Very Big Thing - The Cheese Edition.

a Very Big Thing is happening. I haven't tweeted about it because there has been too much to say. I haven't blogged about it because the vastness of my feelings about this subject were surely going to be misconstrued.

We had Squeaky D allergy tested. I was terrified, for many reasons. It was all very complicated.

But when the RAST test happened without a single tear shed, without a single food reaction. A heavy veil was lifted. Because we only tested six items, the allergist asked if we wanted to do a blood test. He was concerned about my reports of gastric pain in Baby D, about his belly rashes and eczema. Signs of sensitivity to something, he said.

The slippery slope of cute.

And then I was terrified about drawing a toddler's blood. People do this all the time! I told myself, unable to convince myself. Thankfully good friends advised me to go to the Stollery Children's Hospital and ask for a pediatric collector. They told me exactly how to hold him, and in the end it went much better than anticipated (besides the nurse telling me afterwards not to breastfeed him when he was crying in case he chokes. MEGALOL.), and he got a sticker at the end, which made him very proud. Who knew he gets stickers now? Not me.

The results came back perfectly clear! The only test that wasn't done was the test for Celiac Disease, as neither of us consume gluten and you have to have the protein in your system for 6 weeks prior to the blood test.

So? WE HAVE BEEN EATING CHEESE AGAIN, YOU GUYS.

CHEESE! And firetrucks and horses, I guess.

I've been dying to say something. Brie! Havarti! Swiss! Feta! Edam! All my favourite cheeses! I ate a creamy dip. I had scrambled eggs! There has been mayonnaise, a latte, ice cream, and OMG REAL GREEK YOGURT. Cookies baked with egg and butter.

I will say this. I'm skeptical. Very skeptical. Squeaky D so far hates egg and dairy. Refuses to eat much of anything, including melted cheese (Theories abound that he may not be mine, but I watched him come out of me and he didn't really leave my sight after that, so...). His eczema on the backs of his hands has become worse. At first, he did have little bumps across his belly though it seems to have become a mix of eczema and dry skin, now. The medical community tells me that this is simply NOT related to his diet, it could be anything they say.


So here I sit, a baby who is suffering, doctors who have no answers, and a mountain of milk chocolate at my disposal. Milk chocolate, you guys.


A Very Big Thing, indeed.

#34: Cat in Box, Toddler with Blocks.

Chairman Meow isn't always this patient.

{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.

The quick step of a toddler.

There was a time in your childhood that your father played music in a band. He sits with you, in the bathroom while you play in the tub, and plays guitar softly. Or sometimes he plugs his bass guitar into his amp and grooves a bath-time beat for you.

Every now and then I can hear him, stopping to help you keep water in the tub, congratulating you on your latest watery concoction, a bucket full of water and toys.

You are one year and four months old and you are so alive. It is springtime, almost, we can feel it if we breathe in deep at the right time of day. Trees have buds, but are holding their breath. The days tumble by with the quick step of a toddler learning to use his feet and balance. And you love to stomp around, you've only just mastered the vertical existence, and already you see the power and potential in this independence.

Best Buds

You say things like no! And oh oh, mournfully, of course. You use more and again to get what you need. You know how to sign sleep when you are tired, help when you are frustrated, and of course milk, well, anytime, really.  You say car! and point out our low front windows at neighbourhood traffic. You say car! and push around any toy that rolls saying brbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbbrr. You build towers out of blocks, not just knock them down. You ask me to turn the music on in the morning and then you dance until nap.

 When you laugh, when you are simply delighted, you throw your head back and exclaim HA! You don't ever want to hold anyone's hand. You are never still enough for a really crisp photograph anymore, unless you're eating or nursing.

Sometimes it strikes me, it physically stops me in my tracks, how magical you are. How fantastic it is to watch you grow and discover. How un-cussing-believable it is that you came from me, that I get to help you build this experience called life. How big and important that makes me in your eyes, how small and tiny and spec-like it makes me feel in my eyes.

