All I need to keep breastfeeding my toddler.

When Desmond was five months old I managed to slip away one afternoon with out him.  I was a new size again, and I wanted to go shopping. I called my best shopping friend and she took me to the mall, the biggest mall, the one that makes me the most lost ever. It was a cold day, but it felt like spring, and we ran through the parking lot with no jackets on.

The reason why I remember this so vividly is because we were talking about breastfeeding. Desmond was almost 6 months and I was proud that I had made it to this milestone. I told her I definitely planned to keep nursing for at least a year ...Maybe even two. She was shocked, but only a little bit. She asked me sincerely, could I handle that kind of responsibility to my child for two ENTIRE years? At the time it seemed overwhelming to me. Five months had felt like forever, already. Could I really make it two years?

At this point I guess I can't answer that question. I'm only 15 and a half months in. But over these past 15 months things have only became easier relative to our rocky start. When I am honest with myself, I realize I have only grown to love it more. Every hurdle we meet we approach with an open mind and then we stride over with such ease that I think maybe we were meant to keep doing this a little while longer.

This past December, Desmond was 13 months old. We were celebrating Christmas with our extended family and, of course, I was nursing him. I am most comfortable nursing away from my family and, of course, no one said anything to me about it. It was almost laughable how I felt it bubble up inside me, the need to justify it to those around me.

There are so so so many reasons to justify breastfeeding a toddler. More than any one person could spew in a minute or two just to fill awkward silence. BESIDES, I said too loudly, my doctor told me to go all the way to two years old!* --cue nervous laughter and shifty eyes--

The truth is, I don't need to justify it to friends, family, or strangers. I don't need you to like it. I've done the research and I know it is what's best for my son and best for me, and that is all that I need to keep going.

Four hundred and seventy one days of breastfeeding, and no reason to stop now. 

So cheers to all the moms breastfeeding toddlers right now, are you reading this blog? How old is your nursling?

*My doctor did recommend we breastfeed until "at least" 2 years old, for a multitude of reasons, but mainly THIS.

From a Breastfeeding Mom to All Moms, Everywhere.

From a Breastfeeding Mom to All Moms, Everywhere.

I'm a breastfeeding feminist. I believe that breastmilk, evolutionarily, was made for human consumption. It is complex and, scientifically speaking, ideal for babies.

That said, there are times when mothers choose to quit breastfeeding. There are times when mothers choose to quit pumping breastmilk and bottlefeeding. There are times when mothers do not breastfeed at all.

And you know what bugs me the most out of all of this? That those mothers consistently feel the need to explain to us, the breastfeeders, the world, why they formula feed. Formula feeding moms feel the need to justify to the world - "This is why I'm not breastfeeding!" - they have to explain to us the reason why they made that parenting decision.

And yeah, that makes me pretty sad. Do you know why? Because I trust those moms to make that parenting decision. I am not those women. I do not live their lives, I do not know what they have gone through, I do not know the challenges they have faced. By that fact alone, I have no right to judge the choices they make regarding how they feed their babies. Even Jessica Valenti said that formula feeding was 100% right for her. Why should we ask her to justify that decision? We don't know her and we don't live her life.

A friend Sarah and I were out with a group of moms recently, and when I disappeared to talk to someone else, the topic of breastfeeding - and struggling with breastfeeding - came up. Sarah told me later that two other moms out of the large group professed having difficulties before my friend spoke up about her experience with public health nurses telling her she was starving her child and the subsequent the guilt trip she faced on the internet when she blogged about supplementing with formula. And she confessed to me that as soon as she put it out there, as soon as her story hung over the group in silence, she was nervous about what the other moms would say. Thankfully one wise mother piped up and said something I have said before, too: "We as mothers have enough to worry about, we need to be free to make the decisions that are best for our babies without being made to feel guilty."

If you formula feed or if you breastfeed - your baby is fed and loved and cared for. You are an amazing mom.

Squeaky D raises his fist in Solidarity

I do talk about breastfeeding a lot. It's what I do these days. But I've also shared the story of a Formula Feeding mom. I am a close supporter of many moms who formula feed. I want people to know that you can support and encourage breastfeeding without leaving formula feeding moms behind.

In the last week or so, things have become very heated in the feminist twitter community. Yes, there is one, it's weird and awesome all at the same time. Of course I love it.

