Blue Baby

“He was scared when he met me.”

T and I were cuddled in his bed, preparing to read the wonderful Eric Carle book “Friends”. He was holding his blue baby. It was a present from me on his very first Christmas. It was the first stuffed toy to go in his crib. He has slept with it on and off since he was about 9 months old (I know, I know, nothing is supposed to be with babes until they are one). We are currently very much in an “on” phase.

He rather makes a meal of arranging the baby in his peanut home with both little hands sticking out just so. Anything to stretch the bedtime routine out for another 90 seconds. Then he tucks bear shirt around the baby. Bear shirt is his number one comfort, the item he simply cannot sleep without. It’s a red t-shirt I got in the third grade from my elementary school. Decades ago I put it on a big stuffed panda that was my mother’s when she was a girl. The panda was among the menagerie of stuffed animals placed on T’s first big boy bed. T slipped off the shirt and cuddles it every night.

Earlier today he watched me wrap another blue baby purchased for the newest baby in our life, a little boy who was born almost two weeks ago. “Stop!” he cried as I started to apply the first piece of tape. He thundered up the stairs and back down a moment later, blue baby in hand. He introduced the two babies to each other and gently lowered his down to the new one for a sweet little kiss. Then he told me I could continue wrapping.

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“He was scared when he met me.” T told me tonight.

“Really?” I replied, putting the book down and cuddling closer. “How did you make him not scared?”

He draped bear shirt over the baby. “I showed him bear shirt. And then he wasn’t afraid.”

“He loves you.”

“Yes. He sucks on my finger. That’s where he gets the milk.”

My eyes filled up with tears.

The near month long radio silence here on the blog was because life sort of took over. Nothing dramatic happened. There was just a shit-ton going on at the end of the semester. I had a paper due, a 25 pager that stretched to 27 plus endnotes plus a bibliography: The International Code of Marketing of Breastmilk Substitutes: History, Attitudes, and Implementation in the United States. Just did my final presentation yesterday, emailed the paper in Tuesday night.

Breastfeeding has been on my mind for the last month. How to advocate for increased breastfeeding rates while respecting the right of all women to choose how to feed their babies. Educating does not equal pressuring. If a woman wants to formula feed she should be provided the support to do so. But many women who do want to nurse struggle. The institutional and societal road blocks that prevent women from nursing successfully while telling those same women that “breast is best” must be addressed. The fact that cultural knowledge of breastfeeding has eroded almost completely in our society must change. I knew nothing about nursing when T was born. It was overwhelming and terrifying and it certainly didn’t feel natural.

But T and C will have some cultural knowledge of breastfeeding. They know it is how I fed them. C might actually remember nursing as he gets older. They are surrounded by women in our social circle who casually breastfeed as we hang out. They know some boobs make milk. I’m hoping they remember it and are comfortable with it even after they discover boobs are delightful for other reasons.

So yes. Breastfeeding has been on my mind. And watching my little man mother his doll and explain how he provides milk for his baby? Well, damn. It made me perfectly happy.

freckles

Can you see the constellation of freckles scattered under his eye and reaching across his face? They are my current favorite part of him. I can’t resist covering them in kisses every time they catch my eye.

field trip

Best part of a field trip? For a 4 year old it is always the bus ride.

 

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Boobies

Five months ago today I nursed C for the last time. I miss it. I miss it almost every day.

For the first while I was careful to not be topless around C. Listen, we are a cool-with-nudity family. It is important to Z and me to teach the boys that there is nothing to be ashamed of when it comes to their bodies. That nudity does not always equal sexuality. Not to say we aren’t realistic. We teach boundaries. There was a frightening situation in which the child of an acquaintance was seemingly being groomed for sexual abuse by a childcare provider. Since that time we have quizzed T every month or so, “Who may touch your penis?” we ask. “Me, you guys when you are washing me, Doctor M when she is examining me.” he answers. We remind him that is it. He needs to tell us if anyone else tries, if anyone is making him uncomfortable when they touch his body. It sickens me that we have to have the conversation with him, that people who would prey on children exist, but better face the ugliness in this world than ignore it and not equip him to identify dangerous situations.

