car, he's just awake. And now that there's no milk, bedtime is taking between two and four hours per night! Not because I want to "put him down" at a certain time; we let him decide when he's sleepy.

And here's how it played out tonight: At about 6:30, Mal wanted to lie down and have "deedees." He was exhausted. If I'd had milk, he would have nursed to sleep. Since I don't, he sucked on one side, eyes rolling back, lids drooping, then popped off and said, "Other side." So we switched. Since he wasn't getting anything there, he hopped up and decided we needed to take the dog for a walk.

We did. We put on jackets, got the dog leash, went for a fairly nice walk... except I left HIS jacket on the porch. Since he had on long johns, he didn't really need it (I was wearing a short-sleeved top and capris so did), but once he realized we didn't have it, he started screaming and crying that he needed his jacket. I told him we could come back home, but he didn't want to turn around. He cried that he wanted to go "that way" AND have his jacket. I offered him mine. He cried more. "Mal's jacket!"

It took us a good five minutes for him to realize that going the way we were going and his having a jacket were mutually exclusive. We ended up walking some more, and about a quarter mile from the house, he decided to get out and push his own stroller. (I'm not going to lie: I was a little disappointed that the walk didn't lull him closer to sleep. He was a hot mess.)

When we got home, he wanted to go into the back yard. He was pretending that his stroller was a lawn mower, but he wanted me to get the real mower out. I told him I wasn't going to do that because it is dangerous, and he sobbed hysterically. Then eventually, he got distracted and went on the swing. Then he wanted to slide. He wanted me to go up to the slide, also, which I did... then he wanted me to slide down, and I told him I would, but only once because I was getting tired. 

He demanded I go back up and slide again, and because I was tired of the crying, I told him I would one more time. When I got back up, he FLIPPED OUT. I couldn't figure out what it was for a while, then I realized that it was because I went up the ladder instead of what he calls the "step stool." I said I'd slide down and come back up the step stool, but he indicated, still with hot tears and snot, that I could NOT SLIDE because I'd come up the wrong way. So I started to climb back down, and he said, "NO, MOMMY! DON'T!" I guess he wanted me to magic back to the ground and climb up the right side.

He cried when I wouldn't turn on the hose (because he was already dressed for bed, and I was too tired to let him get soaked at 8 PM and then change his clothes AGAIN, plus it was 60 degrees). He cried when I tried to fold up the stroller to put it away. He wanted to play "games" so got the not-Frisbee... which we've had for months and it's been sitting in the sun, so the second time I threw it and it happened to land on its side, it shattered. Guess what happened? Yeah. More screaming and sobbing.

Mal talked his dad into taping the disc with duct tape. I suggested to Mal that we lie down. He did, and, again, would have gone to sleep if I'd had enough milk to keep him still for two minutes. As I didn't, he hopped up and plugged in his lights. He got some blocks and said he wanted to build a tunnel. He wanted me to build, too, but I was done. It had been two hours of on-and-off hysterics, and I just wanted to hold him so he could calm down. I knew whatever I did with the blocks would just upset him at some point, anyway.

Finally, after getting very mad at me, then lying down and demanding "deedees" then rejecting the first side, then very angrily rejecting the second side and demanding the first one again, he managed to wear himself out.

I'm at a loss.

All of the stuff people tell you to do with the nighttime routine and the lighting and whatnot... None of that works for him. He isn't a "lie down and unwind" kind of person, and since I'm unwilling to physically restrain him, I don't know how to save him from himself in these situations.

Oh, a few weeks ago, I made lactation cookies and those things were delicious but did NOT work. In fact, everyone in my household ate bunches of them, and literally no one is producing milk.

He's such a busy guy. So full of energy. I need some serious help figuring out how to help him wind down. I hate having him weepy (understatement) and on the verge of injury and/or breakdown the last couple of hours he's awake. I wouldn't care if he stayed up until 10 (until recently, he did; when he was still napping), as long as he was in a chill-to-happy mood.

But his distress eventually wears through my energy, and I'm emotionally too drained to deal well with helping him. Because this his happening now every day, and it's been almost a week and I can't imagine what I'm going to be like three weeks from now.

On the up side, this morning, Mal walked into the kitchen and saw me drinking out of a mug. He said, "Mommy like copy (coffee)?" I said, "Actually, I'm drinking milk. Want some?" So I gave him a drink. He said, "Yummmmmy!" So I poured him half a cup, which he drank and then requested more. I gave him another cup, which he drank and then requested MORE. I poured him another cup, but he didn't touch it so it's in the fridge for tomorrow.