Firstly, it must be addressed that there are some women who are not kind. Bluntly, that is it. There are women who champion breastfeeding without being considerate, without being kind or compassionate. Some of them even spread a hateful message. I do not stand behind these women, and I encourage everyone I meet to be inclusive and kind. This is very obviously a sensitive topic and I don't think there is anything wrong with treating it as such.

And secondly, breastfeeding in this modern time has become, unfortunately, something that is mysterious. There are a lot of misleading half-truths that are consistently spread by older generations, doctors, nurses, hospital "lactation consultants," and formula companies. We desperately want to spread truth about breastfeeding, and sometimes that means questioning things that women have heard.

For instance, someone shared in the midst of the kurfuffle that her mother could not breastfeed because she was intolerant to breast milk. Babies are not intolerant to breast milk. A baby could have an allergy or a sensitivity to something a mother is eating, but maybe that mother would have made the choice to eliminate peanuts or eggs (or whatever) from her diet and continued breastfeeding. Maybe not. But maybe so! And isn't it her right to know that and make an informed decision? It is hard for us breastfeeding mothers to stay quiet when we hear people repeating misinformation and all at once respect the relationship that mother may have with her choice to formula feed.

We know about the "mommy guilt," all of us. I know of it so deeply that sometimes it is crippling and I can feel weighed down and crushed by it. I can't imagine what it might be like to be bottle feeding publicly have have someone shame me for parenting my child. As a breastfeeder I fight for the right to breastfeed publicly but I have never had someone insinuate that I was a bad mother for breastfeeding. How upsetting, how demoralizing, how infuriating, how utterly cruel. This is not a comfortable position and I myself would probably also take a defensive stance. My worth as a mother is hardly defined by how I feed my baby. 

Please, my formula feeding moms, my fellow moms. Please understand that so many of us, we don't think you are stupid. We don't think you are uneducated. We don't think you didn't try hard enough. We don't think your baby is eating poison and we don't think your kid is going to be stupid.

We just want formula companies to stop their false advertising. We don't want them to lie to mothers anymore. We don't want them to pretend to offer breastfeeding support.

That's it, really. We just want the truth and the experts on breastfeeding to be the ones offering breastfeeding support. We want educated doctors, nurses, and internationally certified lactation consultants handing out unbiased information and support. I don't mind that formula companies exist and I think formula should be available, I just want them to keep a respectful distance from a mother's right to educate herself about feeding her baby.

We want all moms to make the best choice for them and their babies and their families. And you don't have to justify it to us, the breastfeeders, or anyone else.

Can I say it again? Your baby is loved and cared for. You are an amazing mom. We can all support all mothers so that each one knows her rights and has the access to make her best decisions, no matter what they may be.

He was refusing to breastfeed. What was I to do?

My baby refused to breastfeed at four months old. Was he trying to wean? 

I love breastfeeding my baby. Now that we have been doing this dance for over ten months, I can look back on our steps and see the areas where we lost our footing. Where we had become off-beat. How I was steadfast and determined, I simply didn't see any other choice and so I dug my heels in, turned up the music, and kept dancing, even if I didn't know what the dance was supposed to look like.

There have been moments where I was exhausted, confused, raggedly looking into the eyes of my friends and desperately pleading for a moment of sanity thinking - "Am I doing this right? Is this really how it is supposed to go?" Not knowing that when it comes to breastfeeding - and babies in general - there really isn't a "supposed to" about it.

When Desmond was four months old he woke up. That is, he realized he could see the world and couldn't tear his eyes away from it for one moment, not one. He only wanted to be held high enough to see over our shoulders, or facing away so that he could look look look at everything.

q u i e t n e s s

This made breastfeeding very hard. Friends would come to visit us and he would squawk, hungry like a tiny bird. I would gently bring him to my breast and he would hungrily root and latch. And then immediately become angry and arch his back away. Partly? This was a learned behaviour from the reflux. But mostly he did not want to look away from the world. He did not understand that snuggling into my breast meant he would no longer be hungry.

This was more than just a baby bobbing his head into the breast. More than just a baby pushing and pinching the breast. Those actions are signs of hunger often misinterpreted.

This was a baby, my baby, full on refusing to take the breast and suck or feed. This was a nursing strike. At a very young age.