More than a month after C was weaned I was stepping into the shower when I heard a great crash, a moment of silence, a wail of pain. I pelted to the sound, dripping water everywhere and found C in a heap on the floor of his room. I swept him into my arms, checking for bumps and blood. He immediately tried to latch on. “No, no, no!” I told him as I laughed and cried and struggled to finish the check to make sure he wasn’t hurt. Dude was scared and looking for comfort and my boobs were right there. Old habits die hard. He was fine, I got him calm and headed back to the shower. That is the last time I remember him trying to nurse.

In the ensuing months my no toplessness rule relaxed. He didn’t have a reaction to seeing my boobs anymore.

Mom left for home early this morning. It is the first day I’m up and about. Still feel like shit, but definitely feel way better than I did just a few days ago. I do not recommend the flu, it really sucks ass.

Z and I were in the basement futzing with a load of laundry. I’d changed pants when I got out of bed, but was still in gross sweaty flu clothes from the waist up so throwing that crap in the wash seemed like a good plan. I grabbed the empty laundry basket and braced my weak legs for the walk from the basement to the second floor. C met me on the staircase coming down from his brother’s room engulfed in a cloud of poop stink. He’s been sneaking off to hide behind the curtain in that room to take a crap these days. I opened with the obvious “Did you poop?” “I pooped!” he crowed. And then he started pointing at my boob. I turned to look at Z. When I turned back his little face was upturned and he was working his mouth, suckling the air. “Mama! Mama!” he cried, pointing at my boobs again. “Baby. There is no more milk in them. No more. All gone.” He was still pointing and on the verge of tears. “Mine!” he shouted in frustration.

I burst out laughing. Had been near tears myself, but seriously? Mine? “Um, no.” I told him. “They are mine” I walked past him and his poop stink (worry not, his Daddo changed him) and got into the shower.

Old habits really do die hard. For both of us. I miss it too, C.

Mom C T

Last Sunday the family went to the Zoo. C ran up to this display and pointed to the skulls shouting, “Mama! Charlie! Thomas!” I get his confusion, those skulls look just like us.

treehouse breastfeeding

Reposting this one. C nursing in our treehouse last summer. When T was tiny Z took photos while I was nursing. I made him delete them. It is such a huge regret. My ideas about nursing and the importance of normalization have evolved so much since then. I regret not documenting that time.

Bedtime

T and I were still in the bathroom when I heard Z ask C to pick out three books at bedtime last night. That has always been my job. Bedtime with C has been a special routine for C and me ending with me nursing him every night. I was putting lotion on T as I listened to Z and C. I broke down crying. T stretched his arms out wide and collapse into me. “It’s ok! I’m sorry you’re sad!”

Of course I cried harder.

Z and I let ourselves be sad in front of the boys. We want them to think sadness is ok, that it is normal. We hope they are sad much less than they are happy, but we don’t want them to hide their sadness or be ashamed of it.

A couple of minutes later in T’s room I was getting ready to read his story. He hopped down from the bed and grabbed his blue baby and a small scrap of cloth laying on the nightstand. “I almost forgot to wash you!” he said to the baby. He gently swabbed baby’s face with the cloth. “There! Now you are clean. I love you!” And he kissed the baby’s mouth once, twice, three times and set him down.

My heart melted. I was sitting in a puddle of love and sentimentality. My big boy can be loving and gentle and kind.

He reached for the stuffed batman doll that was lounging next to blue baby. T grabbed batman’s arm and pointed it at me, “Pew pew pew pew!”

He was shooting at me.