Beautiful magical baby.

This time last year I was much more afraid. Everything scared me, everything. I had to shovel myself out the door, shock myself into being human, into showing you the world. This year I am excited. The world is brimming with possibilities and I want to show you how spectacular and brilliant summer-time can be.

I want to show you bugs and water animals, I want to built forts in the urban forests and picnic in their shade. I want to take you camping and show you lake swimming. I want to dance on the green grass with you under the stars and fire-flies.

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.

Ten and a half things.

In the interest of posting more lately, and because I feed off the tidbits of information my internet-pals put out there, I will happily play the role of the tagged in this meme, as dictated unto me by Sarah of A Random Sampling. She rocks, and so did her 10.5 things, so I couldn't let her down. Here are mine:

#1 - A picture of me. I chose this picture because lately I feel like such a wuss. I need to challenge some of my own inner bad ass.

#2 - 10 Random Facts about Me

1. I still have an old Super Nintendo system kicking around, even though we don't have a TV, and I swear that I will kick your ass at Dr Mario.
2.  We have very little art hanging on our walls because we rent this house and the walls are made of thick old plaster. And it chips. And we're terrified of being charged for damage. This leaves me feeling really uninspired by our place right now.
3. I really super duper love rainbows. I have a lot of rainbow things, like mugs, shirts, scarves, and yes. Suspenders. 
4. I collect records. It's something that happened after my dad bequeathed me his amazing collection of albums and 45s from 1956-1981. I fell in love with the sound of needle on vinyl and I've been adding to my collection ever since.
5. I grew up in the country and I know how to toss a bale of hay around.
6. People are usually surprised by this because I go to Burning Man, but I'm actually not super duper into electronic music. I mean, some of it is pretty good and I've enjoyed some DJs more than others, but nothing beats live grungy dirty rock and roll. No? 
7. I'm afraid I might be addicted to chips. I might be, you guys. I eat a lot of chips.
8. I used to be able to write poems. I used to have the time and inspiration to write something that could sound good and be witty and more than 140 characters. Sigh. 
9. Clean sheet day makes me happier than it should.
10. My absolute most favourite book in the world is Jitterbug Perfume by Tom Robbins. 

Sarah's Questions:

1. What was the first album you ever purchased (vinyl, tape, or cd)?
The first CD I ever bought myself was The Offspring - Smash in the 6th Grade. It opened my eyes to punk music! 
2. What was the first accessory you bought with your own money?
I bought this little grey and black messenger bag purse in Grade 7, I thought I was so slick.
3. Favourite gift you’ve ever received?
Someone once wrote a song for me for my birthday. <3 
4. The coolest person you’ve ever met?
Don't tell Mandude, but I think he is pretty cool. 
5. The item in your home with the most sentimental value?
My old teddy bear. 
6. The grossest thing in your refrigerator right now?
My coconut yogurt went bad before I even opened it. Very green. 
7. Something you always purchase at the grocery store?
Nuts of some sort. Coconut milk.
8. One thing you hope to accomplish this year.
Write. Write. Write. 
9. Your current favourite song.


10. What we’d eat together if I showed up on your door step today.
I would make you some of our leftovers from dinner, a buffalo chicken wrap with daiya cheese, some vinnyegrett (Russian beet salad), and maybe a power fruit smoothie. No seriously, I didn't name it.

Tagged: Jessica, Riley, Opal, Amanda

1) What would 17 year old you say if they could see you now?
2) It's your birthday and you can eat anything you want all day with no repercussions. What's on the menu?
3) Name one thing that scares you.
4) What book have you read that has changed you?
5) What song gets you up and motivated?
6) If you could be anywhere right now, where would you be?
7) What is your favourite app on your phone? If no smart phone, favourite website.
8) Name a guilty pleasure.
9) Which famous person would you like to meet?
10) Describe your hugging style in three words.

Has it been a year?

I wear my age proudly, like a child.

