so, the title of this post is actually the title of a post over at the blog radiofreeschool. i read it, and my heart immediatley shouted "yes!"
okay, so some days are a little hairy. i've certainly had my share of days where i just knew that i was ruining my kids' lives and that some stranger in a daycare somewhere ought to be the one who sees them for most of the day. seriously. then i take a breath and remember that i chose this life, and there's not one single snot-covered, poopie diaper infused moment i would trade for all the money in the world. are you kidding me?! i loooove my kids, they amaze and delight me. and, on those espeically magical days that i can remind myself of that straightway, we spend a lot of our precious time singing and dancing and hugging and loving and not having a care in the world.
so, yes, if i had to die tumbling in the warm sun with beautiful, bountiful naked babes in my arms and a husband loving me so much i could burst, well, i can't imagine a heaven without that.
Friday, August 26, 2016
worry
worry. man, even the sound of that word gives me nervous stomach. before kids, i rarely worried. if i did, it was usually something along the lines of money-making or a payment of some sort. but then kids happened, and suddenly, all of these life altering decisions have to be made. i remember agonizing for days over which crib to buy, it had to be all organic down to the sheets, no off-gassing, brand new, must convert first into a toddler bed and then into a full-size for them to live on well into adult life...
and then the biggies. circumcision. vaccines. education.
breathing happened. and then we simply said "no." even to the crib.
so, here we are, nearly 4 years later, with a 3 year old and an almost 2 year old, with no crib, no vaccines, plenty of foreskin, and no education. so, now, i worry.
i worry when we go to those germ factories that are playgrounds and softplay and even to the grocery store if my kids are going to come home with pertussis. i worry if they should be in school. i worry if i am not giving them what they need.
and then, my best friend, my self, has some sound advice. or, rather, some questions to consider. what are other kids getting out of school (rather, daycare, at this age) that my children aren't? and more importantly, what ARE they getting out of freeschool that children in school aren't getting?
things they aren't getting:
sick
ignored
bullied
bad habits
vaccinated
indoctrinated
abandonment feelings
socialization
questionable food
questionable influences
questionable food
questionable influences
things they are getting:
love (and lots of it)
sunshine (and lots of it)
freedom (and lots of it)
closeness (physical and emotional, to themselves and to us all)
patience (i do my best)
individualized attention (they couldn't be more opposite!)
real time conflict resolution (constantly)
compassion (i am always amazed at how they learn to give to and help each other)
nurturing (we do a lot of snuggling)
unlimited story time (have i mentioned we LOOOOOOVE to read?)
space to just be (ahhh....)
security (i'm okay being taken for granted a little)
bonding (we go through our best and worst times together)
naked time (vitamin D!)
control over their own schedules and interests (see 'freedom')
gentleness (hitting has given way to hugging)
field trips (the beach sure is a lot of fun on the weekdays)
good food (the kind only a mama can make)
real friends (the kind we seek out and naturally gravitate towards)
exposure to people of all ages, races and walks of life (how's that for socialization?)
a real life experience of a loving family, with parents who are in love with each other and our children!
and did i mention the money and time we save that can be used to benefit our children's individual interests?
wait. what was i worried about again?
what i believe about life and learning
well, first let me say that i believe deeply in rhythms, and the inherent good will of all (okay, most) people at the outset. babies come into this wild world of their own volition, in their own way and time.
both of the turbots had a uniqueness as far back as the womb, and i can say with clarity that they have maintained those rhythms no matter how many times i try to screw them up with my parenting notions.
so, i wonder, what are we to do as modern parents essentially? what exactly does our job require, and how much of what we do is out of habit? what do children really, truly need from us?
i read a passage once that said that to Love is to protect another's solitude. well, i don't know about you, but i can assure you i have made a lot of mistakes pertaining to love, and also made a lot of inroads into Loving myself and others. for me, as i watch my children grow each day, i realize more and more that what they ultimately need from their father and me is to create a world for them in which they can explore, retain a sense of wonder and intuition, and simply be themselves. the space to listen and be listened to. the absence of coercion or manipulation or force. the imperative of gentleness, kindness, and compassion.
all they really need is Love. the rest will take care of itself.
both of the turbots had a uniqueness as far back as the womb, and i can say with clarity that they have maintained those rhythms no matter how many times i try to screw them up with my parenting notions.
so, i wonder, what are we to do as modern parents essentially? what exactly does our job require, and how much of what we do is out of habit? what do children really, truly need from us?
