Let's stop making things personal...

Let me just preface this rant with the following: I support breastfeeding. I believe it is a healthy and beautiful way to nurture an infant. I believe that breast milk offers benefits that formula cannot.

That being said, I am SICK of the countless propaganda which guilt women into breastfeeding and imply that women who choose not to breastfeed are unfit mothers. The article linked in the title above goes so far as to say women who don't breastfeed have a higher incidence of NEGLECTING their children because they don't have an intimate bond with their babies. It also says that women who choose to breastfeed are just naturally BETTER mothers, and that they can PERSEVERE through hard times (where, apparently, women who formula feed lack perseverence).

Are you kidding me?

I could write a whole article about the holes in the stated study; but, I'm not writing this for academic purposes. The article stung and insulted me like nothing else I've read. Although the researchers nicely imply that it's possible for formula fed infants not to be neglected, it's clear that this is simply a nicety.

I chose not to breastfeed. Not because I physically couldn't. Not because I adopted. Not because of the other "acceptable" excuses not to breastfeed. I just didn't. No one should need any further explanation - it was my researched, educated, thought-out choice.

Livija is a healthy, thriving, and LOVED little one. I am just as neurotic, perfectionistic, worried, and in love with Livija as any other woman in my mothers groups who breastfeed. We share the same emotions and concerns regardless of how our babies are fed. We have all felt hopeless, we have all felt elated, we have all felt isolated, we have all felt amazed.

Education on the benefits of breastfeeding is great. Let's continue to educate mothers on all of the healthy options available to our children ... not just breastfeeding; but, healthy eating beyond the first year, vaccinations, being aware of the chemicals in our homes, cleaning prodcuts, and toys, and providing an EMOTIONALLY healthy home.

I have just one request - can we embrace each others' decisions instead of making it personal?

Socks

I'm not sure why I even bother with socks. Livija hates her socks. HATES them. No matter what I do, those suckers just slip right off. At first I thought it was because the socks weren't made well, so I tried a variety of brands and styles; but, I've come to the conclusion that Livija is hell bent against having anything cover up her little toes (of course, because socks prevent her from eating her feet).

It's amazing really, we'll start the morning with socks on. By 8:00am I've replaced the socks at least 5 times. They slip off on the exersaucer, they fall off in the jumperoo, and they're kicked off vigorously while sitting on her play mat. If she has socks on, she'll rub those little feet together like she's a caveman trying to create fire. I swear - I'm just waiting for her socks to burst into flames from all of that friction.

What's funny is that I've never been a sock person, and either has my father. Sock aversions must be genetic. My father and I are both infamous for not wearing socks in the dead of winter...not even while shoveling snow...we just don't like socks. I'll start off the night with socks on, and inevitably kick them off around 2am. Piyum always asks me why I wear socks at all, and I don't really have a good answer for that (probably because, like underwear, you're just SUPPOSED to).

So, if Livija doesn't want to wear socks, who am I to tell her she has to? She's 5 months old - I'll let the kid live a little!!!

Inauguration Day

Today was historic. The first African-American President of the United States was sworn in to office, and our country swarmed the Washington D.C mall in unprecedented numbers to celebrate the occasion. As Barack Obama took the oath of office, my sweet Livija contentedly commemorated the moment by eating her toes.I hoped that we might watch the ceremony together. I envisioned her sitting on my lap, mesmerized by Barack Obama's voice, and somehow understanding that the first year of her life would most probably be a year that marked change for generations to come. Instead, as luck would have it, she began to grunt and rub her eyes at exactly 11:55am.

Fortunately, Livija cooperated and went down for her nap quickly and peacefully as I soaked in every word of his masterful speech. While watching, I couldn't help but wonder what the future holds for my sweet Livija. Will she live in a world of peace? Will she have a female President? Will she drive an electric car and own a home fueled by the sun?

Today I felt great hope for Livija. I can't wait to see what she contributes to the world one day (beyond eating her feet).

Messy, sticky, slobs!