Each year that passes, I look back at what I've come through. I thumb through old journal entries and letters. I think to myself, I have survived this. I made it through the difficult days and the wonderful ones, too. Each year just seems to get easier.

So, why not? Be proud of how I get older, I mean. It's fantastic, isn't it? Like a puzzle I am building - aiming for a picture of grace, wisdom, humour, and compassion.

February 2010

Sometimes this motherhood thing can be intense. It's true that everybody tells you, everybody says: it changes you. But what they don't say is that it can rip the you right out of your body for a while. Right out of your experience. That you will find yourself watching your life pass by as though you aren't even living it anymore.

You are so quickly thrown into the fire of passion and motherhood that you don't even have time to notice how you are not you. You are other. It isn't necessarily bad. It is just so scary, at first, and so different. It can be hard to know exactly where you are going, anymore, and if you are going anywhere at all. I used to be a steam engine, laying tracks seconds before I powered over them. And now I ask myself if I am even going anywhere at all. We've scaled this mountain side, and now we take pause. Which path leads this train to happiness?

Even now, as I explore this new role, I'm still dig dig digging into the back of my mind, deep in self-reflection. Even now, nearly a year later. Nearly a year since I walked out of the hospital wide-eyed in disbelief that they were letting us take this tiny fragile human being home in our care. To our home. Forever. Even now, I'm still not sure who I am.

But I can see myself, coming through the forest, with a steady pace and a more confident step than I have had in years. I can see all the strength inside myself, the willingness to be magnificent and electric. Without ego. Simply to be the best human I can be, for myself, for my son. Within my own boundaries. 

And I like that the glimpses of my old self still shine through in so many tenacious and spectacular ways.

Going dairy-free for my nursling was the easiest choice.

I spend a lot of time talking about gluten-free, dairy-free, egg-free, yadda yadda yadda-free eating. And this is why my recipes are gluten free and dairy free. It's not exactly my idea of the perfect diet, says the cheese-loving egg-nog-missing me. But it has been by far the best choice I could ever make for me and my family.

Allow me to explain.

Around August of 2009, I started to put two and two together (OMG, FOUR!) and realised that I was not healthy and in denial. For a large part of my adult life I had been sick and still did nothing about it. So I started reading. I talked to a doctor, I talked to many friends with similar afflictions, and I decided to reduce gluten in my diet.

I started feeling a lot better. I reduced it even further. I immediately noticed that my skin was better, my stomach felt better, I was less bloated, I didn't spend hours in the bathroom every morning. Within a month my depression had lifted. Within two months, my lady-cycle was regular.

After I became pregnant, I noticed anything gluten made me much sicker than before and completely stopped eating anything with gluten. Now even a slight slip up and I am violently ill.

Easy peasy, right?

I wish that were all. After the birth of my son (almost a full year ago? holy balls.) there was a steep learning curve. He threw us for a loop. Why was he always coughing, sputtering, and screaming? Why did his breath smell like acid, why does he hiccup all day and arch his back away from me when I try to nurse him? Don't babies like to nurse? The doctor diagnosed him with reflux, gave us a prescirption and sent us on our way. We used it, and it helped with the reflux, but not with the tummy pains. And definitely not with the mucousy, frothy green poops. Yeah, that's right, poop talk. I'll try to keep it limited.

All of this, of course, was accompanied with one very unhappy baby. So we searched for answers. Several mothers recommended eliminating certain things from my diet, especially dairy, so I played around with it and saw results. Three weeks off dairy completely and we were able to ditch the reflux medicine. This led me to try a full elimination diet, eating only rice, chicken, some vegetables and few fruits for two weeks, and then slowly re-introducing foods.

At first it was very apparent that Squeaky D reacted to dairy, egg, soy, and peanut, and at the time I also suspected beef, beans, citrus, and tomato, though I can thankfully eat those now!  Lately I have also stopped eating cashews and shellfish because of recent reactions. Some of these we have actually let him try, like egg, and he has had rashes across his face and chest almost immediately afterward. Scary.