I didn't know at the time but we were going through was something many women go through. At my LLL meeting, mothers saw him squawk in hunger, mothers saw him angry and refusing to be turned into the breast, angry at the suggestion that... maybe he'd like to eat? They offered their sympathy, they offered to help any way they could. Their eyes told me - "It's going to get better." As I packed up a finally full, finally sleeping baby to drive home in wintery darkness, Leaders would put a hand on my shoulder and thank me for being determined, for coming to the meetings. "Keep coming," they'd say.

Obviously I was petrified to leave my house to go anywhere else. How could I go to the grocery store? How could I go to the bank or the mall? My baby would become hungry, but what it took to feed him was at least a 15 minute ordeal that involved a lot of crying, a lot of that very screamy baby screaming that we call Code Red around here. And I was unable to juggle the two of us in any discreet kind of way. I couldn't very well plop myself down in the pickle aisle with my breast out and struggle with my screaming baby for 15 minutes. I wish that I could have, but people today wouldn't understand. Because What would people say? They would say breastfeeding is only okay if it is discreet. Right? We tell mothers No!

Not if a she needs to sit down on the ground and pull down her v-neck and leave it that way and THEN somehow finagle the L O U D E S T infant into quietness just so that she can get some fucking groceries, god dammit. No, not the mothers who really need it, not the mothers who are struggling. They can't be discreet so they are NOT OKAY IN PUBLIC.

There were only two things that I knew for sure in those days:

1. A four month old baby is not trying to wean. A four month old baby has no concept of those things. 
2.  A baby can't be distracted if it is already sleeping. 

And so we became very good at putting the baby to sleep without the breast at all. We wore Baby D and walked until he slept. We held him in our arms and danced around the livingroom until he slept. We held him to our chests and bounced gently on the exercise ball, humming and shushing, humming and shushing. Until he slept. And he would cry. But then he would sleep.

He sleeps.

Once his lungs were quiet and his eyes were closed, I could bring him to my chest and he would latch and he would suck and he would eat and eat and eat. And he would sleep. And I would visualize and take deep breaths, anything anything to get that letdown to come as fast as I could. Rushing rivers, gates opening, waterfalls of milks. Breathing deeply, my hand on his tiny head, celebrating; my baby is q u i e t.

We had cracked the secret code. And so all day I would feed him after he fell asleep. If he would fuss during a nap, I would lay beside him and let him eat. I would feed him again as he woke up. He started eating more over the course of the night to make up for the days. I didn't mind. Babies need to eat, and I wanted to feed him. I would breastfeed him anyway that we could make it work.

Every day it became easier until at one point - it stopped. He started making the connection and the dance became so much smoother, we were more than comfortable taking time-outs from the world to nurse. And then it was just gone. I can still remember the first day that he was happy and excited to breastfeed every. time. And I'm so grateful that I powered through that rough patch, that nursing strike, to emerge on the other side.

Now? Six months later I am even happier. This dance couldn't be any easier.

The List of Sounds I Like to Make. By Desmond.

Chattin'

 This week Desmond has added Duh, Tuh, Thuh, and Na to his repertoire of Noises.

If he were a list making man, I assume it would, all together, look something similar to the one below. Best read aloud, of course.

The List of Sounds I Like to Make. 
                             By Desmond. 

1. Goo
2. Ah
3. AhGoo
4. Guh
5. Bah
6. Mah
7. Muh
8. Deh
9. Der
10. Dee
11. Duh
12. Na
13. NANANANANANANANANANA (whiny)
14. Tuh
15. Thuh
16. pbbpbpbbpbbth (with spit for emphasis)

I was thrilled when he put together Mama and touched when he learned to throw his arms in my direction to ask for me. Yes, I'm aware that the novelty will wear off. For now I’m enjoying my talking baby. Even the off key public warbling, the late night babbling...

Even the NANANANANANANANANA.

A Letter to Des: You are a gift.

Desmond,

The day you turned six months old I wanted to write you a letter. I would tell you all the amazing things about yourself so that you could forever know how much I loved you on that day. How amazing you were, the incredible baby feats you could accomplish now that you have lived an entire half-year.

No more Wee Little Baby.