Babies are slobs. They are dirty, messy, sticky, slobs, and I think it's hysterical that we all think it's so darn cute. Realistically, it's all pretty gross. I mean, anyone who has a runny nose that drips into their mouth, sneezes with such vigor that drool ends up three kids down on the play mat, and poops so hard that it not only leaks out of the diaper but somehow ends up on their toes, would be exiled to an island populated by lepers in a heartbeat.

Today, in Gymboree, as we all sat around comparing sleep stories (oohhh, the excitement), we looked on lovingly as little Andrew spit up all over his chin, overalls, socks and blanket. It was this white, chunky, drooly stuff that looked like it could be the ooze out of a wound; but, we all still giggled and smiled at him.

The week before, little Julian needed a rice cereal break in the middle of class. The porridge-like muck never made it to his stomach - just to his cheeks, and perhaps even snuck around under his ears ( I hope he got a bath that night, because I'm guessing day old rice cereal lodged behind your ear gets a little crusty by morning). No one batted an eyelash; because, this of course, is considered "normal".

Or how about this one - the red, awful rash that develops in between the neck folds of a baby's little throat because of all of the milk, drool and formula that hibernates in there? If you saw that on an adult, you'd be calling the CDC or the Department for Homeland Security. On our little ones, however, it's endearing.

Perhaps the most shocking is when a baby decides that the stuff in their diaper would make a really good self-tanner, and spreads it generously all over their face, arms, body and legs. Can you imagine what might happen to an adult who pulled this stunt? Lock down in the local mental institution; but, for a baby, it's what legends are made of.

I know, I know...babies can't help it; but, can we please all stop pretending that they smell like peaches? There is a discernible difference between the sweet smell of fruit, and the unlikely combination of baby powder, formula, Desitin, and pureed peas.

My "Skillz"

For those of you who know me well, you know that I looooove the movie "Napoleon Dynamite." One of my favorite parts is when he talks about how guys have to have "skills" to get girls - you know - "nunchuku skills, bow hunting skills, computer hacking skills..." I think along these same lines, that Moms develop new skills as a part of evolutionary "survival of the fittest." Fathers and babies need Moms who have killer skills so they can be assured that they will thrive. Here are just a handful of the skills I have acquired in the past 5 months:

1) Super sonic hearing (I can hear a baby cry from a house three miles away)
2) One handed extraordinaire (making bottles, washing dishes, cooking meals, opening mail, shopping, typing, etc.)
3) Going to the bathroom with a baby on my lap (a sight to see indeed)
4) Getting from a sitting on the floor position, to a full stand, while all the while holding Livi
5) 2, 832 children's songs stored in memory for instant recall
6) Ability to drive and complete complex tasks on three hours of sleep
7) Understand a frustrated cry, from a hungry cry, from a tired cry, from a bored cry, from a "you scare me" cry, from a boo-boo cry....
8) Patience, patience, patience
9) Change Livija's diaper while she has both feet in her mouth
10) Wake up from a sound sleep exactly one minute before she begins to whimper
11) Smiling nicely at all of the Mom's who tell you about their child who sleeps 12 hours at night AND takes naps
12) Developing snazzy home remedies (my latest is that instead of a frozen washcloth, I use frozen baby socks for Livija to chew on...much more proportionate!)
13) Sewing ( I swear to God...the last time I touched a sewing machine was in Home Ec; but, this weekend, I whipped out a handmade "Taggy"...what the F?")
14) Sleep with one eye glued to the video monitor

Confess your mommy moments to me!

The best thing that has come out of writing this blog are the wonderful confessions and stories I hear from other Moms! I'm psyched that my writing inspires women to share their funniest (or darkest) moments of motherhood...and I'd love to hear more!

Like the woman in my Mother's group who after reading "Frumpy" wrote me and said she wondered if she would ever wear perfume again.... or two of my sisters co-workers who admitted to accidentally driving with their baby unbuckled in their car seats because they were just THAT tired.

If you have a story, leave it in the "comments" section. I'm in the middle of enduring Livija's "Great Sleep Strike" and I could use the humor (and the validation) that I'm not the only one who while telling a story FORGETS HER DAUGHTER'S NAME!

