His Only Spank

When my son was 18 months old, he developed a yeast infection.  His entire diaper area was exceedingly red and angry, and it was obvious it was causing him pain.  Changing his diaper was excruciating; either my husband or I would firmly him, and the other one would very quickly change the diaper.  The pain was so great for him that he’d try to scurry away, and I can’t say I blame him; it had to have been miserable for him!  We were following the pediatrician’s recommendation of applying yeast infection cream to the area, but this treatment had just started the day before, and the healing had a long way to go. Continue reading “His Only Spank”

Attached During the Holiday

Before I was a parent, December was a time of calm. There were a few office Christmas parties, and a little bit of shopping, but there was nothing frantic about it. We’d drive around to find the best light displays, go see a Christmas movie or two in the theatre, and just relish in the season. On Christmas morning, my husband and I would leisurely open our gifts, then head over to his mother’s house.

How times have changed.
Continue reading “Attached During the Holiday”

Raised With Respect

Last month, my son received an award in school.  Something I really like is that his school gives out character awards as opposed to academic awards.  The award my son received was for demonstrating respect.

Of course as his mom, I was very teary and sniffly and proud as could be during the awards assembly.   The video I took is jiggly as I wasn’t able to keep the camera still because of my general verklemptness.

As proud as I am of my son, for many many reasons, I can’t helping thinking that it’s utterly unsurprising that he received a respect award;  my son has been shown respect since the moment he was born!  Continue reading “Raised With Respect”

In Defense of Being Present

Oftentimes during my parenting journey, I’ve had to defend several of my choices.

“Yes, he’s still breastfeeding. He’s growing and happy, so it must be all he needs.”

“No, we believe it’s better if he sleeps with us.”

“Oh, the sling is easier for me than a stroller would be.”

Most of these statements and defenses had to be made to my husband’s family.  My family has either had the good sense to let me do what I want concerning these issues, or was blissfully ignorant.

The one issue of which my family has stressed their opinion is my choice to be present for my children.  

When I was pregnant with my first and announced that I was going to be quitting my job to be with my newborn, I was surprised to meet resistance from my family.

My mother said it’s boring, and I’ll need fulfillment in my life.

My sister pointed out how lucky she was to be able to work, and that her infant daughter and toddler son loved their daycare.  “It’s good for us to be apart.”

My brother was just puzzled.  Afterall, we were raised by a working mom.  We were shuttled off to babysitters and daycares.  That’s just the way life is.  And besides, I’m his little sister and he knows I worked hard for my education, and he just wants me to be happy.

They had so convinced me that it was wrong to want to be with my child that I told them that it was just for a year.  “When he’s a year old, I’ll go back to work.”

I even halfway convinced myself.  

As I currently say, hopefully humorously, in my previous life I had been a counselor/therapist.  I worked both in schools and in a private practice.  I quit a month before my son was born.

It was hard.  I had spent years waking up to an alarm clock, getting dressed in professional clothes and spending the day with clients and peers to being home with a baby who, in all honesty, wasn’t a terrific conversationalist.

It was boring as heck.  It was lonely.  But I never doubted my decision to be with my son.   I wanted to be with my son in a way I had never experienced wanting to be with anyone.  

And yet I defended. 

“He’s breastfeeding.  When he weans at a year, I’ll go back to work.”  

“There just aren’t any good daycares around me, so there’s no place to leave him.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll go back!”

But truth be known, by the time my son was one week old, I knew I wouldn’t be going back for a long time.  My child needed me.

When I was pregnant with my second child, my daughter, my family once again let me know it’s time to separate.

“Will you be putting your son in daycare now?”

“You know, your sister really enjoyed having her son in daycare so she could spend time with the new baby.”

But time and confidence can be a wonderful thing.

“No, my son will not be going into daycare.”

“I enjoy being with my son, I enjoy staying home, and we’re extremely fortunate that we can afford it.  I’m looking forward to being with two children.”

Five months later, my mother came for a visit.  During which she said to me,

“It’s always so sad when a woman revolves her life around her small kids.”