i read a passage once that said that to Love is to protect another's solitude. well, i don't know about you, but i can assure you i have made a lot of mistakes pertaining to love, and also made a lot of inroads into Loving myself and others. for me, as i watch my children grow each day, i realize more and more that what they ultimately need from their father and me is to create a world for them in which they can explore, retain a sense of wonder and intuition, and simply be themselves. the space to listen and be listened to. the absence of coercion or manipulation or force. the imperative of gentleness, kindness, and compassion.
all they really need is Love. the rest will take care of itself.
on friendship and freeshooling
it's come to my attention recently that a friend i know and i seem to be parting ways. we have had a good friendship so far, and have been available to each other for support during the tough days of fresh new motherhood. but now, after 3 years, it seems we've reached a fork in the road.
you see, freeschooling just doesn't make a lot of sense to some people. that's okay. it's not for everyone. but it is for us. and as we grow as parents, we become ever more aware that our children's happiness and health come first... and sometimes even parents outgrow people.
it's not as though i'll never see or talk to this friend again. there'll be plenty of birthday parties and neighborhood events that will bring us together. but as our children develop into their own personhood, and the needs of the family become both more pressing and more specific, we begin to see how another persons role in our lifestyles can begin to wane. one child is in school, and will undoubtedly begin to make close friends during a schooling career. schedules, after school activities, and the commitments that come with more formal schooling will eventually take a rightful place at the center of the life of a schooling family.
freeschooling families find that the rhythms that guide us through everyday life can bring us all sorts of friends and influences. many free schooling families whom we've befriended we don't actually see that often- we're all doing our own thing, and we respect that about each other. we stay in touch, and when we do get together, there is a flow inherent to that freedom, that embracing of the individual we all try daily to practice, and we find a closeness amongst each other that begins to feel like a community. like a tribe, we have each other's backs, we see the differences among us as opportunities for learning. in freeschooling, every moment is teaching us, all of us, to embrace all that we are in our uniqueness and in our sameness.
i know that it is my duty to my family to guard with fierce love each person's solitude, including my own. i know that to do this, i must get to the heart of the matter. no moments wasted, no masks, no niceties. there's only Love, and with it, the desire to grow.
Challenge accepted
Ah, social media. The demigod of our times.
I post a lot of crap on Facebook. I do. I also take loooooooooooooooooooooooong breaks from social media altogether. It's a balance- sort of.
I post a lot of homeschooling/unschooling (or as I like to call it, free schooling) memes. What can I say? It's a guilty pleasure. Some people read tabloids, or watch the Bachlor(ette), some sneak in a smoke or a Diet Pepsi here and there. Me, well, I don't do any of those things.
I'm a serial meme-er.
This week, someone called me on my shit. A real smartypants, this guy. And for you, Mr. Pants, I have 2 words:
CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.
I post a lot of crap on Facebook. I do. I also take loooooooooooooooooooooooong breaks from social media altogether. It's a balance- sort of.
I post a lot of homeschooling/unschooling (or as I like to call it, free schooling) memes. What can I say? It's a guilty pleasure. Some people read tabloids, or watch the Bachlor(ette), some sneak in a smoke or a Diet Pepsi here and there. Me, well, I don't do any of those things.
I'm a serial meme-er.
This week, someone called me on my shit. A real smartypants, this guy. And for you, Mr. Pants, I have 2 words:
CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.
Sunday, January 25, 2015
A follow-up, or the lesson I took away from the great Similac advert.
I felt a little sad after I watched the Similac ad. Sure, it got in my gut, in that shlock-y way that well-crafted ads and tv shows and movies tend to do. I've gotten a bit weepy at many a Coca-cola commercial, and Walmart had a misty-eyed winner this past Christmas. These are two companies, that for my own reasons, I do not endorse or support. Still, they know how to make a good commercial.
But what I felt sad about wasn't the heart-tugging scene at the end of the Similac commercial where the quiet, soft, slow piano begins and we see moms and dads from all walks of life hugging and becoming friends. What made me sad is that Similac used the message of inclusiveness first.
Okay, maybe that's a little competitive, but hear me out. I have been a breastfeeding mama for 4 solid years, with no end in sight (insert bittersweet eye roll and knowing smile here). I love nursing my babes. I love being around other mothers nursing their babes. I love all things breastfeeding and motherhood.
Well, not all things. You see, I and others like me appear to be in some kind of exclusive club. Now, granted, I didn't sign up for this part, and I'm sure as hell not going to apologize for nursing my kids. If someone takes issue with the way I feed my kids, I honestly couldn't care less. And yes, I feel that we (sometimes smug, but often kind) breastfeeding moms get so into the cause of what we are doing that we step on some toes. We unwittingly alienate other moms who maybe didn't have the support we did to breastfeed, or maybe they simply couldn't, or even didn't want to at all. I have to ask myself why… why, of all of the issues that affect families, women, and children everyday, is this particular one SUCH a hot-button issue?