I'm thinking that tomorrow I might try to warm the milk up, maybe add a little vanilla, and see if he'll take that at bedtime.

Wish me luck, people. And hit me up with any ideas you have. We're worn out and super frazzled over here!

On Boobies and Babies and Bungles, Our Saturday

First, I want to tell you something: I believe in personal choice, parental choice, family freedom, and individual responsibility. A lot. So I'm going to tell you what I did this morning, and some of it is associated with the World Breastfeeding Week, designed to "normalize" breastfeeding. I want you to know what that means to me, then I'll get on with the crazy half day I had.

I've mentioned often that I formula-fed my first child. I'd planned to breastfeed, but it wasn't working and they were threatening to put her back in the hospital, and she took to a bottle so fast, then remained awake and alert for like half an hour, the longest she'd stayed awake in the four or five days since she'd been born, and I was so relieved that I just fed her with bottles from there on out. I was called several times by people I'm sure meant well, but I felt an incredible pressure that I wasn't doing things "right," and it made me angry. The people telling me I could still do it the "breast" way hadn't been there in the panicked hours when I thought I might have to take drastic measures just to make sure my kid thrived. Now she was doing well, and I was not going to change anything. I just wanted to get on with our lives with our healthy kid.

So, please believe me that if I'd exercised my rights to decide and wanted to bottle-feed my second from the get-go (and, believe me, there are days...), I'd totally to go a "Formula's F**ing Fine!" feed-in, too!

Here's the stupid/weird part: Women ARE encouraged to breastfeed, to the point of formula shaming. When their baby is small. But somewhere between 6 months to a year, the pendulum swings swiftly to the other side, and you need to get that kid off of your boob! He's going to need therapy! Freak.

To me, celebrating choices is about just that: celebrating that I have the personal liberty to do a thing, and I appreciate that. I don't assume that any of my choices (in respect to parenting, faith, finances, etc.) are superior to anyone else's. So please don't think that. I support you. Unless you're a jerk to your kids. I don't support that.

So, anyway, on to my morning:

It started by my discovery that the cream I'd had turning magically into clotted cream overnight... hadn't. I don't know whether it was because the cream was ultra-pasteurized (it didn't say so on the label), or because my oven runs cool so it wasn't actually 180 degrees and never scalded the cream. Whatever, I'd wasted 12 hours at 180 and an entire quart of cream. Oh well.

Next. Mal got up and we were getting ready to go downtown to hit Voodoo Doughnut before we went to a toy store for The Global Big Latch On as a part of World Breastfeeding Week. When we went the first time, we got there around 8:30 and the place was dead. Today, we got there around 9, and there was only one parking spot in front of the building. Unfortunately, someone was double parked by the car in front of the spot, so I couldn't line up to parallel park. I tried a couple of times, then angrily realized I'd have to take the block and figure something else out. When I pulled around the vehicle, I saw that there were people in the car waiting! Aargh! I know they saw me (and the person before me) try MULTIPLE times to back into the space even with them in the way. They could have pulled up or driven around the block. Rude.

I found a spot a couple of blocks away, got Mal in the stroller, and we headed over. This time, unlike last time, there was a line. We waited about 15 minutes, and were at the front. Ish. There were two parties in front of us, and one at the register. The one at the register was taking forever. They must have ordered 2 dozen and a bunch of coffees. It was another good 10 minutes, and I was starting to panic that we were going to be late, even though I'd originally given us almost an hour for the doughnut stop!

Finally, they opened two more registers, I strapped Mal back into the stroller before I ordered, explained to him that we were going to have to RUN back to the van and eat our doughnuts there, and even then I forgot to get one of the doughnuts I wanted to bring back to share with James. Oh well.

We trotted back to the car, where my awesome little kiddo climbed up into his car seat and waited for me to buckle him in while I stowed the stroller and then handed him as much of a doughnut as I was willing to trust him with.

We drove over to Enlightened Baby (super snooty name, very awesome store) and got there just a bit before ten. We finished our doughnuts and headed in, as we'd received a couple of reminders to be there by 10 o'clock so we could sign in and be counted. As it turns out, they were just getting set up and we could have waited 15-20 minutes. But whatever. Mal loved looking around the store, and we bought their last set of silicone straws. Mal adores drinking out of whatever we're drinking out of, and he's taken to saying, "traw" and trying to pull random items out of the silverware drawer, so now he has a stash.