I said nothing.  There was nothing to say.  I smiled to myself, confident that I was doing the very best I could to be present for my children.  My children were happy, I was happy.  

I no longer felt the need to defend.

Something New

To celebrate World Breastfeeding Week on my personal blog, I challenged myself to come up with seven breastfeeding stories – one for each day of WBW. This one was the most popular.

Happy Hump Day!  Today marks the halfway point of the exciting holiday week known as World Breastfeeding Week.  Only a few more days to get the holiday shopping done.

And here I am, still plugging through with this challenge of coming up with seven breastfeeding stories – one for every day of WBW.  At the time, it seemed like a good idea, but sometimes when I sit down at the computer I wonder what words are going to pour from my nimble fingers.  To add to the insanity, this isn’t a challenge I read about anywhere, but something I just came up with on my own. I never claimed to be the smartest breastpump in the maternal care aisle.

So on this hump day, I thought I’d recount a humorous story from my breastfeeding days.  It is my opinion that breastfeeding mothers have to come equipped with a sense of humor; you can’t spend months and months with bodily secretions spraying everywhere without having a good laugh.

The problem however, is that a lot of the funny things that happen are situational in a you-had-to-be-there sort of way.  So it’s difficult coming up with a funny story that stands on its own.  I’m not sure this fits the bill, but its the best I could do.

It all starts with me.  I startle really easily. Really easily.  As in, my husband can be home, and I KNOW he’s home, but then he walks into the room I’m in and I look up and see him and get the pants scared off me.  I threaten to put cat collars on my family so I can tell they’re within 15 feet of me.  Still, he has a sadistic obsession with setting me up.

My daughter was a couple of months old, so my son was three.  I had just taken a shower, during which unbeknownst to me, my husband had told my son to stand right outside the bathroom door to scare me when I came out.  What a great, supportive family I have.

I opened the bathroom door, naked as a jaybird, and there stood my little son. Holy cow, seeing him right there when I opened the door scared the bejeepers out of me.  Which of course, was the effect my dear husband was going for.

So I opened the door, Son said boo, I screamed, and then…Niagara Falls.  Just when I thought I knew everything about breastfeeding, something new happened.  I learned that a huge scare, when preceded by a nice hot shower makes the milk GO!  Uncontrollably.  From both sides.  Shooting across the room.

A little trick about lactating is that if the flow starts an inopportune time, all one has to do apply pressure, and the flow will stop.  In public this can be discretely accomplished by crossing your arms.  The trick however, is that you have to remember this little tip.  Which I did not.

I was laughing so hard at the completely physiological response to being scared witless that I couldn’t do anything that involved common sense.  Instead, I just leaned over the sink and sprayed about ten gallons down the drain, which just caused me to laugh even harder.  Which of course, didn’t help matters.

My husband came in then when he heard the commotion, thinking that his cruel little plot had been successful.  When he saw the incredible direction his trick was going, (and was still going…and going…and going) I’m sure he felt quite proud of himself.

Several minutes later (still pouring into the sink) I finally did manage to turn my brain on and get everything stopped.

So here’s a tip that’s not in any breastfeeding resources – don’t get scared!

A Balancing Act

In talking to parents, especially mothers, in the 6 ½ years that I’ve been a mother, I’ve learned that the hardest thing many parents face is finding time to oneself. This is definitely the thing I struggle with the most. Everybody in the family has needs which must be met, and as attachment parents, we realize the vital importance of meeting our children’s needs. Unfortunately for me, a casualty is often my needs. API even lists Strive for Balance in your Personal and Family Life as a Principle, but that has continually been my hardest item to meet, especially in regards to my own need to rejuvenate.

I’ve tried many things to get a few hours to myself every week. I’ve read books in a local sandwich shop. I’ve gone to the mall. My husband would even take the kids to the zoo on the weekend so I could get a few hours to sit and veg. However, none of those hit the nail on the head for me. Nothing met my needs.