I would guess because parenting is intensely personal. And it's fucking hard. Like, really fucking hard. And when we're not being our own worst enemies, we're crying in the bathroom hiding from our angry toddlers and considering giving ourselves up for adoption because we can't possibly take another day of screwing our kids up. Seriously. It's a constant struggle for a perfection we know we'll never achieve.
But back to breastfeeding and the bogus "Mommy Wars." I have to ask, what are we moms, those who are breastfeeding successfully, doing to support the women who are not? Sure we do our research and can give you a thousand and one scientific and evolutionary reasons why breast is best. But what about the women who try and have no support? The women who desperately want to breastfeed but can't? What are we doing, proactively, to support and befriend these women?
Sadly, not much. I am guilty of not doing much. Upon learning that a friend who was intending to breastfeed had trouble and turned to formula, I have been very guilty of putting on that tense, slightly disapproving half-smile and changing the subject. Because it would seem that the 'battle' was over.
What if, when we befriend a pregnant first-time mommy, we invite her to a La Leche League meeting, or to hang out with our mommy friends who are both nursing and giving bottles? What if we started the conversation early, not just about the science and the benefits, but about the pitfalls, the struggles, the mastitis, the touched out feelings, the biting? What if we helped said mama have a contingency plan, just in case her goals of breastfeeding fall by the wayside? A breastfeeding doula, so to speak, who could keep her focused on her options, her nutrition, her true desires before losing her to formula and relegating her to the non-breastfeeding camp? Heading off the marketing ploys of the formula companies by introducing her to the concepts of donor milk and supplemental nursing systems, as well as the options of organic formula? I even know of one lady who made her own formula. The options are out there.
Basically, what I am asking is for 'us' to reach across the table to 'them'- and I'm sad that Similac did it first. Whether or not they are an evil company that feeds poison to babies and sneakily undermines the best intentions of new mothers is really not important. What is important is that we got lost in the cause and while we were touting the benefits of breastmilk and patting ourselves on the back on a job well done, Similac went ahead and did what we should have been doing in the first place- leveling the playing field of mother judgement.
I feel sad that this is one battle that we lost. I feel sad that so many new mothers think that there are only two options, and that they are mutually exclusive. Asking a formula company (or any billion-dollar company for that matter) to play fair is asking a tiger to change his stripes. And that's not to say we shouldn't still strive for truth in marketing and advertising- we most definitely should. But what we have to remember is that when we shout from our soapboxes that formula companies are evil, and fail to present our comrades-to-be with alternative options, we inadvertently proclaim that by default, you formula feeders are evil too. Oh, and you're poisoning your baby.
I suggest we put our hearts where our mouths are and start stepping up more. Reaching out to individuals, being a human being with another human being and helping each other through our ideals into our realities. Looking those mamas straight in the eyes and saying, no BELIEVING, that they are great moms. That we all are great moms, because we care enough to question if we are doing the right thing.
I'd like to imagine a future conversation… one where I've learned from my mistakes, learned from what the clever (and potentially evil) folks at Similac did. I imagine meeting a new mom-to-be, and as I have done countless times before, sharing my stories and my mistakes and the books I read and the blogs I found useful. I imagine telling her about my breastfeeding trials and tribulations, as well as all of the victories. I imagine following up with her as she approaches her due date, helping her with her birth plan, and supporting her choices. I imagine helping her to outline a similar breastfeeding plan, with contingency measures if it doesn't come as naturally as most of us imagined it would. And I imagine that, in the case that she does turn to formula, that I will stand beside her and introduce her to my friends, breastfeeding and formula-feeding, and announce, hey, meet Jen, she's a brave new mom and let's welcome her into the fold. And I imagine shooting her a knowing glance, our little assurance that no matter her circumstances, or her choices, I've got her back and I'm not judging her.
I hope to get the chance someday to help someone like that.
But what I felt sad about wasn't the heart-tugging scene at the end of the Similac commercial where the quiet, soft, slow piano begins and we see moms and dads from all walks of life hugging and becoming friends. What made me sad is that Similac used the message of inclusiveness first.
Okay, maybe that's a little competitive, but hear me out. I have been a breastfeeding mama for 4 solid years, with no end in sight (insert bittersweet eye roll and knowing smile here). I love nursing my babes. I love being around other mothers nursing their babes. I love all things breastfeeding and motherhood.