There were probably 20-30 moms there with babies ranging in age from pretty new (4 weeks?) to a little older-looking than Mal (but he's so big, it's difficult to tell). We all latched on at around 10:30, and they counted us, and... um, I got a free t-shirt, and I bought another one. So. Yeah.

About 30 moms. I was sitting near two or three. It seemed like there were several groups there, like maybe from birth month mom groups or something? The ones who weren't obviously friends/acquaintances of the store owner were talking to each other in smallish packs, and seemed to know each other's kids. I tried talking to a couple of women while we waited, but it just wasn't happening. I really hate that. It's exhausting, but I try sometimes. I just don't know how to connect with other women, I guess. So my commiseration, light-hearted take on something, or explanation of why I had brought doughnuts in (they were in disguise, but I think a kid smelled them) were all met with polite smiles before looking away and connecting with other people. Pppth.

After the sort of anti-climactic count, we headed right out. Mal was in a good mood, so I decided to press my luck and go to the mall for a quick return. We'd bought James a pair of Crocs online, and those are the first shoes I've gotten from them that are just uncomfortable! They also don't fit right. They're weird. I can mail them back, but they forgot to include the return shipping label, so I was going to have to print one out... and decided just to take my 20% off coupon and enjoy tax-free weekend whilst also returning the shoes.

We got to the mall, and I once again got Mal's stroller out so he could ride in style. We walked through Macy's toward the center of the mall, and I see this "coming soon!" boarded-up store where I expect to see a Crocs store. Well... apparently, the Crocs store at the mall CLOSED and I'm at the mall for no reason. On a Saturday. When the parking lot is full because of a farmer's market. Seriously.

So I tell Mal, "Well, let me go to the bathroom, and then we'll get some soda." He's still being an awesome trooper.

As per usual, the family bathroom is either in use or just locked out of spite. Since Mal was born, I have never once used a family bathroom because they are always locked. I don't think they really exist. They are just doors put there to give me false hope.

We go into the women's room, and all of the stalls are taken but one. I get Mal's stroller mostly in there, but because I have a big bag with useless Crocs in it hanging off of the back of the stroller, I can't close the door. Also, there's no hook to hang my purse or this giant bag. So I decide just to wedge him in and do my business with the door open. We're all ladies here, right? Stupid bathrooms.

There's a long line at Chick-fil-A, where I could get a free soda because of my calendar card. Instead, we walk out of the noisy food court and over to Auntie Anne's pretzels. Nothing looks good, food-wise, and so I just order a large Diet Coke with very little ice.

Um, it's disgusting. It tastes watered down. I let Mal drink some because he's very thirsty, and I let the next people in line order, then I tell the lady that the soda tastes like maybe they need to switch out the syrup. She tells some dude, and he tests a little of the Diet Coke himself. He then tests the Dr. Pepper. He then tests the Root Beer. He seems to think everything is fine. "Would you like something else to drink?" he asks. NO.

And he gives me back my money with his apologies.

OKAY, I GUESS WE'LL JUST GO HOME THEN. THANK YOU FOR NOTHING, BARTON SQUARE MALL.

Back out to the car. Have I mentioned that my son was an amazing kid today? I told him as much on the walk back outside. He threatened to drift off to sleep about 2 minutes from home, but it was only 11:30 (as much as it felt like 3 PM!), so I asked, "Mal! Are you going to tell Daddy about that disgusting soda we got?" And Mal said, "Blech!"

Here's where his sensitivities to stimuli come into play: As good as he was when we were out, it overwhelmed him and he was a wreck about every single thing once we got home, until he took his hour long nap which just ended. Hopefully we have a more chill evening!

The best thing about the day: my boy. Hands down.

A Good Saturday

We had a low key family day today. First, I was able to catch Mal doing what I described in yesterday's post. Here it is, in all of its "what the heck?" glory.

Then this evening, Mal and I took James out for an early Father's Day meal (Sundays are difficult for us, time-wise, between church, Mal's nap, and the fact that James doesn't like to leave the house after noon on Sunday because of introvert, powering-up-for-Monday stuff) at Hecho en Mexico. They were pretty busy, and it took quite some time for our food to come out. Fortunately, Mal was pretty chill until the last six minutes or so before his beans arrived. Although I don't love breastfeeding in public at his age and stage, it was actually a relief when he climbed up in my lap and wanted to nurse, because it meant I wasn't going to have to get up and chase him around the small dining room. I happened to be wearing a nursing shirt and was able to be what I thought was very discreet.