But then a few years ago I hit upon something that met my need for alone time out of the house as well as the added benefit of exercise. I started walking. As soon as my husband came home from work, I’d head out the door, sneakers on my feet and mp3 player in my pocket. It’s a routine that still continues today.

My walks last about 35 minutes, and I go seven days a week, weather permitting. I really look forward to this time every day, I love that I’m able to exercise, and as a very non-athletically-gifted person, walking is about the extent of my coordination skills! I love that I get time to wind down at the end of the day, and the fact that I get to listen to my very favorite podcasts uninterrupted is the icing on the cake.

My children are ages six and three, and it took me four years to discover this way to rejuvenate my soul. What do you all do? How much time do you need for yourself, and how do you find it?

Respectful Feeding for a Lifetime

Every one of the API principles are incorporated in my home, and I believe in the wisdom of all of them. However one particular principle, feed with love and respect, strikes particularly close to my heart. This has been a hugely important aspect of my parenting journey in regards to my now six-year-old son.

My son was born full-term after an uneventful pregnancy and birth. The most remarkable thing was that he was a very difficult newborn to nurse. He wouldn’t flange his lips out, and wouldn’t open his mouth very wide. At times it even seemed as though he disliked the nipple being in his mouth. I cried so many tears those first few days and weeks, because the one thing I had been dedicated to was breastfeeding my baby, and it was proving to be very difficult.

The next month or two he and I learned together. It would take both me and my husband to get him latched on every single feeding. Finally, we began nursing in concert, and he would open up wide enough, and endure the nipple in his mouth long enough to get his fill and then pop off.

As my son grew, I noticed other things. Other babies we knew were mouthing their toys, and their mothers would talk about how anything left within the baby’s reach was fair game; toys, remotes, books, and even parent’s noses! My son never did any of those things. He never mouthed his hands, or his toys, or his books. We were able to leave small things well within his reach, and were confident that they wouldn’t go in his mouth and be choking hazards. Nothing was accepted into my son’s mouth but my nipple.

Not only did my son not mouth anything, but he did not like anything near his face; not toys, not tissues, not washcloths. Every time something came near, he’d turn his head. If he was not in a position that enabled him to turn away, he would scream.

When my son was six months old, we thought we’d let him try some mashed banana. As per the suggestion in Dr. Sears’ The Baby Book, I used my finger to put some of the food in his mouth. Instead of curiosity, he screamed in terror every time my finger drew near. He obviously wasn’t ready, and AP parent that I am, I didn’t push him as he obviously disliked it so much. “We’ll try again in a few weeks” became my mantra when time after time, month after month, he reacted the same way when we attempted to introduce him to food. It didn’t matter if it was my finger, a spoon, O cereal, or un-mashed bits of fruits or vegetables. It was all met with that same screaming refusal. He wouldn’t even pick up the bits of food to bring it near his mouth!

Six months old became eight months old, became ten months old, became one year old, and still the only thing my son would allow in his mouth was my nipple. The most frustrating part of the whole ordeal was not that my son was not eating and even seemed afraid of food, but rather that the people I told this to, the people I thought were closest to me, did not believe me. Friends and relatives told me, “Of course he’ll eat! Just sit him down and give him food!” I don’t think they ever understood that everything, everything, every single one of the suggestions they were telling me I had already tried months ago. I gave him Cheerios on his plate so he could control the food going into his mouth. I gave him the mashed bananas in a bowl with his own spoon. I had my husband try. I mixed breastmilk with the banana. Six years later, I don’t remember everything I tried, but I vividly remember the frustration I felt when nobody took me seriously.

At my son’s 12 month well child check, I was finally able to convince the pediatrician that my son really and truly did not eat. I don’t know if she fully believed me, but she did recommend that he get evaluated by an oral therapist.

Finally a month later, my son had his oral evaluation. It turned out that at thirteen months old, my son had the oral development of a four month old. I learned that one of the reasons that babies mouth everything is to loosen the fascia in the cheeks and to practice their tongue movements, so that when it is time to eat, the cheeks and tongue will be able to coordinate to accomplish the complex task of chewing and swallowing. Because my son never mouthed anything (and I have my own theories regarding this) his fascia was never loosened, he didn’t know how to operate his tongue to eat. Additionally, his gag reflex was at the front of his mouth instead of toward the back. Even if he had wanted to eat, it would have been physically impossible.