I would have told you how, now that you can completely sit, you love to throw toys behind yourself and then turn to see where they landed. How you turn to listen to me sing and laugh when I clap my hands for you. You laugh twice as hard when I clap your hands for you, too. You have learned how to put out your arm when you toss yourself towards a toy so that you don’t faceplant. You’ve learned to put up your arms and say Mama! Mama! When you need me to pick you up again.

I could have written about how you’ve learned to tear off your own socks, to carefully remove the adorable hats I love to make you wear. I could have written about how you figured out the most painful place to pull Mommy’s hair is the back of the neck. And earrings are fun shiny toys that need to be YANKED.

First Cart Ride!

I thought about how you’ve recently realized how awesome it is to suck on your thumb. I thought about writing out the way you recognize when I baby-sign for breastfeeding, how you giggle and snort and say YES PLEASE with your eyes. Or perhaps I would write about the fact that you are still a gargantuan baby at 21lbs and 28 inches long but thankfully hitting a plateau for a while.

All day I marveled at how magnificent you are, how magnificent life is that we all start so small, we all come so far as human beings. How lucky I am to have a little miracle like you to remind me of the beauty of life. When I look back at photos of tiny squidgely little newborn you it shocks me how far you have really come. How you had to cross those murky waters of consciousness and scream in my arms as you made your way through the acknowledgment of existence. We’ve had good days and we’ve had harder days but I’ve loved you more and more with each moment, no matter the effort the day required. I never knew love could have a growth curve like this, before you.

Exploring new senses.

That night we roasted a sweet potato and let you grab a wedge to feed yourself. You were overwhelmed by the texture, the taste of this new sense you had never experienced. You gummed it and spit it out and we laughed as you shook your head and made the sweetest frowny face that has ever existed.

And I realized I had not written about it. I had not taken the time to put it all down... And I was happy that I hadn’t.

You are a gift.

I was happy that instead I had treasured those moments. I looked into your eyes and I soaked up your smile from the first morning grin to the last sleepy bedtime smirk. I left the words to be written for another day and spent the entire day basking in your beauty, marveling at how brilliant and amazing you really are.

You are a gift.

Love,
Mommy.

My Brilliant High-Maintenance Baby

I have a confession.

I think I might have a high maintenance baby. As I write this, he is attempting to take a nap because he is exhausted. Every 20 minutes he cries like he has seen the boogeyman and needs me to come to him and gently pick him up so that he can calmly fall back asleep in my arms. I lay him down, he sleeps peacefully, and 20 minutes later we begin again.

Play with me!

If we are having an in-house day, he needs me nearby at all times. He likes to look up into my face and make sure everything is hunky-dory. He wants me to read to him. He wants me to play with him. He wants me to sing to him, change his diaper, sit him up, lay him down, put him in the Jump-mo-tron, take him out, carry him around, nurse him, toss him around, bounce him, nurse him while bouncing him, and GOD FORBID if I try to sneak out of the room while he naps. He knows. It's as if he can smell that I've left.

Does all of this make my baby difficult? No! All of this makes my superfluous life difficult! Blogging is difficult, cleaning is difficult, keeping my etsy store fully stocked is difficult, showering is difficult, having a quiet cup of afternoon tea is really difficult.

But I refuse to think about the time I spend with Baby D as difficult. I'll admit that I have felt overwhelmed. I have felt completely burried by his needs and his heartwrenching little cries. I had to make a choice and the choice seemed clear:

If I can't change this situation, then I am going to change my outlook. 

No longer do I "suffer" through naptime, I relish in our quiet bedtime moments. No longer is Desmond feeling "fussy" he is particular and dependent - he needs one of us to help him feel alright. No longer do I worry about my dusty furniture, uncooked dinners, unfolded laundry. I cheerfully spend my days on the floor where he wants me, singing made-up songs about him and his farts and his toes and how much I love him. I joyfully wear him around the neighbourhood to keep him entertained. I happily stay home in the evenings, missing most of the adult fun my friends are having, just to splash around in the bath, give him a baby massage, and cuddle him to sleep at night.

People ask me if he is a "Good Baby" and I still say yes. Of course he is a good baby, all babies are inherently good. If you want to know my heavily biased mom-pinion, he is more than just good. He is spectacular and brilliant and so emotionally connected. And I'm choosing to enjoy every damn second of his baby brilliance.



Tell me I'm not alone. Do you have a brilliantly high maintenance baby?