When we got done, though, I glanced over to see the family at the next table all looking at me. The mom elbowed the son, who was about 8 or 9 years old, and he said, very pleasantly, "I was just saying that I am kind of jealous of him because he gets to have mama's milk, and I sometimes want mama's milk."

I said, "Yeah, he's a fan. I guess we'll stop someday, but I don't see it happening soon.

His mom told me, "He was almost four."

I said to the boy, "Well, I'm glad you have happy memories of it. I hope this one does."

His mom said, "I honestly had no idea."

So it was an all-around positive exchange. I hope that my boy is as poised and articulate when he's older.

Happy Father's Day to this guy, who loves our kids well and who is the best partner in the world. I can't imagine doing any of this without him. <3

This is What the Internet is All About...

Avenue Q's assertion aside, I am confident that this story represents one of the greatest uses of the internet, in terms of global shrinkage and the community of mankind and all of that hippie stuff.

A few weeks ago, I tried my first Cadbury Mini Eggs of the year, and of this new era of American chocolate replacing the genuine Cadbury Dairy Milk. Well, eww. They were subpar and disappointing. They had some white chocolate ones, and those were all right. But neither was anywhere near as good as last year's eggs (I should have stocked up!) and the regular chocolate ones... might as well have been big old M&Ms. Disappointing.

I took to social media to complain about this, because, you know, it's the 21st Century and that's what we do. Actually, for years now, I've told people that if they want something, just to put it out there on Facebook and the things have a way of happening.

To that end, I posted in a group of breastfeeding mamas of kids who are a year + since there seem to be a lot of Brits in the group. From their side, I heard that, sadly, Cadbury has changed the recipe of the mini eggs in Great Britain as well, and that now they blow equally badly.

It's funny: I've posted several things to that group, including videos of Mal feeding and doing various things, but that's the most response I've received to any post so far. More than a hundred people commented. Several offered to get me the eggs if I wanted to compare, and while that was sweet, I didn't feel like paying shipping for something that was that widely panned.

One woman, however, messaged me that she was, at that moment, eating Cadbury Snow Bites, which she described as similar to Mini Eggs, if you suck the powder off of them. She offered to send me some. Obviously, I found some on Amazon, so I told her if she could get them to me for less than $8 a bag, I'd take them!

She messaged me later and said that she got two and shipping was 7 pounds, which is roughly $10, so it saved me $6. Woo hoo!

Well, yesterday I got the package. First of all, shipping was 7.7 pounds, so she was just being nice. Then I realized she'd been *very* nice.

I was so happy to see the goodies; it was totally worth getting stung in the butt by a wasp on the walk down to the mailbox! So, there are two caramel Cadbury "eggs" (in name only; they're truffles). There's a "twisted" creme "egg," which is a truffle that looks like it's been twisted. The Eclair was a lot like a soft Werther's filled with runny caramel. The Fudge was a fudge-filled chocolate, and then the Whip was light chocolate. The Dairy Milk was just that delicious chocolate.

What about the Snow Bites?

They're round, but roughly the same circumference as the thickest part of a Mini Egg.

There is a light dusting of sugar and cornstarch, kind of similar to what's on a marshmallow.

The sugar shell isn't as thick as on the Mini Eggs, but, goodness, see that pretty Dairy Milk chocolate inside? Yayyy!

So, thanks to the internet, a lady on the other side of the world with nothing in common with me other than the fact that we both have toddler nurslings ran out to the store, bought candy, and sent it off in the mail, just because we were connected by a group on Facebook.

This is the internet at its finest!

Happy World Breastfeeding Awareness Week!

Good Monday morning (for now; who knows when this will be completed and posted?) and welcome to World Breastfeeding Awareness Week!

I'm very aware of my breastfeeding, as I had a clogged duct for 14 hours on Friday, and am still getting over the pain.

Clearly, this isn't all romance and fun. And I'm no lactivist! In fact, when Mal wasn't even a month old, I wrote a whole post about why Formula-Feeding is awesome. Oh, man, I still feel that way. Almost a year in, with no freedom in sight, it still seems pretty incredible.

But that's not my experience this time, and I'm embracing what is, and I've read and seen and heard a lot of just irritatingly ignorant comments about breastfeeding in the past couple of weeks, so I thought I'd do this here post to combat some of that.

Once again, I'm not telling you you need to breastfeed. I don't care, honestly. I'm all for moms doing what works. And by "works," I mean even if your decision is totally in terms of convenience. I get it! My daughter could have nursed if we'd had her tongue-tie clipped, but I was wary of any further medical interventions. I welcomed the bottle. She started thriving. Yay for whatever! Do your thing. I support you! (And maybe am even a little jealous of you that your partner gets to feed the baby every once in a while.)