Six months of therapy followed, with exercises and practice at home. I had to put my fingers in my son’s mouth to massage his fascia, manipulate his mouth, and try to get him to accept a sippy cup. He had vibrating teethers, horns and harmonicas to acclimate him to sensation in his mouth. We had special toothbrushes that we used to gradually move his gag reflex to the back. He was so defensive about his mouth, and it was horrible for him and for me. I remember emailing a friend during this time, “Why is this so HARD?” It was so incredibly difficult not to be envious of the parents of kids who ate so easily, whose babies ate so naturally, when we had to work so hard just to get my son to eat one Cheerio.

Finally at 19 months old, my son was “graduated” from therapy, and was on his way to being able to eat and drink food that didn’t come from me.

But the principle of feeding with love and respect was still a huge part of our lives. For many many months, the only food my son would eat were crispy crunchy things, such as crackers or toast. He couldn’t tolerate anything with a wet or mushy consistency. But one can not live on bread alone, so he had to learn to tolerate other foods and consistencies. But again, contrary to advice I was receiving, I never forced him to eat new foods. Instead, I did my best to incorporate the healthy stuff he needed to grow in the foods he was capable and willing to consume. When he began to eat peanut butter, I would grind up dried veggies to mix in with it.

When he began to eat muffins, I would make him carrot-banana-flaxseed muffins. I made him a fruit smoothie every day. When he started eating homemade macaroni and cheese, I would make it for him every night, and when he insisted I feed him every bite, I did. I had spent too long being screamed at when I approached his mouth that I relished in the chance to feed my two-year-old! I respected and worked WITH his oral aversions, instead of forcing him to eat food that he was not ready for. I never once considered the old standby, “If he’s hungry enough, he’ll eat anything.” I knew my son wouldn’t.

The following years were filled with efforts to get my son the nutrients he needs, while encouraging, but never coercing him to try new foods. Every time he ventured a new food experience it was a victory! But for years he ate the same things every day, and avoided so many foods. I’ll freely admit how incredibly frustrating it was, and of course I wished he would just try a certain new food. But I did my best to never let him see that frustration, and certainly never forced him to try anything he wasn’t ready for. I always followed his food cues. And every once in a while, he would make a gain; he’d try a new consistency, a new flavor, a new sensation. And oh, how excited I was when he began to eat cold things, and creamy things, and even began asking for fruit.

Curiously, he’s made the most gains in the past three years since his little sister’s been around. I fully believe seeing her eat absolutely everything without trepidation gave him the incentive to do the same himself.

My son is now 6 ½ years old, and eats just about everything I put in front of him! He eats many consistencies, many flavors, and many foods. He is still a picky eater, tends to eat the exact same things every day (making his school lunch is very easy for me as a result!) and he still has a tendency to vomit if he eats incorrectly; I believe his gag reflex is still not where it needs to be.

But I no longer worry about his nutrition as I once did; I no longer worry if he can eat something I’ve prepared. I no longer lay awake at night crying frustrated tears over it.

I have no doubt that the reason he’s made such incredible progress is because I followed him. I respected him. I respected his difficulties and the huge feat it was for him to eat anything, let alone anything new. My son worked hard at eating, and I never doubted for a minute how very difficult it was for him.

I know this is quite long, and there’s so much of the story I left out. But the main points are there. I’m not sure if we’re supposed to play favorites in respect to the principles, but feeding with love and respect will always be at the top of my list, and will always be an important part of my parenting and my family.

The Big “W”

Originally posted March 30, 2007, when my daughter was two and my son was five.

I’ve been thinking a lot recently about weaning. Not as in, “I’ve been thinking a lot about the fact that my daughter should wean”, but more like, “I’ve been thinking a lot recently about the process of weaning, and what that means to me and to my daughter.” I suppose I could have just used that as my opening sentence in the first place.