Eczema Baby D - Still getting rid of dairy

For a long time I had nothing but the anecdotal experience of very wise Mamas to back me up, and a lot of defending to do about my diet and our restrictions to family and friends. I've been told to give it up and "just wean to goat's milk" because this all must be "fake" or "too hard." But then I read Dr Jay Gordon's article analyzing dairy protein allergy in children and nurslings and I felt vindicated. More and more literature supports nursing moms who decide to eliminate dairy and other foods from their diet.

And honestly. It hasn't been that difficult. There have been times when I have forgotten to read ingredients and had a slip up, and ohh boy. There is nothing inside me that wishes that kind of pain on my little boy, no amount of delicious applewood smoked gouda could convince me to go through the terror that the following two days (and three nights) would bring. No matter how drool-worthy.

So that is why all my recipes are weirdly dairy free. And egg free. And gluten free. And all that other stuff free. I have enjoyed the challenge of teaching myself to cook, especially within these interesting restrictions. And I love me a happy, healthy baby.

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.

#22. This Moment: Dapper Baby D

Hey. I know it is Saturday. But if I want a full year's worth (fifty-two!) of these, I gotta play catch up now and then.

Dapper Baby D

 {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.

What is Burning Man about? I'll tell you.

Yes, I have been to Burning Man. And the number one question I hear is, "What is Burning Man about?"

I'll tell you.

No, Burning Man isn't a giant rave in the desert. Despite what you've heard, it isn't really about music. It isn't about sex or drugs or nudity either.

Burning Man 2009 - Open Playa

It is about people. It is about community. It's about coming together and creating a city void of social status, void of judgement, void of consumerism and greed.

A 3-Story woman made from cables.

It is about pushing ourselves to the limits just to see what we can do. It is about respecting our peers and giving them the space to be and do what makes them happiest. It is about realizing your own personal abundance and gifting the excess to everyone and anyone who happens by. It is the realization that everything we do - a hug, a shared story, a smile, a gin and tonic for a friend - is an experience, a gift of its own right. It's about Art. Or the idea that creativity doesn't live within the boundaries of success and failure.

Yes I made this costume myself.

It is about always striving to be a participant and never just a spectator.

And this year I am staying home. I stayed home last year, too, seven months pregnant and no way in hell was I interested in the physical toll that is living in a tent in a dried up dusty desert-hot lake bed. But my Handsome Mandude wasn't going, either, and I was content in taking a year off.

This year I am not pregnant. I am a Mama. And my Handsome Mandude is venturing down into the desert without me. And he is bringing two of my closest friends.

Yours truly, FireHooping before we lit up The Man

It's true that I could probably go. Other Mamas with babies as young as mine (or younger) find a solid babysitter and make the trip. I'm, personally, not ready to be away from Squeaky D for that long. And I'm breastfeeding and that relationship is more important to me.

And maybe it is possible to bring a baby to Burning Man. But I wouldn't, and I would advise anyone thinking about it not to do it. I'm just not sure it is fair to bring a little person into a world so dusty, hot, overstimulating, borderline dangerous, and overwhelming with no real means of escape. At least not until they can communicate to you about it.


I guess I'm just feeling nostalgic about the whole thing. About the freedom of it all, to be myself and to be fearless about it.  Nostalgic about the people that I've met there, the friendships I have made. The incredible art that people work so hard to drag into the desert for me to climb on, experience, and enjoy.

This Cape used to be a tablecloth.

The ability to wear whatever I want; a tutu, a fur bikini, a bad-ass road warrior leather ensemble, or a giant red cape made from my friend's old silk tablecloth. I'm remembering the cool desert evenings filled with rushing to eat, clean, dress, be ready for the chill and excitement of the dark dark night. The laughter and spontaneity of riding our blinky glowing art bikes through dunes of playa dust, veering from structure to structure, covering miles of rock hard earth just to seek out a little bit of adventure and exhilaration. I'm wistful over that feeling at the end of the week, covered in a dust so fine that no amount of washing seems to take it off, bursting with desire to create, create, PARTICIPATE, climbing the highest art piece and shouting my poetry into the dust storms. Seeing The Man explode with fire, the culmination of all our excitement and experience, until he dwindles down to nothing but embers, ashes, nuts, and bolts.