But.

Here's a picture, first of all.

Yes, his latch is awful! He's also a fat 10-month-old, so I ain't even worried.

Now, let me tell you a little bit about my past 10 months. I've spent a lot of time nursing (if you don't speak US English, I'm talking specifically about breast-feeding, and trying not to over-use the word "breast" or "boob," which I've just used to explain why I'm not using them). So. Much. Time.

My son cried a LOT as a newborn, and very often, even nursing didn't help. But sometimes it did, and it was the only thing that did, so I offered it a lot. I never leave the house thinking, "Where can I whip out my boob today?" and would really rather find other options, so try whenever it is possible.

That being said, I've nursed a lot of places I'd never have imagined before I had this baby. Like three airports (all three he's visited), most downtown restaurants, several churches (during service), so a doctor could check his ear for an infection, during my own eye exam while the optician was measuring me for glasses. It was probably a mistake to take Mal to my checkup, but I needed to get it done, and I thought he'd be okay with my just holding him. Nope. He screamed and was squirming around... until I popped him on, and he was happy long enough for me to get a new contacts and glasses prescription, and to verify that I do not have glaucoma. The staff was so professional and kind. They might have talked about me later, but to my face, they were amazing.

At first, I was very VERY discreet. When I tried nursing with Daphne, I actually covered her and me because I couldn't get in place without looking, so I needed to be in there with her. With Mal, I started by covering him, then just covering with a blanket the portion of my skin that was showing, and now sometimes I'll cover that skin with my hand so it doesn't scream "breasticles!" But, seriously, I'm feeding my kid. I am kind of over it. I don't feel immodest.

I have come to appreciate that breastfeeding does have a certain elegance. For instance, it's so awesome that it puts baby's face close enough to mom's face that he can see her, even from birth. And that even if I have an off day due to stress or business or whatever, so that I end up eating absolute garbage, my breast milk is magically still perfect.

So, here are some things I've read or heard or thought about recently. I'll address them, then I'll address something I think some breastfeeding moms say that is also ridiculous.

1) "That kid was at least a year old!" Um. So? The World Health Organization says, "Exclusive breastfeeding is recommended up to 6 months of age, with continued breastfeeding along with appropriate complementary foods up to two years of age or beyond." I gave my daughter formula until she was 18 months old. Was that inappropriate? No one who ever saw her with formula at a restaurant chided me or clucked their tongue.

2) "Once they're eating solid food, they get all of the nutrition they need from it."
  a) No, they don't. I talked to a doctor once and he said it's not a day-to-day balanced diet you're going for with kids; it's a two-week picture. Well, still... sometimes, we'll have a tired or bad or sick week or so, and there's no way this little kid is getting all of his nutrients from food. Besides, grown people eat a much wider variety of foods, but many still take a vitamin supplement to fill in the holes. That's what formula is to older kids.
  b) Breastfeeding isn't just about nutrition. There's an emotional aspect. Sometimes, Mal will be fussy and come to me, want to nurse, suckle maybe four times, then head off again, recharged. It's how he's comforted. Yes, I'm trying to find other ways to help him calm himself, but we're not there yet.

3) "She didn't even try to cover up when he'd unlatch to look around!" I get this, on a logical level. Once the boob is not in the baby's mouth, it seems like it could go back into its packaging, right? Except... have you ever given a bottle to a baby who can feed himself? They might drink 1/4 of it, decide to pay attention to something else for forty seconds, and then come back. What if I expected you to lid the bottle and zip it back up in your diaper bag every time it wasn't in active use? You might think that's different, because it's a bottle and not a sexy sexy titty, but...

4) If you have a problem with the alleged immodesty that breastfeeding causes, then you need to take it up with God (or nature, if you don't believe in a creator deity). Seriously, Christian soldiers! Do you believe that the Lord designed everything? If so, you have to acknowledge that he put the milk delivery system together the way that he did, and even said everything he made was "good," with humans being "very good."

As I was pondering the ramifications of this, I had this mental picture of God leaning over to Jesus in heaven, elbowing him in the ribs, and saying, "Heh, wait until you see where Imma put the milk."

Now, if you're thinking this sounds blasphemous, believe me, I do, too! I thought about making a short film, or even just putting together a meme with Beavis and Butthead, but I really don't want to come off as disrespectful. I don't see my God as a hormonal, immature 14-year-old boy trying to get some lolz from his posse in heaven. I don't think his intention was to be shocking or disturbing when he made mammals. So maybe the problem is ours and we need to get over ourselves?