Mom Voice and Stockholm Syndrome

Alright, my little bean. You've done it. You have successfully laid claim to my head and brain and thoughts and words. My vocabulary is shot. My spelling and grammar is worse. I can't keep an appointment or coffee date in my mind long enough to make it real.

My Captor

You have won. 

I'm absolutely, 100% yours. My heart belonged to you the first time I heard yours beating. But now you've won my smart-ass wise-cracking quick wit, too.

These past three days I've had the chance to hear my recorded voice in two different instances. On Sunday This Manic Mama posted a Mother's Day podcast featuring an interview with me. Today I showed Desmond's Babushka a video of me prompting him to say her name: "Babababa."

Oh, the mom voice. It killed me. It literally stabbed me in the chest with its vile high pitched tone and pulled out all my pride with its sing songy joy. Just know that if you are ever near a mom and she is pulling out that crazy voice - chances are she knows how terrible it is. Chances are she wishes she wasn't doing it in front of you. And chances are she won't stop. I won't stop. I know I won't - he loves the mom voice. And I am a sucker to do the things he loves.

Because the deeper I get into this heart-stealing, mind-controlling, head-over-heels love I have for my son, the more I realize that parenting is just a really intricate, intimate, and joy-filled form of Stockholm Syndrome. And damn if he isn't the most lovable captor.

We Hope for More Good Days.

It's easy to post about the good days. The giggles. The smiles. The day he said Mamama for the first time. The day he sat up unassisted for a good chunk of the afternoon.

It's worthwhile to post about the inner dialogue. The struggle to connect with other women. The desire to stay neutral yet supportive when all moms are doing their very best.

It is so difficult to post about the hard days. The hard nights. The hard weeks on end. It would be so lovely to paint motherhood with this lovely brush, a scene where one woman has it all together and nothing ever goes wrong.

But it isn't like that in my household. We have hard days. We have especially hard nights. We have weeks without sleep and hours that stretch on and on like molasses in the sun. Sticky and tar black, inescapable.

Couch Cuddling on a hard day.

I could blame teething; the rivers of drool and rashy red cheeks tell me to expect baby teeth any time now. I could blame his sensitive tummy; one slip up in my elimination diet and he explodes into painful little sobs. He goes back and forth between wrenching around in pain and then stiffening harder than steel, all while breaking my heart with his little baby cries. I want him to know I would fix it if I could. I would rather feel it ten times worse than he ever has just to guarantee that he never will again.

The good days, oh we float! We are like clouds, we drift over the day in a haze of love, marvel at the sunshine and rain happiness on the people around us. We laugh and tickle, we strut around unconsiously bragging about our love bubble.

But the bad days, we close the curtains. We try anything. We try everything. But mostly we rock and cuddle. We dance and we bounce. We sing quiet songs and say "Shh shh shh, baby, I know. I know."

And we hope for more good days.

A Letter to Des: My Most Favourite Person

To Desmond, my most favourite person,

You are five months old today. All day I thought of writing you a letter to celebrate how incredible you are and all day I just marveled at you instead.

Sitting On Your Own

I can't believe it has been five months since I held you in my arms for the first time. It's hard for me to wrap my mind around how small you really are because to me you are everything, you are my world. And you seem so big, you seem like you have grown so much already. It is difficult for me to imagine all the places you'll go, all the thoughts you'll have - they are mysteries to me, a great secret to be discovered.

I don't want to miss a second of it. 

These days you are sitting on the floor - wobbly but independent. You think your feet are hilarious, and you giggle hysterically when I kiss them or blow raspberries on the soles. You clutch them and bring them to your mouth, but if I congratulate you your focus is lost and the feet disappear. This, however, doesn't slow you down. You are so big now that you've outgrown the baby tub and Papa juggles you, all slippery, in the big kid bathtub while you desperately try to put everything in your mouth. Two months ago you were just noticing your hands, exploring them for the first time. Now you masterfully grab and handle anything placed within your reach and cover it with your slippery mouth.

Jumping in all Your New Easter Gear

Your grandma and grandpa got you a Jolly Jumper for Easter and it is so strange to see you upright, standing there like the little person that you are. I love to watch you jump industriously, so much work to be done! You always look back at me and smile, checking to make sure I think this is as hilarious as you do. I do.