I'm feeling nostalgic about The Temple, the most quiet and sacred space at Burning Man, built carefully with intricate details, then flooded with emotion literally stapled, written on, and pinned to its wooden walls. Then on the last day, fifty thousand people gather silently - absolutely silently - and solomnly watch it burn down. Let me just say, there is something beyond magical about being one of fifty thousand quietly contemplating all that it means to see the week end and the temple burn to the ground.

Temple in Daylight

Temple at Night

I was going to write a post about how experiencing Burning Man - how being a Burner - has made me into a better parent. But instead I was feeling nostalgic and wrote this. So, in the spirit of art and community and sharing, I will leave you with a poem that I wrote after my first year at Burning Man, a poem that will be pinned up to this year's Temple which, eventually, will burn down to the ground. Simply because it must. And I'll talk about parenting another day.

=================

Handsome Mandude and I

there were good things and magnificent things 

and bad things and horrific things and i saw them all, 

i experienced them all, and they made me different. 

i blocked the sun and i made it shine, 

i helped and hindered time 

and allowed this mass to hurtle onwards. 

i rolled my eyes and rolled my tires 

over dunes of pure dust, through walls of it, 

rolled in it, slept in it, basked in it. 

i climbed on creation and filled my eyes 

and my hands, my mouth. 

my heart. 

i was part of an awe-filled silent crowd 

and i joined gangs of animals 

surging out loud. 

it seethed and was frigid, 

it was comforting, chilling. 

i swung and was flung, 

and we laughed, we wove stories, 

we shimmied, we shared, and we cried. 

we created community and we burned it all to the fucking ground
just to see if we can do it again next year.

xox

Farren Square

Breastfeeding is a crazy (wonderful) thing.

You know, breastfeeding is a crazy thing.

Forget the fact that it is a hot-button issue these days. Forget that it is often disrespected and women are shamed for nursing publicly. Even forget the fact that people who don't understand it, often, for some INSANE reason, sexualize it.

Just think about how, for thousands and thousands of years, it was the only choice. It literally IS how our species has survived infancy since the beginning of our time. Wow. Not only that, but think about how truly complex and fantastic our human bodies - our mammal bodies - are for being able to not only create and store milk, but to transfer it to our babies in such a loving and comforting way.

Before I go any further, I want to make a disclaimer. I want everyone reading this to know how I feel about breastfeeding and mothers who do otherwise. There are no hard feelings here - and I want to stress that we all love our babies and we all share, cultivate, and bask in this love in meaningful ways no matter how we feed them. It is true that, unfortunately, some mothers have more success than others. But to all of you who have put a baby to breast, who have breastfed at all - think back to the calm quiet moments, even if those moments can be so few in those early weeks. Think to yourself - My body made colostrum, my body made milk and I gave it to my baby. I did that! 

Breastfeeding Then.

Maybe it is just that, in all my life, I had actually never considered my body's potential in this way. In the last decade of my life I have noticed a very profound appreciation for my body's potential in many different ways. I could jump, and climb trees, ride my bike pretty fast. I could swim fairly well. I rode horses and ran races and drank an obscene amount of alcohol in my early twenties. My body was great.

In the last four years of life, my appreciation grew deeper. I started sharing my poetry. And people other than me liked it! I met a handsome mandude who taught me how to view each experience as an opportunity to see art and creativity. I went to burning man and experienced a real community, a life lived without fear of judgement - FOR REAL - for the very first time. I realized that the most single important and incredible thing that we could do as humans was to create. We can create something from nothing at all - a painting, a poem, a novel, a dance, a warm moment, a hug, a crazy wild experience - from nothing but the pit of our minds and maybe a bit of legwork. My body was amazing.