I burst into laughter. Keeping up with the mood swings of a four year old is impossible. Yes, he is compassionate and tender and loving and happy…and frustrated and disappointed and aggressive and he tests limits. Often all at the same time. He cracks me up. I think I’m going to quite enjoy being a part of his bedtime routine. I’ve missed it.

Both boys went down for bed just fine last night. I was a much bigger wreck than C was. The real challenge will be putting him down for nap time today. This is going to be gut wrenching for a few days. And then it won’t be. Just like the pacifier situation. He don’t look for pacifiers any more, he don’t ask for them. He is a resilient kid who rolls with the punches.

Not to change the subject, but I’ve got a bit of a problem. I currently own one non-nursing bra. One. Last spring Z and I went through our clothes and did a salvation army run. I tried on my bras and only one fit, so I got rid of the others, not that there were many of them to begin with. I don’t have any tanks with the built-in bra other than nursing tanks. Wearing the nursing stuff is just going to make me sad. Also the tanks are falling apart. We are really broke right now, but I need to address this situation. That said I am rocking the real bra today. The proper support feels pretty darn nice I must say. So I guess there is an upside to this weaning business…

c good morning

C was dressed and eating a cereal bar by 6:01am this morning. Between 6 and when he went to school at 9 we kept him busy enough so he only asked to nurse twice. We even gave him his first haircut.

T rough morning

At 6:05am this guy was much less excited about facing the day.

first and second batch

First and second batch of kombucha! My gifted scoby is growing a lovely new scoby. Yesterday I drank a serving. Holy shit. It is amazing, if I do say so myself! Fizzy and vinegary goodness!

Tender

C is napping. And I am sitting here with tears running down my face. I think I just nursed him for the last time.

My relationship with nursing has been deeply personal. Because I fell in love with nursing, because it was an “easy in” to the overwhelming business of becoming a mother for me does not mean that I think breastfeeding equals motherhood. Or that nursing mothers are better mothers. Or that breastfeeding is the only right choice.

Breastfeeding was the right choice for our family.

It was also a privilege. I am a stay at home Mother with a shit-ton of support. I got to see lactation consultants. When I needed to have a troublesome mole removed that was located next to my nipple my Mom bought me a hospital grade pump. I am beyond lucky, it is important to recognize that.

C just turned 26 months old a couple of days ago. I reached my goal of nursing him until he was two. It is time to let go.

But somehow nursing has become a crutch for me. In so many ways I feel like I’ve let C down as his Mother. I feel like if I was a better Mom I would have noticed during the exact moment he should have been learning to speak and done something about it back then. Parenting a two year old who cannot effectively communicate has been so frustrating for all of us. Nursing him feels like the only thing I’m doing right some days. Taking away that safety net, those few moments when I can hold him and do something tangible for him, terrifies me. I do not know how to be his mother without the boob. In the two short years C has been on this planet I have made an infinite number of mistakes with him. How can I give up the one thing I know I’m doing right?

Today marks one of the many days when I let go a little. Let my son grow up a tiny bit. Take a step into uncharted territory.

I know that he is going to be fine.

I still worry I’m not enough for him. I still worry I have no idea what I’m doing. The pain of parenting still takes my breath away. But jesus fucking christ, it is worth it.

photo (27)

My sweet son reached up and held onto my face as we cuddled and watched the tube a few weeks ago.

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He woke from his nap a few minutes ago angry as hell, which is unusual. I held him close. “Mama!” he cried and he poked my chest. Which is how he asks to nurse. I’ve kept him to breastfeeding three time a day for the last month or so, no more nursing on demand. And he hasn’t asked to nurse after his nap in ages. Of course he would today. I started to sob. He sobbed alongside me. I told him no, that we weren’t going to nurse. I told him I loved him. I held him closer. “Help!” he wept as he continued to poke my chest, “Help! Help! Help!”

Are you fucking kidding me? I mean, I can’t make this shit up.