Well, not all things. You see, I and others like me appear to be in some kind of exclusive club. Now, granted, I didn't sign up for this part, and I'm sure as hell not going to apologize for nursing my kids. If someone takes issue with the way I feed my kids, I honestly couldn't care less. And yes, I feel that we (sometimes smug, but often kind) breastfeeding moms get so into the cause of what we are doing that we step on some toes. We unwittingly alienate other moms who maybe didn't have the support we did to breastfeed, or maybe they simply couldn't, or even didn't want to at all. I have to ask myself why… why, of all of the issues that affect families, women, and children everyday, is this particular one SUCH a hot-button issue?
I would guess because parenting is intensely personal. And it's fucking hard. Like, really fucking hard. And when we're not being our own worst enemies, we're crying in the bathroom hiding from our angry toddlers and considering giving ourselves up for adoption because we can't possibly take another day of screwing our kids up. Seriously. It's a constant struggle for a perfection we know we'll never achieve.
But back to breastfeeding and the bogus "Mommy Wars." I have to ask, what are we moms, those who are breastfeeding successfully, doing to support the women who are not? Sure we do our research and can give you a thousand and one scientific and evolutionary reasons why breast is best. But what about the women who try and have no support? The women who desperately want to breastfeed but can't? What are we doing, proactively, to support and befriend these women?
Sadly, not much. I am guilty of not doing much. Upon learning that a friend who was intending to breastfeed had trouble and turned to formula, I have been very guilty of putting on that tense, slightly disapproving half-smile and changing the subject. Because it would seem that the 'battle' was over.
What if, when we befriend a pregnant first-time mommy, we invite her to a La Leche League meeting, or to hang out with our mommy friends who are both nursing and giving bottles? What if we started the conversation early, not just about the science and the benefits, but about the pitfalls, the struggles, the mastitis, the touched out feelings, the biting? What if we helped said mama have a contingency plan, just in case her goals of breastfeeding fall by the wayside? A breastfeeding doula, so to speak, who could keep her focused on her options, her nutrition, her true desires before losing her to formula and relegating her to the non-breastfeeding camp? Heading off the marketing ploys of the formula companies by introducing her to the concepts of donor milk and supplemental nursing systems, as well as the options of organic formula? I even know of one lady who made her own formula. The options are out there.
Basically, what I am asking is for 'us' to reach across the table to 'them'- and I'm sad that Similac did it first. Whether or not they are an evil company that feeds poison to babies and sneakily undermines the best intentions of new mothers is really not important. What is important is that we got lost in the cause and while we were touting the benefits of breastmilk and patting ourselves on the back on a job well done, Similac went ahead and did what we should have been doing in the first place- leveling the playing field of mother judgement.
I feel sad that this is one battle that we lost. I feel sad that so many new mothers think that there are only two options, and that they are mutually exclusive. Asking a formula company (or any billion-dollar company for that matter) to play fair is asking a tiger to change his stripes. And that's not to say we shouldn't still strive for truth in marketing and advertising- we most definitely should. But what we have to remember is that when we shout from our soapboxes that formula companies are evil, and fail to present our comrades-to-be with alternative options, we inadvertently proclaim that by default, you formula feeders are evil too. Oh, and you're poisoning your baby.
I suggest we put our hearts where our mouths are and start stepping up more. Reaching out to individuals, being a human being with another human being and helping each other through our ideals into our realities. Looking those mamas straight in the eyes and saying, no BELIEVING, that they are great moms. That we all are great moms, because we care enough to question if we are doing the right thing.
I'd like to imagine a future conversation… one where I've learned from my mistakes, learned from what the clever (and potentially evil) folks at Similac did. I imagine meeting a new mom-to-be, and as I have done countless times before, sharing my stories and my mistakes and the books I read and the blogs I found useful. I imagine telling her about my breastfeeding trials and tribulations, as well as all of the victories. I imagine following up with her as she approaches her due date, helping her with her birth plan, and supporting her choices. I imagine helping her to outline a similar breastfeeding plan, with contingency measures if it doesn't come as naturally as most of us imagined it would. And I imagine that, in the case that she does turn to formula, that I will stand beside her and introduce her to my friends, breastfeeding and formula-feeding, and announce, hey, meet Jen, she's a brave new mom and let's welcome her into the fold. And I imagine shooting her a knowing glance, our little assurance that no matter her circumstances, or her choices, I've got her back and I'm not judging her.
I hope to get the chance someday to help someone like that.
On breastfeeding, formula, and that damn Similac ad
Man. People sure can get bent out of shape about a thing.
Let me just start with my story. Make of it what you will.
