Buffet Closed

Confession:  I hated breastfeeding.



It just wasn't my thing.  It wasn't about nipple pain or poor latch or any of that.  Gavin was a good eater, and I worked through the annoying pain after our first week.  I didn't have the best supply, but I certainly wasn't battling over-supply or clogged ducts or mastitis or anything.  It's almost as if I just wasn't impressed with breastfeeding.

I have never experienced - with either child - the heartwarming feeling of looking into my baby's eyes as he ate.  Laura and I had so many other issues, all of which were exacerbated by breastfeeding and the feeling that I hadn't bonded with her.  I had hopes that maybe I'd feel that warm little chest tug while breastfeeding Gavin this time.  I did not feel the frustration (or depression or anger) that I felt with Laura, but I did not really feel anything.

Breastfeeding, for me, was a way to cut down on some of the costs of raising a child.  Why buy powder when the good stuff came from me for free?  So I kept at it until I went back to work.  I had decided early on that I was not going to pump at work, so Gavin went on formula during our first few weeks after my maternity leave were over.  But I did indulge some hopes that perhaps my supply would keep up for breakfast, dinner and midnight snacks.  And it did.  For a little while.  But then my supply tanked, and nursing Gavin only left him very hungry. 

So I have thrown in the towel.  Gavin is exclusively formula-fed from now on.  My family is happy and satiated.  We are all of us healthy - in both mind and body.  And for me, being healthy - completely and 100% healthy - is the most important thing.  I am happy.  My heart tugs in my chest as I watch Gavin guzzle his bottle that Laura helps hold.  With bottles, I get that feeling I'd always heard about with breastfeeding.

Breastfeeding is not for everyone.  It's not for me.  This all you can drink bar is closed. Until our next kid, since I will always try try again.

Sharing Real

I don't cry at weddings.  Usually.  This past weekend was an exception. 

I smiled as I watched a dear friend walk down the aisle to marry her best friend.  I happily listened to the beautiful "I Carry Your Heart" by E.E. Cummings for the first reading.  And then the second reading.  An excerpt from the Velveteen Rabbit.  What is real.  My eyes welled up with tears.  I surprised myself with a sniffle and tiny sob.  The Velveteen Rabbit is just one of those books for me.  A story with so much meaning and truth, I simply cannot get through it without tears.  I was so very happy for my friends married this weekend, so happy they have found real with each other. 



It is my duty as a mother to share The Velveteen Rabbit with my children.  So that they may find their own real.  Whether that real be a stuffed puppy as a child (like Walking Puppy who was left in the swing during the rain over the weekend), or  a best friend and lover as an adult.   But I'm not going to like it. 

How will I read The Velveteen Rabbit to Laura and Gavin, when I can't even read it silently in my head without sobbing?  How, when I can't even think about the story (or the recent reading of it) without tears welling in my eyes?

And what about all those other wonderful, beautiful works of children's literature that my children absolutely must read... though I cannot?

Where the Red Fern Grows (I sobbed through this one during class in 5th grade.  Not embarassing at all.)

Bridge to Terabithia (My mom saw I was nearing the end, and sent me up to her bed with a box of tissues to finish.  She came upstairs and cried with me)

Old Yeller (To be fair, I thought the new puppy in the movie was cuter.)

The Little Prince (I definitely understood this one far better as an adult, after a childhood of wondering why my dad was silently crying at the end.)

Some day I'll man up, get out the tissues, and start sharing these books.  I guess I should buy a copy of The Velveteen Rabbit to start.  My most cherished childhood stuffed animals are still very much real.  Laura's and Gavin's should be, too.

Pouring my heart out.

It's OK to Parent

A headline caught my eye yesterday morning as I read the Wall Street Journal over some random man's shoulder on the train.  Since reading other people's newspapers is the only way I read print news.  Anyway, the headline was "Letting Babies Cry a Bit Is OK."  Naturally, I googled the article so I could actually read it, beyond the glimpse my poor vision allowed.

As a follower of the Cry It Out (CIO) camp when Laura was an infant, I was eager to see what earth shattering research the Wall Street Journal had uncovered.  Apparently an Australian six-year study that proved... absolutely nothing.  As I summarize the findings: babies wind up with the same risk of emotional trauma whether they cried it out or not.

The Wall Street Journal claims this study "will likely add fuel to an emotional debate that rages on playgrounds."  I'm skeptical.  I feel as though this study adds absolutely nothing to the raging fire of mommy wars.  As if we need anything added to that fire to fuel it.  I feel as though our society of moms has a special talent for swinging any evidence in the direction that most helps our personal feelings.

I had a particularly bad night with Gavin last night.  The poor kid has a stuffy nose and isn't used to sleeping with the noisy ac turned off.  I am in the CIO camp.  Solidly.  Except for when I'm not.  Because isn't that how motherhood works out?  You aspire to raise your kids in one particular fashion... and then reality sets in and you just try to survive one cup of coffee at a time. 

I believe in letting kids cry a little to figure out how to self-soothe... But with Laura and Gavin sharing a room?  I also believe in letting Laura get the best night sleep possible.  So if that means jumping up out of bed every single time Gavin coughs?  So be it.  Gavin might never have the chance to cry it out.  Who knows how that will effect the person he grows up to be.  I do know that I will continue to make parenting decisions with the best interest of my individual children at heart, and NOT because of what some expert, study or book told me is best.  It's ok to follow my heart.  It's ok to parent how I see fit.  And it's ok for YOU to parent how you see it.  It's ok for us all to be parents.

Read Aloud

I distinctly remember sitting on the love seat in our house in Florida.  The pastel blue and pink plaid one.  The one where Bear was lost under a cushion for three whole weeks - an eternity.

I remember sitting on that couch on my dad's lap reading my favorite story for the bazillionth time.  Ferdinand.  I remember turning the pages to my favorite illustration: the one with the lovely ladies with flowers in their hair.  I remember reciting memorized passages.  And suddenly!  A word on a page.  No longer individual letters, stark and black on a white paper.  But a drawn word.  A picture I could read. 

F-E-R-D-I-N-A-N-D

And now I sit on a recliner sofa in our house in Maryland.  The green leather one.  The one that Ries started to eat as a puppy seven whole years ago - an eternity.

I sit on that couch with Laura on my lap reading her favorite story for the bazillionth time.  Ferdinand.  She turns the pages to her favorite illustrations: the one with the men in funny hats, and the one with Ferdinand peeking out into the bull ring.  Laura recites memorized passages.  And suddenly!  A word on a page.  No longer individual letters, stark and black on a white paper.  But a drawn word.  A picture she can read.

F-E-R-D-I-N-A-N-D

In my two and a half years as a mother, I am not sure I have ever been so proud of Laura as I was last night when she found every "Ferdinand" in her favorite book.  Pride in part because my daughter is one smart cookie.  But mostly pride in her love of books and ready.  I hope Laura's love only grows throughout her life. 

What's your child's favorite book to read? 
Pouring my heart out.