It was unbelievably wrenching. I sat on the stairs with him and we both shook with great wails and held each other. Eventually my wails turned to laughter. Because it was all so ridiculous. And then I asked him if he wanted ham or cheese or raisins or water. He finally took the bait with the water and now he is happily eating raisins while humming the Star Wars theme.

Yes, he has a few words now. Dada, Mama, help, ball, cat, more, arm. The speech therapy is working. In fact, we have a makeup session in a bit.

IMG_1003

C on the day he was born. I can see a glimpse of who he will become in this picture.

 

Pacifier

This is my fault. I still think of C as a baby and it is a major disservice to him. He will always be my baby, T will also always be my baby. But C is the youngest, the last one. Accepting that he is growing up means accepting it is time to start letting go tiny bit by tiny bit, a torturous process I’m guessing I’ll wrestle with for the rest of my life.

His delayed speech has made it easier for the baby charade to continue. It’s been an excuse for so much. How can we transition him to a big boy bed if we can’t have a conversation with him? How can we potty train him? How can I wean him when he is so comforted by breastfeeding? How will he understand when we take the pacifier away? The truth is he understands language. I simply do not give him enough credit. It isn’t fair to him.

Last January we explained to him that he could only have the pacifier at night. Sometime over the spring he started taking two pacifiers to bed-one in his mouth, one to hold. And he’d switch back and forth between the two as he settled. Sometimes he’d lose them overnight and cry until we got them for him, but it was occasional-a small price to pay for a good night’s sleep. A couple of weeks ago he started losing the pacifiers more often. And more often. And more often. Suddenly Z and I have found ourselves up half a dozen times a night. We are at our wits’ end.

I need to be on a daily maintenance med for anxiety. Not only for my mental health, but for the health of the entire family. It isn’t fair to Z and the boys that the anxiety has been so acute lately. It puts a strain on everyone. I need to wean him in order to start the drugs. I’m still struggling with the letting go.

Parenting is triage so much of the time. It is easier to get up in the middle of the night every once in a while to pop a pacifier into his mouth than it is to deal with the struggle of taking the pacifier away. Until the day you wake up and realize you are getting up six times a night. A monster exists. And you created it by taking the path of least resistance.

So the time has come for us to do the hard work. Yesterday when C got up we asked if he was a big boy. He nodded. We told him big boys don’t need pacifiers. We suggested that we give all his pacifiers to our friend who is expecting a baby soon. We talked about it on and off all morning. I put him down for nap without one. It was terrible. He wept. I cried because when he hurts I hurt.

And then he slept for three and a half hours.

Last night it was another struggle, but he went down without a pacifier again. He did wake at 4am. And dude was up for the day. So this is going to take some work, this no pacifier deal, but we are facing it. We are back to making choices rather than letting the whims of a two year old dictate our behavior. He needs us to parent a hell of a lot more than he needs us to fetch his pacifier.

And in a few weeks I will wean him. The goal is for him to be done with the boob by the time we embark on our annual winter sojourn down south to see family. A friend was kind enough to come by yesterday to talk to me about how she weaned her daughter. She had great advice. And she listened, really listened to me. Which was a huge kindness. The talk made me feel armed with information. It reminded me that weaning him isn’t going to ruin his life. Kind of embarrassing that I needed that reminder, but I’ve gotten myself ridiculously spun up over this.

In other news, C’s speech therapy is going swimmingly. He has picked up a few words after about a month of sessions and both he and T love his therapist. He is working hard to overcome the communication issue. Z and I are working hard on letting him become a big boy.

bumblebee c

My littlest man rocking his brother’s Bumblebee costume.

family cuddles

The fam. Last night we cuddled on the sofa and watch Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

still running

The only social media my Dad follows is Instagram. He digs the pictures my sister and I post of our kiddos. Yesterday we were chatting and he asked me if I was still jogging. “Five days a week.” I told him. He wanted to know why I wasn’t posting pictures anymore. I told him I thought they were boring. And he told me it was the way he knew I was still doing it. He and my Mom have been wonderful cheerleaders during my foray into exercising. He asked for another picture. Guess he needs evidence. I’m in love with the top I’m wearing, by the by. Super comfortable and great for chilly days with the high neck and thumb slits so it goes over the hands.