And then I became pregnant and I realized that, though we both had a hand in it, I was completely on my own in growing and creating this tiny little life inside me. I couldn't help but ponder, as it squiggled around in there, how fantastic it was that I had a factory inside me for making more of me. I felt very connected to the women who came before me, who had carried the beginnings of humanity. I could sense the juxtaposition of how far we have come laid against what has not changed, will never change. But mostly I ate. And grew. And ate and grew, and the baby did, too, and my mind expanded along with us. This is crazy, I thought. I made a HUMAN BEING with thoughts and preferences and an idea about the world someday. And I'm going to push it outta me and then what!

Breastfeeding Now.

And then what? I started breastfeeding. And my baby emptied my colostrum. And my baby brought in my milk. And then, through those first days, that haze so thick with love, and soreness, and obsession, and sleep deprivation, and love - it struck me. Breastfeeding is so intricate; a mix of hormones, knowledge, support, instinct, circumstance, confidence, and science. Breastfeeding is at once complex and natural. It is so easy and perfect and yet at times it can be a struggle. And you know? It wasn't all easy for me, and I think it is okay to be honest about that, but I grew to love it. Ultimately, I was sustaining human life. An entire life, outside of mine. I was nourishing his every need with my body. This blew me away. Here he was, my son. And we could lay, stomach to stomach and doze. And he was being fed.

And then I realized. Our bodies are good and amazing. They are fantastic and spectacular! And breastfeeding is a crazy (wonderful) thing.

Happy World Breastfeeding Week.

Smoked Salmon Gluten Free Penne {Rookie Recipe}

I haven't done a recipe in a while but when I posted on twitter that I had made a gluten-free smoked salmon and mushroom penne with white wine dill sauce... people started asking how I made it.

And I have to admit. This is the best accident I have EVER thrown together. Ever. This meal turned out accidentally amazing and it is dairy-free, too. My go-to pasta yum sauce used to be pesto. Now it is this. Yes pasta yum sauce is a thing.

Gluten Free and Dairy Free and IMPROVISED? Unbelievable.

Smoked Salmon and Mushroom Gluten Free Penne in a white wine sauce.

What I used:

• 1 Bag of Tinkyada Pasta Joy Brown Rice Flour Gluten Free Penne
• 1/3 cup Extra Virgin Olive Oil
• smoked salmon, sliced
• fresh garden dill
• fresh garden chives
• sage
• four cloves of garlic, minced
• a handful of mushrooms
• around a cup of white wine 
• dill

What I did:
I always over cook the pasta. I happen to love over cooked brown rice pasta. But I reccomend you cook the pasta to your taste, strain and put it aside. In olive oil, saute the chopped fresh chives, and garlic. Add a sprinkling (or more) of sage, sliced mushrooms, and the smoked salmon, stirring over medium heat. Add white wine - I suggest starting small and adding more. Too much is too much, so go easy. As the white whine bubbles down, add the cooked pasta and fresh dill then stir until everything is coated.

Hell yes, right? So easy, so delicious, so simple. I'm having seconds right now.

Baby + Camping = Success!

I have always loved camping. Camping in a tent, camping in a trailer, in the forest or the desert - for a party or as a quiet chance to reconnect with nature. Hell, I’ve even been a summer camp counselor, taking children into the forest for money. I freaking love camping.
Des was born in November and I knew immediately that we would be taking him camping as soon as we had the chance. Not only do we have a few weddings and festivals lined up where we will need to be camping, we also just wanted to bring him into the woods, show him clear crisp lakes and how excited birds can be in the morning. We wanted to show him how tall trees can be and how beautiful they look contrasted in the blue blue sky. That naps in the shade are spectacular. We wanted to get out of the city together.

Camping is an excellent experience, there is nothing quite like the magic of sleeping in a tent, waking up and not knowing the time, seeing the shadows of tall grass and leaves dancing in the wind.