Thanks for the great feedback. I hope you continue reading. Knowing you read this, inspires me to write more!

Daydreamer

Everyone tells you that the first months of your newborns life are the most precious...the most amazing...and the most memorable. They tell you not to miss one moment, to soak up the wonder of it all, and to look down upon your baby with an unparalleled adoration. I'm beginning to believe that "everyone's" babies must have pulled out some mind eraser contraption like they do in the movie "Men in Black" and forever eliminated all memories of hair pulling, drool inducing, sleepless nights because I'm in the middle of it right now, and I'm telling you, this is far from heaven.

I am caught in the oh-so-heavenly middle of deciding whether or not to let our little one cry it out, or to let her continue with her unfortunately horrible sleep habits until she figures it out on her own. I'm beginning to think instead of doing cry it out (which apparently only lasts a few days and you and baby forget the whole ordeal fairly quickly), that maybe it would be much more fun to endure this painful period, let my little Livi torture us endlessly, and then wait for the perfect moment of revenge.

Maybe it will be when she's a teenager and she has just wrecked the family car, or gotten caught smoking pot. Instead of grounding her, I will lovingly send her to bed, smile at her from ear to ear and wait until she is in a sound slumber. At the perfect moment I'll whip out the cymbals and the drums and dance around like a banshee in her room. I won't just do this for one night, I'll do it for several. And just as we experience now, I'll give her a week of peace and make her believe that maybe, just maybe, the torture has ended. Then, when she least expects it, I'll start the whole darn ritual all over again. When she looks at me in horror, pillow pulled over her head, asking "Why, Why!!???" I'll just continue dancing and scream over my cymbals, "Payback's a bitch!"

I know this sounds pretty vindictive and, I'll admit, totally unrealistic. At the end of the day I completely understand that her lack of sleep is not her fault, and that she is just as miserable as we are. But, the daydream is kind of fun, and right now whatever puts a smile on this exhausted face is entirely worth it.

Mommy Rage

One thing no one tells you about being a parent is that suddenly your free will to express anger is totally thrown out the window. It's only logical that you wouldn't want to expose your baby to yelling, swearing, or frustration; but, when a good loud f-bomb is no longer an option for helping relieve stress, you start to build up a backlog of anger that just needs to come out in some form. It's not productive to take it out on your spouse, and aggressive stroller pushing is a bit of a social taboo - so what is my outlet for this pent up emotion? Road rage.

I'm not speaking of the outlaw road rage we see on Cops. I'm talking about the good old, scream your head off in the car where no one can hear you, and if you spit wildly only the windshield will suffer, road craziness. Of course, this road rage can only happen when you actually steal a moment to yourself without baby in tow; but, when you do get those few minutes, and you're lucky enough to have some jackass cut you off on a rotary, it's heaven.


My sister and I went to see Marley and Me this past weekend (cried out friggin' eyes out). On the way out of the movie theatre parking lot, I was blessed enough to have a shiny Mercedes with tinted windows decide he was going to bypass the entire lane of backed up cars by driving up the oncoming traffic lane. As I spotted him in my rear view mirror, adrenaline bubbled up inside me like century old lava, and my hands gripped the steering wheel so hard I think I cracked my knuckles. As I leaned on my horn, words tore out of my mouth like a redneck truck driver, "You f-ing Newton driver! Who the hell do you think you are! Learn how to f-ing drive you f-ing yuppy!". I proceeded to chase the guy down the street, honking my horn the entire time. Meanwhile, my sister sat aghast in the passenger seat, jaw dropping to her seat belt.

Now I don't condone road rage. I think it's an awful waste of time, and a dangerous habit; but I think a little road nuttiness is allowable for a new stay at home Mom who has smiled for 5 months straight and has, with only the will of some magnificent force, stopped herself from swearing over her baby as she spills formula or spreads poop all over the changing table.

So, if you see me banging on the steering wheel and yelling obscenities to the sunroof, just cut me some slack. I may look crazy, but it's all for the benefit of my little Livi.