5) "She didn't even try to be discreet." Like I mentioned, that gets increasingly complicated as they get older. Well, actually, it was complicated when he was nursing every 20 minutes. And "discreet" means different things to different people. Now, my son will look around while he's eating. I try to keep his head close to my chest so I'm not going off in anyone's eyeball or anything, but that's about the best I can do. Closing up shop for him to come right back after he's taken inventory of his surroundings would draw MORE attention to myself every time I struggled with getting it back in place.

6) "They can do that at home." Yes, we can. And we do. I take snacks and food and juice or water with me to restaurants. I try very much to discourage nursing at restaurants, mostly because it takes away from my ability to eat the food we're paying to consume. Unlike when he was little, Mal can't just stay in my lap and nurse, letting me cover him with my food droppings. No. This boy now reaches and kicks and is generally a menace to me if I have to hold him during meals. At home, I often just set him in the floor and let him cry while I finish. I won't do that to you at a restaurant. I'll nurse him if that's what he needs to calm down.

7) "He doesn't need that." Maybe not. But you don't need that cake, and no one's telling you that you got all you "needed" from your meal, and you shouldn't have something else that gives you pleasure.

8) "If she's old enough to ask for it, it's time to stop?" Now that your kid has gone through the hard work of learning to articulate her needs, she's rewarded by a big, fat no? Anyway, who gets to make this decision? Why is it anyone's business but the parents' and the kid's? Oh, because...

9) "I know they extend breastfeeding in other cultures, but we don't do it here, so they need to get over it." Parable: As a society, we treat our aged like garbage. Many Asian cultures revere the elderly. Is it wise or sensible to say, "Too bad; we've decided gramps is a drain on our resources, and if you want to live somewhere that's different, then you should move to Asia. Otherwise, get with the USA program!"

Listen, if someone offered you a resource that was free nutritionally-balanced food for your kid, and you didn't ever have to remember to bring it with you, wouldn't you want to have that available for as long as possible?

When Daphne was just a few months older than Mal, we'd gone to a Christmas light event on Thanksgiving night. I thought I had formula powder in her diaper bag, but I didn't. She wanted a bottle and was letting me know in no uncertain terms. Desperate, I purchased a hot chocolate from a vendor, let it cool down, and put it in her bottle. At least it'd be something milky and warm. But I guess it was still too hot for her baby mouth, and she screamed and cried and wouldn't drink it, even half an hour later when it was actually cool. It was so stressful, and that night ended in one of the biggest blow-ups Daphne's dad and I had ever had to that point.

That won't happen with Mal! I always have his go-to. It's always here. It's a huge blessing!

I promise you, when I feed him in public, it's not my first choice. But also, I'm not really thinking about you. Like, I'm not trying to entertain you or be shocking or anything. If I *am* thinking about you, it's because I want him to be quiet and happy in public, and this is the thing I do before I just take him outside and give up on dinner myself. It doesn't happen a lot anymore, but it still happens. I never head out looking forward to nursing Mal in various locations, though. It's a necessity.

That said, I've heard some moms complain if people, or specifically men, "look at" them. Ehh. I get it. It's not "normalized" (thus the need for World Breastfeeding Awareness Week). It's different. Your eye might be drawn. I don't care. But if I catch your eye, you might want to smile or something so I'll know we're being pleasant. And if you have a son who can't seem to stop looking, tell him to come over and say, "Hi!" to me! Then it's like I'm a real person, not just a face attached to a floating boob.

I hope for my son's sake that he grows up seeing a lot of breasts feeding a lot of babies. Then maybe it won't be such a "hehe heh" thing for him.

Now he's awake from his nap and is surprisingly unimpressed with my blogging. So for now... Eat hearty, me babies!

I'm lucky to live in Austin, where I've never had so much as a raised eyebrow. What about you, though? What are some things that you've heard? Leave them in the comments!

An Open Letter to the Lactation Consultant I Almost Saw

Dear Ma'am,

The incident I'm about I am about to describe took place almost 9 months ago, during the second week of October 2014. At the time, I was too overwhelmed by being a mother of a newborn to process what I was feeling, but now I have more clarity and wanted to write this so that, in case you or any of your colleagues across our nation or even the world came across this, maybe it would help you improve your services.