When my son was born, I set a goal of nursing him for two years. But because I didn’t want to overwhelm myself with such a huge undertaking, I made it a series of smaller goals. My first mini-goal was one year. The next was 18 months. The final goal was two years.

Before he was 18 months old, he started cutting back his nursing sessions. He had been nursing eight to 10 times a day, but when he was about 15 months, he nursed just six to eight times per day. The next month he cut it back to five or six times. The next month was three to four times, and the last month was just once per day. I neither encouraged nor discouraged it. My son weaned completely of his own accord and on his own schedule. I had talked to many women during my time nursing him, and so many of them had told me that when their babies weaned before they (the mothers) were ready, they were heartbroken and disappointed. I knew I never wanted to feel that way. So when my son began his weaning process, I was surprised to realize that I was ready; I was at peace with the whole process. When he was completely weaned, I felt no sadness, no disappointment. It was a good transition that he and I made together. I didn’t make my time line goal of two years, but that didn’t matter, because the end had been so peaceful.

When I became pregnant with my daughter, I did not set an arbitrary time limit, but as a more experienced mom, I knew I just wanted to follow her lead. I very soon realized that she was a completely different nurser than her brother. My son liked to do his bit, take in his nourishment, and then leave; he was never big on comfort nursing, or nursing at times when food is not the first goal, but rather the cuddle time and the calming effect of suckling. My daughter has always been a big comfort nurser. My son was a very difficult baby to nurse, (which I know now is because of all his oral difficulties) while my daughter has always been such an easy baby to nurse. He was a biter; she has always been so gentle. He was a concentrated little nurser, who focused on nothing but the task at hand; she has always been so distractible!

Time passed, and my daughter reached her first birthday, and she was nursing as much as ever. She hit 18 months, and showed no signs of slowing down. She’s now two years old, and is still as excited about nursing as she was 18 months ago. This was fine with me. I have no problem with nursing a toddler (either in theory or practice) so I just took it in stride. True to my beliefs, I continued to follow her lead. She seemed to still needed to nurse for comfort and security, so we continued happily.

But after a recent very bad day, where one of the many many things that went wrong that day was that my daughter started biting me seemingly out of the blue, I began to consider the possibility of weaning. My son was a biter, but being bit by a six month old is completely different than being bit by a two year old toddler! No comparison, really. I was in pain, I was angry, and as everything, everything had gone bad that day (with both kids) I was at the end of my rope and out of patience. I made the decision to wean.

Weaning lasted exactly six hours. Weaning is a huge decision, and I realized that I want my daughter’s weaning to be as peaceful as my son’s. To wean her suddenly would be traumatic for her, and that’s not how I wanted it to end. But she had reached two years old – the age that I said my goal was for my son. Was that not also my goal for her? We had reached two years!

Over the next two days, I flip-flopped between the decision to wean and not wean about twenty times. I finally realized that my decision to wean had been made when I was at a very vulnerable point, and I know myself enough to know that I don’t want to have to live with any regrets or guilt about weaning. But on the other hand, how wonderful would it be to wear pretty bras again? To have my body all to myself! To sit down and read the paper and not be asked to nurse! And she did have two years of nursing – I had given her a great start in life!

But, after a few days of experimentation with weaning, I realized the fact that my daughter herself is not ready to wean. She still relies on nursing for comfort and safety. That was made very clear to me during those days, as she was in obvious distress. How can I take such an important source of comfort and nurturing away from a two year old? It seems cruel. And I know that in my heart, I will not feel good about weaning unless my daughter is the one to initiate it, as my son had. I will not be at peace with with the process if I am the one to force her to wean when she is so obviously not ready. Instead setting the goal according to the calendar, my goal is set to her.

So here I am, still lactating after all these years. My daughter will nurse until she decides she is done. She will sleep with us until she decides she is ready for her own room. (My son was 2 1/2 when he chose to go to his own room. I suspect my daughter will be later.)

And no, she has not bitten me since that one day, and that is the only time she’s ever bitten me. It took me three days to heal enough to not wince when she latched on.