Four very short years ago, I was on the brink of becoming a mother. I was so excited to meet my baby boy. I did yoga at least once a week. I read all of the best books on natural/vaginal/intervention-free birth. I had all of my cloth diapers, a few disposable ones (only the eco-friendly ones of course). I had no crib, no changing table, no diaper genie. We knew we'd be co-sleeping. No pacifiers. I had my wraps, a sling, and a soft carrier. I knew I would breastfeed. I was ready.
He was born. But we'll skip that wonderful and exhausting story. Let's get to the point here, shall we?
(For the record, and I've said this a hundred times- the REAL labor begins when you bring the baby home. Just so we're clear.)
I was over the moon. Scared to death. A little worse for wear. My son was perfect. Long, skinny head to long, skinny toes. I was completely immersed in Love.
We did all of the new baby visits. He wasn't gaining weight. And after he passed his meconium, he began losing ounces.
Luckily, we have the great fortune to have a pro-breastfeeding, all-things-in-the-natural-evolutionary-order pediatrician. He was concerned. He asked how often I was breastfeeding. After I told him, he recommended us seeing a lactation consultant, perhaps begin pumping to supplement and increase supply, and return in 2 days. We did all that, got a full list of herbs and supplements to take, and went home.
I nursed my baby. We bought a small hand pump. We got all of the herbs. When we returned to the pediatrician, my son had lost several ounces.
This time, our doctor sent me off into a comfortable nursing room. As advised, we stripped our baby down, got him skin to skin with me, and nursed for about 20 minutes. A nurse came in and weighed him. He weighed about half an ounce more.
The doctor gave me a can of formula. I felt sick. He recommended I nurse 20 minutes, pump 20 minutes on both sides, and after giving baby my pumped milk, follow up with 2oz of formula. I was to do this every 3 hours until our next visit, set for 3 days later.
I hated the formula. I cried and cried as I read the label… most of the ingredients were words longer than the space allowed for. It smelled awful. I hadn't planned on pumping, so we had no bottles. We bought bottles, a special drying rack, a specific bottle-cleaning brush. Oh, yeah, and we were broke.
My husband's brother offered to send us the pump that he had somehow managed to sweet-talk a nurse into giving to him when my sister-in-law had her first baby. We were stoked to be receiving a hospital-grade breastpump! We received it quickly. We put it to work. I placed a suction cup over each breast. We pumped away, excited to see the milk come flowing.
It didn't come. At least not enough to feed a baby. There was a secondary hand pump attached, so we used that while the mechanism got to it's job. That's right- it took me and my husband and all four of our hands to get any milk out. Thankfully, a little more eked out… but still not much.
Now, I had read so much about doctors and their ulterior motives and whatnot, as well as the poison that formula was. So, being the thoughtful mother I was, I only gave my son about a quarter of the recommended feedings of formula, and instead nursed him more. I felt quite proud of myself. I was certain I was making more milk. He was looking fatter. I was feeling accomplished.
When we arrived at the doctor we found that he was in fact still losing ounces. And I'm not talking he lost the usual few and it was put back on… my son was losing weight. A considerable amount. When the doctor asked me how often I was giving him the formula, I replied smugly, "two or three times a day."
I'm pretty sure I saw flames shoot out of his ears.
He turned away from me and called a nurse in. He requested some ready-to-feed formula. He gave it to my son himself. He asked me if my son was eliminating consistently, to which I answered yes, often. He asked to see one of the soiled diapers. We took a look, and to his surprise, my son's poop was not showing any signs of malnourishment. It was the correct color of a well-fed, breastfed newborn. So why was he losing weight?
He turned to me and handed me another can of free formula, the same hypoallergenic one he had given me days earlier. "Every three hours" he said directly into my eyes. Tears were spilling down my face, and I nodded. He left the room and I crumbled into my husband's arms.
I felt like a failure. And on top of that, a negligent mother. Here, someone had helped me, and in my "I-know-what's-best-for-my-baby" huff, my child was still slowly wasting away.
We were diligent after that. Every three hours, my son had formula, without fail. We also continued to nursing and pumping routine. Each trip to the pediatrician showed that my baby boy was indeed gaining sufficient weight. The times between visits got longer and longer. My baby was looking a little fatter, happier, and stronger.
It was exhausting to keep up with the demands of nursing/pumping/feeding formula every three hours. It meant almost no sleep. It meant almost no showers. It meant almost no seeing friends, no talking on the phone, no watching TV. There was simply not enough time or energy left over for any of those things. I became hyper-focused on my son. I repeated breastfeeding mantras all day long. I drank a half-gallon of water and a half-gallon of stinging nettles infusion daily. I took blessed thistle and fenugreek. I continued with my vitamins, and ate as nourishing a meal as possible with no time to cook for myself (usually this was spinach and eggs and whole wheat toast). My husband was juggling caring for me with keeping up with the demands of a very high-needs client who called all hours of the day and couldn't care less about our newborn. We had very little help. My two closest friends who could visit did as often as they could, but it was smack-dab in the middle of flu season and they had their own kids and own lives to deal with. We were largely alone.