Happy Happy Birthday

My baby turned two today.

I wasn’t sure I wanted kids. I had no confidence in my ability to parent. Much of my 20s were lost to mental illness and a marriage that was imploding. Then things turned around. Z and I managed to find our way back to each other. He thrived at grad school I thrived working for Whole Foods. Our 30s were suddenly an excellent time. It felt new and particularly precarious. I didn’t want a kid to fuck up the balance we’d achieved. And then I accidentally got pregnant.

I was wrong. I was wrong when I thought my life would be over after having T. I was stupid and immature and selfish and wrong. T was hard work, but he brought so much love into our home. He managed to make Z and me love each other more and the love we felt for him-I am not trying to be a smug, superior parent here. I am not. But clichés exist for a reason you simply cannot comprehend the love you have for your child until you experience it. I’m not saying it is better than any other kind of love. I’m not saying I didn’t know what love was before T (I hate when parents say that-What? Folks without kids don’t know how to love? That is bullshit. Particularly ignorant and insulting bullshit). I’m not saying I love him and C more than anyone on earth. Honestly, I love Z just as much. Becoming a parent increased my capacity to love. I was hungry for another one. And it worked. When we had C my capacity increased yet again! These kids, they are like a feel good drug. I finally understand families that have a million kids.

I went from not wanting kids, to just wanting the one, to really wanting a second, to thinking we could handle a third. We cannot, it turns out, handle a third. Not financially, not lifestyle-wise, and frankly my uterus has been pretty damn undependable postpartum. There were complications with both boys and with the miscarriage.

Now C is two. We are really and truly done with the baby years. I will be weaning him this fall. My doc wants me to try some different meds and I can’t be nursing while taking them. It is the right thing for my mental health, which means it is the right thing for our family. I wanted to nurse him for two years and as of today I’ve met that goal.

But when I wean him I am done. Forever. I say goodbye to the phase of my life when I’m the mom of babies. The anxiety makes any kind of life change difficult. Hell, the anxiety makes it difficult when the body lotion I’ve used for years is discontinued. I’m scared to move on.

C and my nursing relationship has been idyllic. Do you hear that Jeff? IDYLLIC! His latch was great from the beginning and he’s never been a biter. I think we both feel emotionally recharged from the small breaks we have a couple times a day when we get to cuddle and just be together. He has always been much more physically affectionate than his big brother. When Z or I yell at him and he starts to cry his first impulse is to reach out to us so we can comfort him. Even though we are the ones yelling!

Right after T was born we got close to a family with a four year old son. That fall I remember looking at the boy and being astounded by how big and grown up he was. I simply couldn’t imagine T ever getting that old. And here T is, just a second later I swear. He is 4 and big and grown up. Shit, he’ll be going to kindergarten in a year.

A couple of weeks ago Z and I were out on a date for dinner. There was a family sitting to my left who had a boy who was about 7. I stared at him, couldn’t help it. I watched him interact with his family and I could not imagine my boys at his age. My eyes filled with tears when I realized I am going to blink and T will be that kid.

On the same night I told Z I’d donated some money we really didn’t have to a fundraiser for a boy in between the ages of our boys who was starting chemo. He is the kid of a friend of friends. I’d heard his father’s name thrown around by a group we were tight with for years. If he hadn’t moved away from Brooklyn when he did we would have known him. He was just like us. And his kid was sick.

A few days later we found out a classmate of a kid in our extended family was terminally ill. Nothing could be done for him. We were with family when we found out and someone commented, “At least all our kids are healthy.” “Yeah,” I said. “But the families of kids who get sick think their kid is healthy, too. Right up until they find out he isn’t.”