Tent Naps are Peaceful

As a duo, we were seasoned-enough. We were mostly self-reliant campers, albeit not very organized. If we forgot something, we made do. If it was vital, we still tried to smile through it - after all, we never forgot the booze!

Add a tiny dependent non-verbal human into the mix and things get complicated, as usual. Booze will not fix a leaky cold tent, for a baby. Babies don’t just grin and bare it if something vital is forgotten.

Beach Babywearing

Thankfully, we found not too much is actually 100% vital for a little baby as young as ours. We were able to pack everything we needed into our small-ish Toyota and successfully camp for two overnights. Going into it I felt organized yet sure we would forget something, so typing it out like that? Well, it makes me feel pretty damn good.

We camped with our baby for the first time and it didn’t suck, world! It was beyond good, it was incredible.

And we are doing it again this coming weekend. We leave Thursday morning for Freezer Burn, which is our regional Burning Man event.

Over the upcoming weeks I’m going to be sharing some things that have been working for us while we explore camping with a baby. This means meal planning, packing for a baby under one, picking a campsite and creating a safe space for baby, outdoor crafts and activities for preschool aged kids, and other ideas. If there’s anything you’d be interested in seeing, I’m all ears!

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.

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

Visit me at Tales of an Unlikely Mother!

Tales of an Unlikely Mother: Mommy Friends: A How-to Guide

Today Darlena from Tales of an Unlikely Mother has featured a guest post from little old me! It is about my experiences as a lonely and bored Stay at Home Mom and how I had to venture out and make some Mommy Friends to save my sanity.

In this guest post I give a few tips about getting out of your comfort zone, staying open minded, and, of course, different ways and places that you may be able to meet other moms!

Darlena is a truly funny and candid writer with a big heart for her two little -unexpected- twin toddler girls, so while you are there check out the rest of her blog. She is always making me laugh, I'm sure you'll find a guffaw or two!

This is my first guest post and I'm very excited (nervous!) about it. If you like my guest post, I'd love it if you left your thoughts in a comment there and then share the post freely! Click here to visit!

Thanks for the support, everyone. You are all so amazing!

xox
Farren

Being a Mom is Hard Enough - Guest Blogger Cerlandia

Before becoming a Mom Sarah received a Master of Arts degree in Sociology and worked with troubled youth. Currently she enjoys staying at home with her two young children and crafting whenever she has free time. You can see what she's up to over at Cerlandia.

I had to really think hard about doing this guest post. I was incredibly honored to be asked, but I value my family's privacy (as well as my own) and I try to find humor in all things. Unfortunately, there's not a lot of humor in this story; even I who can find humor in Husband finding out his product was moving to Seattle while our kitchen was torn down to the studs still fail to find humor in Daughter's birth story.

Or better, the story of why I was unable to breast feed. I talked with Husband about the privacy issues I had with it and we both agreed that people need to know that not everyone can breast feed, nor does everyone want to for their own reasons. People should be respectful of other's choices and in part, it was this lack of respect that made me hate leaving the house when I knew I had to feed Daughter. I will try not to get up on a soap box, but I make no promises. I'm sure that I will be opening myself up to a lot of criticism, but as a tech at the emergency room who was trying to start an I.V. told me, I have tough skin.

When Husband and I found out we were pregnant there was a mix of emotions, but we came to terms and we were excited. We chose a wonderful midwife whom we both really liked and the pregnancy was going so well. The baby was doing great, there was no reason to think she wouldn't be healthy. Until 31 weeks. I had a tiny spot of blood and mentioned it at my appointment the next day. Turns out I was 1.5 cm dilated, the head was down way lower than it should have been and after the stress test the midwife found that I was having contractions every minute. I had no idea. A premature contraction feels a lot different than a full term contraction (I learned that later - it has been likened to your baby curling into a ball) and pair that with my high pain tolerance I didn't even notice. We were sent off to the hospital (I think this was 4 days before Christmas) where I was admitted for three days while they did their thing to stop the contractions and gave me steroids to help her lungs develop. There is a bit of irony there as I wanted an all natural pregnancy only to end up getting steroids.