We returned to the pediatrician six weeks after starting with the formula supplements. He'd apparently forgotten that I had previously been a negligent and arrogant mother who'd shrugged off his professional advice and nearly starved my baby. He greeted me with a warm smile. My son's weight was good, he was developing normally and was happy and healthy. He asked me if I was still giving formula. I sat up straight and said, "Yes sir." He looked at me with a twinkle in his eye, and said, "Why?" I was stunned. He smiled and said that there was no need for formula supplementation anymore if I wanted to discontinue giving it. I was free to breastfeed my baby as I pleased.
I burst into joyful tears. My husband cried, too. We held each other, held our son, and we hugged and cried and laughed and declared victory. It was the happiest day of my new life as a mother. My son would live and thrive. I could breastfeed him, all on my own. I could hold my baby close, and nurse him as long as I saw fit. I was overjoyed.
And so, on that note, I will say this: the Similac ad is good. It made me laugh and cry and feel the feels. And yes, I am quite aware of the shlock factor. I am quite aware of the unethical practices that this company doesn't reveal. I am aware that their direct marketing is a not-so-subltle jab at the best intentions of a new mother to breastfeed.
I am also aware of the smugness and judgment of some of my breastfeeding compatriots. I see it all the time. Hell, I've even participated. And now this Similac ad, under the guise of "ending the mommy wars"- such a contrived and ridiculous false war- has in fact, ignited them anew. I am aware that in any war- real or contrived- real people get hurt. And I agree with my breastfeeding mamas that Similac knew exactly what they were doing.
But here's my question: aren't we breast-is-best moms just a teeny, tiny bit angry/disappointed that we didn't get there first? That we didn't extent the olive leaf to our formula feeding friends (or enemies) in as clever a way first? Because, as far as I've been able to tell, in large part, we haven't been doing that.
We've declared loud and clear that formula is poison. That it contributes to obesity, diabetes, and sets a baby up for unhealthy eating habits for life. Interesting that most of us who say this were formula babies ourselves. Neither I nor my husband (or my tall, skinny, healthy best friend) are obese, diabetic or dead. That's not to say that children haven't died from contaminated formula, or suffered complications from using formula. We know it has happened. But what are we really accomplishing when we loudly and proudly proclaim formula as an evil poison?
So far, I have never seen that work to pull any mother onto the side of breastfeeding. Nor have I seen it build relationships between women who breastfeed and women who use formula. I have friends on both sides. And while some would contend that staying 'silent' is tantamount to endorsing the evil formula companies, I would call bullshit. It's not about silence. It's about holding space for a mother who may not have had the support she needed to accomplish her breastfeeding goals. Because she is still a good mother… and maybe, just maybe, by having a laugh at a well-crafted ad and sharing stories, maybe this same formula-feeding mom may be better informed and supported and perhaps be successful with nursing her subsequent children. Or maybe she won't. I can almost guarantee that inviting said mom to my house and listing the ways in which her formula company is evil and conniving and unethical and how she is poisoning her child is not going to get me heard, is not going to build bridges.
I'll no sooner blame Similac for using shlock to sell a product than I will blame a dog for eating cat shit. THAT'S JUST WHAT THEY DO. I will however, not buy their product, not endorse their product, share my love of breastfeeding with the world while simultaneously supporting and loving my friends who use formula.
So, tonight, I will snuggle up with my husband (who is in advertising, by the way) after putting our two breastfed sons to bed, and we'll catch up on Breaking Bad. Not because we endorse the cooking and using of crystal meth, but because it's a damn good and entertaining show, and it brings up interesting points of conversation we might not have had otherwise.
Thank you for your time.
PS- there will undoubtedly be a lot of insistence that I could have given my son donor milk instead of formula. On that, I will highlight two points: 1. My son's digestive system was working at a rapid rate (a trait he inherited from both me and my husband). He very likely would have had the same response to donor milk, resulting in us wasting precious time and resources. Had I continued to be unable to produce, I likely would have gone that route. 2. By using donor milk, I might never have had the chance to breastfeed my son for the last four years. I suspect that if that had happened, I might well have had a great deal of anxiety around breastfeeding once my second son was born, and may have 'failed' a second time. But I guess we'll never know for sure.
Let me just start with my story. Make of it what you will.