C turned 2 today and I don’t want this to turn into a post about sick kids. As of this moment we do have two healthy kids who are growing. Right now chances are good I’m going lose track of time for a moment and discover they are in high school. Them getting older? As much as it hurts it is the only outcome I desire.

I am heartbroken to leave this stage of their lives and my life behind. But you know what? In a couple of years they won’t be getting up at 5:58am every goddamn morning. And that, oh boy, that is a beautiful thing.

c and mommy celebrate

T and Z are traveling this weekend. We celebrated C’s day on Thursday. But C and I still went out and got a slice of cake today.

messy cake c

He really got into it.

2 years old

First picture taken after he officially turned two.

biter in trouble

Oh, the sulking! He tried to bite me and he was super pissed I didn’t let him.

To C, you crazy kid you, we cannot imagine our lives without you. You are fearless and brave and loving. You are frustrated and frustrating and an inconsistent sharer during the best of times. We love you, all of you. We cannot imagine life without you. Thank you for being the chronological caboose in our family train.

World Breastfeeding Week: What Support?

In conjunction with World Breastfeeding Week three bloggers have launched I Support You, an online initiative to destigmatize how any mother chooses to feed her child. The mission statement is one of acceptance and kindness and it cuts through the cruelty and bullshit of the “Mommy Wars”. I fully support a woman’s right to choose how to feed her child. So why does this initiative make me uneasy? Yes, we should support a woman’s right to choose. But why are we not addressing that so many women want to breastfeed yet are unable to do it? Why aren’t we outraged on their behalf? Why isn’t more being done to help women nurse successfully? We should be able to explore these questions without alienating women who formula fed.

I’ve done a lot of thinking about breastfeeding over the last several months. Hell, I wrote a 20 page paper titled “The Human Right to Food Applied to the Problem of United States Breastfeeding Rates”. In addition, the reality that my own breastfeeding days are nearing their end is weighing heavily on me. I plan on weaning C shortly after his second birthday at the end of the month. It is the right choice for our family.

During the first several months I nursed T I struggled through nipple pain, a wicked case of thrush, and the removal of a precancerous lesion that abutted my areola. I was shocked by how hard nursing was. The first few months were brutal, but after we figured it out the year plus that followed was magical. As much as I reveled in nursing T, as much as I grew to love it I also felt incredibly angry. I was able to make nursing work because I am privileged enough to choose to be a SAHM. I was lucky enough to have a Mom who was able to buy me a medical grade pump I couldn’t afford on my own. I saw multiple lactation consultants. My doctor and T’s pediatrician were cheerleaders on the breastfeeding front. Z supported me every step of the way. All that fantastic support, which again I received because of my socio-economic position, all that support was enough to get me through the terrible times-the lactation consultant who told me it wouldn’t hurt if I was doing it right, the feeling like glass was tearing through my nipples when the thrush set in, the constant worry that my guy wasn’t gaining weight fast enough.

But what about women who don’t receive that kind of support? Women who are suffering from low supply, women who need to go back to work immediately, women that don’t receive information about the benefits of breastfeeding. Shortly after giving birth to T I had two friends attend two different childbirth sessions at Women and Infants, an excellent hospital for labor and delivery. In both classes the participants were told breast is best without being given any information on how to successfully nurse.

Guess what? Breastfeeding isn’t intuitive. You don’t just stick a baby onto your boob and have everything work out. Guess what else? Sometimes it does hurt when you are doing it right. Some ladies have super sensitive nipples. Some ladies don’t. Guess what else? Because breastfeeding rates are so low in this country there isn’t a built in support system of Mothers and Grandmothers and friends who have an intimate understanding of how breastfeeding works and who can help new Moms troubleshoot. Guess what else? Sometimes two lactation consultants in the same hospital will give you conflicting information and leave you more confused than before you talked to them. Yes, I’m speaking from experience.