When I called you, my baby was 16 days old. I hadn't been able to breastfeed my older child, but wanted to try with this one. We'd gone through the colostrum stage and had all of the expected diapers for a newborn, but then once we moved on to the milk, he had not had a "regular" dirty diaper.

Days passed. I heard everything from, "It's nothing; lots of breastfed babies use up everything in the milk and only wet" to "He's constipated; use a suppository" to "Something could be very wrong." In my mommy heart, I wasn't concerned. But I trusted my midwives, and once we were closing in on one week with no dirty diapers, they strongly suggested that I call you.

They said that, if nothing else, we could have the peace of mind that he was eating enough, as you had a very delicate scale that could indicate as much. So Friday afternoon, I called you to see if you were available on Monday.

You suggested that you come Saturday, because you said that in all of your years of doing this, you'd never heard of such a thing. After I agreed to that, you said, out loud, "I have plans with my family all day tomorrow, but I could come out first thing in the morning and probably not miss too much."

ITEM #1: That was unprofessional. This is your job. When you suggest a meeting time, either make it work or don't and tell me you misspoke. I don't know you; we're not friends. I don't need to know that you might be blowing off things you promised your kids to fit me in. Incidentally, I would have been fine with Monday. I would have preferred Monday, as I take much more of a "wait and see" attitude with this kind of thing, unless something "tells" me otherwise. As it was, I was full of postpartum hormones, and whether you meant to make me sound like a burden, or like you were doing me a huge favor, your thinking out loud made me very anxious. And I was already feeling pretty icky, what with people telling me that I was being too complacent about my child's care. Again, this is a lot of "new mom" emotional stuff, but these are the women you chose to serve. You're getting paid. Please treat me with professionalism.

You suggested that you would come out at 8:30, and that you'd need about thirty minutes to set up your scale, so we'd do the weigh-in at 9:00. Then you said, "Don't feed him for about two hours before I get there." I almost laughed. At that point, pretty much all of my time was spent feeding him. I said, "I'll try! He wants to nurse around the clock, no set schedule, and he wails if I try to put him off" to which you responded, "If you feed him fifteen minutes before I get there, there's no point in my coming. I need to get an idea of how much he's getting during a full feeding." I didn't go into the fact that every fifteen minutes *was* pretty much a full feeding, as we were doing it. That wasn't really important. If you'd stopped there, I would have understood you, and it would have been fine.

But then you said, "Besides, you're the parent. At some point, you're going to have to let him cry, so you might as well do it now."

ITEM #2: When he's just over two weeks old? You're a lactation consultant! If anyone were down with demand feeding, I would have assumed it'd be you. Here's what was going on: 1) My son might or might not be getting enough nutrition; the last thing I want to do is make him fast for two hours if he genuinely needs nourishment. 2) He is crying about 60-75% of his waking/non-feeding time, no matter what I do. Even when I intervene. Even when I'm holding him. So when I can soothe him to keep him from crying, that's what I need to do. 3) Did I mention the postpartum hormones? I did not need a lecture. I know I'm the parent. And now that my baby is 9 months old, I do let him cry when he wants to nurse but it won't work, especially when I have other snacks to offer and know he's very well fed. But during those first few weeks, it's hard enough without someone taking a peremptory tone, especially because I tell you I want to feed my baby. Not smoke around him. Not leave him in his crib while I run across to Taco Cabana. I know this is what you do every day, but you need to remember that I'm a new mom. I need gentle care. Not scolding.

However, then you offered to do something kind. You said, "Tell you what, if you wake up around 6 and feed him, go ahead and text me, and I can come earlier."

I appreciated this, especially the next morning when we woke up at about 6:45 and, because we were co-sleeping and nursing all night, couldn't really remember when we'd fed last. I figured it'd probably been within the half hour to hour before that, so I texted you. I also wanted you to know that, guess what, he'd had his first dirty diaper that morning! (I cried. Seriously.)

You said, "Okay. I'll come at 8:30 instead."

Uh.

ITEM #3: Our appointment was supposed to be at 8:30. So coming at 8:30 wasn't early. It was on time. I thought, "I'm glad I texted her! I wonder if, because she told me 8:30, half an hour to set up, and we'll weigh in at 9, she thought or wrote down that the appointment was at 9. Whew!"

Then I thought, "Oh! Maybe she means we'll weigh at 8:30, so she'll get here at 8!"

I took Mal outside to sit on the porch with me, so that the rest of the family could get some rest. It was raining that morning, and cool enough to be nice. I don't remember there being any mosquitoes.