Four very short years ago, I was on the brink of becoming a mother. I was so excited to meet my baby boy. I did yoga at least once a week. I read all of the best books on natural/vaginal/intervention-free birth. I had all of my cloth diapers, a few disposable ones (only the eco-friendly ones of course). I had no crib, no changing table, no diaper genie. We knew we'd be co-sleeping. No pacifiers. I had my wraps, a sling, and a soft carrier. I knew I would breastfeed. I was ready.
He was born. But we'll skip that wonderful and exhausting story. Let's get to the point here, shall we?
(For the record, and I've said this a hundred times- the REAL labor begins when you bring the baby home. Just so we're clear.)
I was over the moon. Scared to death. A little worse for wear. My son was perfect. Long, skinny head to long, skinny toes. I was completely immersed in Love.
We did all of the new baby visits. He wasn't gaining weight. And after he passed his meconium, he began losing ounces.
Luckily, we have the great fortune to have a pro-breastfeeding, all-things-in-the-natural-evolutionary-order pediatrician. He was concerned. He asked how often I was breastfeeding. After I told him, he recommended us seeing a lactation consultant, perhaps begin pumping to supplement and increase supply, and return in 2 days. We did all that, got a full list of herbs and supplements to take, and went home.
I nursed my baby. We bought a small hand pump. We got all of the herbs. When we returned to the pediatrician, my son had lost several ounces.
This time, our doctor sent me off into a comfortable nursing room. As advised, we stripped our baby down, got him skin to skin with me, and nursed for about 20 minutes. A nurse came in and weighed him. He weighed about half an ounce more.
The doctor gave me a can of formula. I felt sick. He recommended I nurse 20 minutes, pump 20 minutes on both sides, and after giving baby my pumped milk, follow up with 2oz of formula. I was to do this every 3 hours until our next visit, set for 3 days later.
I hated the formula. I cried and cried as I read the label… most of the ingredients were words longer than the space allowed for. It smelled awful. I hadn't planned on pumping, so we had no bottles. We bought bottles, a special drying rack, a specific bottle-cleaning brush. Oh, yeah, and we were broke.
My husband's brother offered to send us the pump that he had somehow managed to sweet-talk a nurse into giving to him when my sister-in-law had her first baby. We were stoked to be receiving a hospital-grade breastpump! We received it quickly. We put it to work. I placed a suction cup over each breast. We pumped away, excited to see the milk come flowing.
It didn't come. At least not enough to feed a baby. There was a secondary hand pump attached, so we used that while the mechanism got to it's job. That's right- it took me and my husband and all four of our hands to get any milk out. Thankfully, a little more eked out… but still not much.
Now, I had read so much about doctors and their ulterior motives and whatnot, as well as the poison that formula was. So, being the thoughtful mother I was, I only gave my son about a quarter of the recommended feedings of formula, and instead nursed him more. I felt quite proud of myself. I was certain I was making more milk. He was looking fatter. I was feeling accomplished.
When we arrived at the doctor we found that he was in fact still losing ounces. And I'm not talking he lost the usual few and it was put back on… my son was losing weight. A considerable amount. When the doctor asked me how often I was giving him the formula, I replied smugly, "two or three times a day."
I'm pretty sure I saw flames shoot out of his ears.
He turned away from me and called a nurse in. He requested some ready-to-feed formula. He gave it to my son himself. He asked me if my son was eliminating consistently, to which I answered yes, often. He asked to see one of the soiled diapers. We took a look, and to his surprise, my son's poop was not showing any signs of malnourishment. It was the correct color of a well-fed, breastfed newborn. So why was he losing weight?
He turned to me and handed me another can of free formula, the same hypoallergenic one he had given me days earlier. "Every three hours" he said directly into my eyes. Tears were spilling down my face, and I nodded. He left the room and I crumbled into my husband's arms.
I felt like a failure. And on top of that, a negligent mother. Here, someone had helped me, and in my "I-know-what's-best-for-my-baby" huff, my child was still slowly wasting away.
We were diligent after that. Every three hours, my son had formula, without fail. We also continued to nursing and pumping routine. Each trip to the pediatrician showed that my baby boy was indeed gaining sufficient weight. The times between visits got longer and longer. My baby was looking a little fatter, happier, and stronger.
It was exhausting to keep up with the demands of nursing/pumping/feeding formula every three hours. It meant almost no sleep. It meant almost no showers. It meant almost no seeing friends, no talking on the phone, no watching TV. There was simply not enough time or energy left over for any of those things. I became hyper-focused on my son. I repeated breastfeeding mantras all day long. I drank a half-gallon of water and a half-gallon of stinging nettles infusion daily. I took blessed thistle and fenugreek. I continued with my vitamins, and ate as nourishing a meal as possible with no time to cook for myself (usually this was spinach and eggs and whole wheat toast). My husband was juggling caring for me with keeping up with the demands of a very high-needs client who called all hours of the day and couldn't care less about our newborn. We had very little help. My two closest friends who could visit did as often as they could, but it was smack-dab in the middle of flu season and they had their own kids and own lives to deal with. We were largely alone.