My OB told me that in countries where there is no access to formula the rates of Mothers with low milk supply are very low. In developed countries the rates of low milk supply are much higher (I haven’t researched this myself, am planning to in conjunction with a project this fall and will definitely write about what I find out). His analysis is that women are forced to figure out nursing when there is no other alternative. I am not saying that women who suffer from low supply in this country are crying wolf. Not at all. It has to be a terrifying thing to go through. If my infant was losing weight you better bet I would feel him formula immediately. I feel frustrated on the behalf of women who have supply issues. Why aren’t they getting effective help? Currently there are 70 federally funded studies on erectile dysfunction and 10 on breastfeeding dysfunction. To anyone who says breastfeeding is a naturally occurring bodily function I’d remind them that boners are naturally occurring as well. And yet, viagra and cialis are not only covered by health insurance, they are huge money makers. Nature clearly isn’t working for a lot of guys.

Over the last month or so another idea has been bouncing around my head. The United States Government through the CDC recommends exclusively breastfeeding for 6 months. After delivering that message the government sets up new Mothers to fail. How are you supposed to exclusively breastfeed if you do not have adequate maternity leave? If you are working a minimum wage job how are you supposed to afford a breast pump? How are you supposed to express milk if your boss won’t give you time on the clock and a clean and safe place to do it?

The responsibility to nurse is placed on the shoulders of women. They are told it is natural, they just need to try harder, it is their failure if they can’t figure it out. Well, bullshit. Pardon me for being a hysterical feminist, but if that doesn’t smack of misogyny I don’t know what does. It’s like telling a bunch of sixth graders that they need to pass a math test in order to go to 7th grade, yet not teaching them what is on the exam.

I wholeheartedly agree that we should support choices each Mother makes about how to feed their baby. But forcing the message down women’s throats that breast is best while not being able to follow through with support is an issue that is not talked about. It seems breastfeeding is a vocal issue for two groups, those who only see boobs as a sexual objects, who insist women nursing in public are offensive or by those who expect women to achieve the impossible with no help and who shame those who fail.

During World Breastfeeding Week I propose we advocate for change:

  • If the government advises babies should be exclusively breastfeed for 6 months than women should receive paid maternity leave for that period.
  • The CDC estimates that 2.2 billion dollars a year would be saved on medical costs if higher breastfeeding rates were achieved. The numbers are not going to increase through education alone-extensive research needs to be conducted concerning breastfeeding failure. At least as much research that is devoted to erectile disfunction.
  • The United States committed to following The International Code of Marketing of Breastfeeding Substitutes in the early 90s, yet nothing has been done to enforce The Code. It is time to halt predatory marketing campaigns by formula companies.

And listen, us Moms out there aren’t always helping. I’ve seen comments online by breastfeeding Moms who self righteously proclaim if they were unable to nurse they would secure expressed milk. The Human Milk Bank Association of North America, a nonprofit, charges between $3 to $5. An ounce. Give me a fucking break self righteous breastfeeding Moms. Then there are comments by Mothers who were unable to nurse-they are hell-bent on proving that breastfeeding does not provide any advantage to newborns. It enrages me that Moms who choose to formula feed, or who are unable to nurse are made to feel less because of it. But it also enrages me that they would try to undermine the science behind the benefits of breastfeeding.  Advocating for breastfeeding should not to be synonymous with denigrating choices made by formula feeders. Defending formula feeding should not be synonymous with trying to disprove the upsides of nursing. We are all better than that nonsense.

hugging boys

T was nursed until he was 20 months. I was entering the second trimester of pregnancy and my milk dried up. Neither of us were ready to stop, honestly I still feel terribly guilty about letting him down. C will be 2 on August 31st. He took to nursing immediately and we are still going strong. I might feel like the I Support You campaign misses out on the systemic lack of support in this country, but the truth is, from the bottom of my heart, I do support you and whatever choice you and your family make to feed your child.