Mal started fussing around 7:45. I walked with him, and I bounced him. I assured him you were on your way. As the minutes slipped by, I realized you meant you'd actually arrive at 8:30, but I felt like we were so close, I could do this. You'd be there soon. You'd talk to me and maybe it would distract him. It was going to be fine.

Mal started crying for real at about 8:15.

At 8:25, I thought about our housing situation and texted you where you could park without having to pay. Then I watched, looking up and down the street, waiting for you. I didn't know what you were driving, but there were not a lot of cars out. I started waving and smiling to cars inching by like they were looking for something.

ITEM #4: At 8:38, you texted me, "I'm running about 15 minutes late."

I knew we were done.

I texted back, "Don't bother, then. I have to feed him."

Because, frankly, if you said you were 15 minutes late, at this point I was assuming you were half an hour late, and it was already late and my baby had been fussing for an hour, and I was done.

You texted me, "I'm driving in the pouring rain. Are you telling me to turn around and go back home??"

ITEM #5: I just told you I didn't want the consultation. You don't need to "verify" it by putting a guilt trip on me. I can see that it's raining. I've been out here for over an hour. You should have texted me before you ever got into your car. Clearly, you realized you weren't on time. Why not text me when you realized there was no way you'd be there at 8:30, even if it were just 5 minutes before?

In a few minutes, you texted me that you'd pulled over and were ready to talk. You highly recommended that we go ahead with the appointment, but I told you I'd already fed him. He was quiet. He was sleeping. He was content. I did the right thing.

And yet I felt bad.

So I offered to pay you something for your time.

Later, you texted me that your charge for cancellations was half of your fee, and that was a lot more than I'd planned to send you. But I was tired, and I was frustrated, and I didn't need the drama, so I had Chase send you an $85 check... for nothing.

You did tack on an, "Okay, well, feel free to call me if you have any questions."

Doubtful.

ITEM #6: If you're late for an appointment that involves something like withholding food from a newborn, your clients should be able to tell you that you need to reschedule without having to fork over cash for your tardiness. You weren't just late for the early you promised, you were late for the actual appointment, which you knew was going to be difficult enough for me, anyway. YOU were late. And I paid you. Bad form.

In conclusion, I'm sure you're great at what you do. I came to enjoy and, I suppose, expect a certain level of care because of my awesome team of midwives. They would not have affiliations with you if you were not competent and their clients did not like you. Maybe you were just having a bad week. I don't know.

But, again, you have chosen to perform a vocation in which you deal with new mothers. New mothers are emotionally as sensitive to their new world as a baby is to his. Everything feels over the top and scary and discombobulating. I did not want or need tough love at that point.

So, what was the problem?

In the end, I don't think there was one.

I know my kid's latch sucked (or didn't suck?... properly?), and that's probably one reason we had to feed so much and so often. He's still really bad at it, but whatever we're doing is apparently working.

Hope whatever you're doing is working for you, too.

Then and now. Think he's doing okay! Oh, and he likes vanilla almond milk!

Here. Now.

I'm getting it. I'm getting a lot accomplished now that I've stopped projecting everything into the future and just taking things as they come. This morning, I needed to get a lot done, so I wore Mal while he slept for an hour. Previously, I would have tried to put him down because, dang it, he *has* to learn how to sleep. But I read an article on "high needs" babies, and it helped me rethink things. I'm trying to do what works right this minute, and trust that everything will work out, the way it has a tendency to do.

So, this morning I did some cleaning, got dinner ready, caught up on email, and curled my hair (after this picture was taken) while he snoozed.

And for the first time since Mal was born, I'm looking forward to our vacation at the end of the month. I think we're going to have a lot of fun!

Here's something else... Daphne is amazing. I just have to say that first, because I'm going to follow up with a mystery. Daphne was on a Skype call with a friend Sunday, and they were both drawing. Daphne decided to draw two of her favorite characters, Dipper and Mabel Pines, from "Gravity Falls," in the style of "Ed, Edd, and Eddy." First of all, I think her Mabel is prettier than the original one. She probably spent four hours drawing on her Bamboo tablet (it has a different name now).

Yesterday, she colored the picture and spent another four hours on it. She is meticulous. Incredible. Focused. In her element. She even designed an outfit for Mabel, based on the "no broadcast" color scheme that used to air on the television when the feed went down.

Well, the picture was beautiful and I am so proud of her. She posted it to her tumblr... but today I looked and it wasn't there. This means she might have a tumblr account I don't know about. Must discuss. She probably also has another Instagram. *sigh* Kids. Just have to choose the right time to go at that...