It's true that you don't like to let us get much sleep at night. Even though it gets hard and sometimes I feel completely spent, the cuddling, the kisses, the chubby little smiles make it all worthwhile. The other day you said Mamama and Papapa and we celebrated like you actually knew our names. Like you actually knew who we were and that we love you more than anything.


We do, you just don't know it yet. We do. And someday soon you will know it with all your heart.


A millionty kisses,
Mommy

#9. This Moment: Mirror Buddy

Mirror Buddy

{this moment}

A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savour, and remember.

If you're inspired to do the same

leave your link in the comments 

then go to Soule Mama and do the same.

TED Tuesday: Tony Porter's A Call To Men

If you are someone who doesn't understand what feminism is or why anyone would ever claim to be a feminist, this TED Tuesday is for you. This TED video, from the perspective of a man and father, changed how I approach the issue, especially now as a mother.

During pregnancy, I often wondered how mothering would fit into my feminist viewpoint. Or how feminism would fit into my mothering viewpoint. I had become a feminist breeder and was curious about what kind of impact this would have on how I felt about certain issues.

I knew just how to handle myself if we had a girl. All the things I would say, the opportunities I would offer her.

But oh, no. We had a boy. A beautiful boy, but in regards to my feminism... seriously outside my realm of experience. It might seem strange, but amongst all the soul-searching questions I asked myself, one that appears and re-appears often is - "How will I raise my boy to be a respectful feminist?"

To be honest, simply avoiding gender stereotypes has been hard enough. And then to add this notion of raising a respectful young person who grows up to be conscientious and respectful to all genders, while remaining knowledgeable about hurtful preconceived ideas... Well, it will be a journey we will explore together to say the least.


Tony Porter's A Call to Men TED speech came at me out of left field. As he tells powerful and moving stories from his own life, he is honest and vulnerable - he allows himself to say what I have rarely heard men say before: Don't "act like a man." The cliche to "act like a man" alone is so telling about our social climate where young boys are told that if they don't demonstrate power and control (especially over women), then they aren't really a man - and if they aren't a man, they are worthless. As worthless as what?  A woman?

Enjoy this video, and let me know what you think.



xox
Farren

A History of American Motherhood

I don't have a TED talk for you today. I'm in the middle of moving, actually I'm going through all my creative gear and crafting supplies right now, and things have been so hectic that I haven't really had the time to watch anything!

But I have been listening! Today I listened to an incredible podcast from backstoryradio.org about the History of Motherhood in America. Though at first I was skeptical [how can three men present an accurate and unbiased representation of Motherhood?], it turned out to be a very entertaining and very informative historical podcast with several different guest questions and viewpoints. They even presented a feminist perspective.



Though I don't think it is a complete look at what it is to be a Modern Day Momma in North America, I do think it was worth listening to, and definitely worth checking out if you are into the cause and effect that historical accounts can so often underline.  While I do not have a TED talk for you today, I present to you the first podcast I have recommended,

Click here to Listen to The Good Mother: A History of American Motherhood 

The most interesting piece of information, in my opinion, was the account of Anna Jarvis, the "inventor" of Mother's Day - and what she actually intended Mother's Day to represent and to celebrate. Her intentions were much more noble than a box of chocolates and a bouquet of $9.99 roses - and next Mother's Day, I intend to make sure that people are aware of positive ways they can celebrate their mothers as well as make positive changes to their communities.

The best way to clean up!

When I was younger, I loved playing and hated cleaning up. Who didn't, right?
My sister and I loved our lego, barbies, troll dolls (remember them?!), blocks, and pretty much anything else with many tiny pieces. You know the ones that seem to float all over the floor, but never in the toy bin where they belonged?

Toys inside, the playmat hangs nicely.

Then one year we received PlayMats from my Auntie Lana who is probably the craftiest person in my extended family - I can remember LOVING how easy clean up became: just throw everything into the middle of the circle, pull the drawstrings and it turns into a bag that holds all your toys until next time!

The playmat opens up for playtime.

Now that I have made a few of my own PlayMats for friends and their families, I also realize what a great great gift bag they make - the kids may not be into it at first, but Mom always is, and the kids come around the first time they use it. You can find more pictures of this playmat in my Etsy shop!

Simply Pull the Drawstrings - All clean!