We returned to the pediatrician six weeks after starting with the formula supplements. He'd apparently forgotten that I had previously been a negligent and arrogant mother who'd shrugged off his professional advice and nearly starved my baby. He greeted me with a warm smile. My son's weight was good, he was developing normally and was happy and healthy. He asked me if I was still giving formula. I sat up straight and said, "Yes sir." He looked at me with a twinkle in his eye, and said, "Why?" I was stunned. He smiled and said that there was no need for formula supplementation anymore if I wanted to discontinue giving it. I was free to breastfeed my baby as I pleased.
I burst into joyful tears. My husband cried, too. We held each other, held our son, and we hugged and cried and laughed and declared victory. It was the happiest day of my new life as a mother. My son would live and thrive. I could breastfeed him, all on my own. I could hold my baby close, and nurse him as long as I saw fit. I was overjoyed.
And so, on that note, I will say this: the Similac ad is good. It made me laugh and cry and feel the feels. And yes, I am quite aware of the shlock factor. I am quite aware of the unethical practices that this company doesn't reveal. I am aware that their direct marketing is a not-so-subltle jab at the best intentions of a new mother to breastfeed.
I am also aware of the smugness and judgment of some of my breastfeeding compatriots. I see it all the time. Hell, I've even participated. And now this Similac ad, under the guise of "ending the mommy wars"- such a contrived and ridiculous false war- has in fact, ignited them anew. I am aware that in any war- real or contrived- real people get hurt. And I agree with my breastfeeding mamas that Similac knew exactly what they were doing.
But here's my question: aren't we breast-is-best moms just a teeny, tiny bit angry/disappointed that we didn't get there first? That we didn't extent the olive leaf to our formula feeding friends (or enemies) in as clever a way first? Because, as far as I've been able to tell, in large part, we haven't been doing that.
We've declared loud and clear that formula is poison. That it contributes to obesity, diabetes, and sets a baby up for unhealthy eating habits for life. Interesting that most of us who say this were formula babies ourselves. Neither I nor my husband (or my tall, skinny, healthy best friend) are obese, diabetic or dead. That's not to say that children haven't died from contaminated formula, or suffered complications from using formula. We know it has happened. But what are we really accomplishing when we loudly and proudly proclaim formula as an evil poison?
So far, I have never seen that work to pull any mother onto the side of breastfeeding. Nor have I seen it build relationships between women who breastfeed and women who use formula. I have friends on both sides. And while some would contend that staying 'silent' is tantamount to endorsing the evil formula companies, I would call bullshit. It's not about silence. It's about holding space for a mother who may not have had the support she needed to accomplish her breastfeeding goals. Because she is still a good mother… and maybe, just maybe, by having a laugh at a well-crafted ad and sharing stories, maybe this same formula-feeding mom may be better informed and supported and perhaps be successful with nursing her subsequent children. Or maybe she won't. I can almost guarantee that inviting said mom to my house and listing the ways in which her formula company is evil and conniving and unethical and how she is poisoning her child is not going to get me heard, is not going to build bridges.
I'll no sooner blame Similac for using shlock to sell a product than I will blame a dog for eating cat shit. THAT'S JUST WHAT THEY DO. I will however, not buy their product, not endorse their product, share my love of breastfeeding with the world while simultaneously supporting and loving my friends who use formula.
So, tonight, I will snuggle up with my husband (who is in advertising, by the way) after putting our two breastfed sons to bed, and we'll catch up on Breaking Bad. Not because we endorse the cooking and using of crystal meth, but because it's a damn good and entertaining show, and it brings up interesting points of conversation we might not have had otherwise.
Thank you for your time.
PS- there will undoubtedly be a lot of insistence that I could have given my son donor milk instead of formula. On that, I will highlight two points: 1. My son's digestive system was working at a rapid rate (a trait he inherited from both me and my husband). He very likely would have had the same response to donor milk, resulting in us wasting precious time and resources. Had I continued to be unable to produce, I likely would have gone that route. 2. By using donor milk, I might never have had the chance to breastfeed my son for the last four years. I suspect that if that had happened, I might well have had a great deal of anxiety around breastfeeding once my second son was born, and may have 'failed' a second time. But I guess we'll never know for sure.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)