I made it two weeks on bed rest until my water broke. Daughter was born at 33 weeks and 3 days (I used to say she was 6 weeks early until a doctor clarified that they call that 7 weeks early). During labor a doctor from the NICU came in telling us what to expect having a baby that early. I don't really remember anything but the baby will most likely be in the hospital until the due date. The birth was not the easiest, but that's a story for another day. I was only able to hold her for less than 5 minutes. We did skin to skin, but didn't even try having her latch on because the doctors were worried about her breathing. She was taken to the NICU for tests and to get cleaned up, but we were told they would bring her back if she showed signs of wanting to eat. About an hour later when they were done cleaning me up we asked the midwife to go back and see about her. She came back with great news; Daughter was going to be brought to our room!

That's when the breast feeding struggles began. Turns out that back in the NICU they decided (even though our chart and the bassinet clearly stated I wanted to breastfeed) to give her an ounce of formula. At the time I had no idea the damage that may have been done; that you're supposed to nurse your baby as soon as possible. It wasn't until 6 hours later, when it was well past her next feeding, that the nurse had a lactation consultant come in. It wasn't that I didn't try to get help from the nurses, because I had. Daughter's latch on looked wonderful, she wasn't sucking. I kept trying to tell the nurses there was something wrong and they kept putting me off telling me the lactation consultant would be in as soon as she came in for the day. Approximately 12 hours after Daughter was born a pediatrician was called in and confirmed that there was indeed something wrong. Her blood gases were high and she wasn't getting enough oxygen. Plus a heart murmur.

The day after she was born

Here's something else a lot of new moms may not know, if you can't breastfeed for any reason, it is important that you pump as soon as you are able. And then every 2-3 hours after. Nobody brought a pump to my room until 14 hours later. I got the tiniest amount of colostrum for her and then my milk came in. I pumped ever 2-3 hours for the almost 4 weeks Daughter was in the NICU and made an ounce a day. That is what she was eating every 3 hours. You would think the nurses would have been supportive, but the NICU was my first experience being judged simply because I didn't make enough milk. Not because I wasn't trying, I did skin to skin every time I was there and pumped every 2-3 hours. I don't think I went out except to get a meal once in a while or visit the NICU. I heard such comments from the nurses as:

This is all you have for us?

You need to drink more fluids!

Don't you know this is the amount she drinks at one feeding?

I already felt like a failure for having a premature baby, but now I got to feel like a double failure because my body didn't produce enough milk for my child. I never got to see the lactation consultant in the hospital again; unless you were having issues feeding you didn't get to see her (it was a large hospital and she was extremely busy). We did rent a hospital grade pump, like it was recommended, it just didn't help.

When Daughter was getting healthier and her sucking reflex started to kick in I wanted to breast feed. Not one nurse encouraged it. Instead I was told that I could breast feed but that she'd still have to be fed the ounce of formula since I wasn't making that much and she couldn't lose weight. I was told that the doctors needed to know how much she ate and they wouldn't be able to tell that if I breast fed, but the choice was ultimately mine. So basically if I wanted to doom my daughter to the fate of being in the NICU longer then I could breast feed. At least that's how it sounded to me. I should have fought more, but I really really just wanted Daughter home so I let them give her the formula.

Two days before she went home

When we got home from the hospital I tried breast feeding a lot, but I had a lot of the same fears. We were told at discharge that if she didn't eat so much per day (and we were supposed to keep track) that she'd be back in the hospital. Nobody told me that it would be okay to breast feed and then bottle feed. That it wasn't a big deal to mix formula and breast milk and that my daughter would be able to tell me if she wasn't getting enough food. Instead we were taught (like a lot of NICU parents) that we should not trust a preemie.

The Monday after she was discharged we had an appointment at the breast feeding clinic (the one they never told me that I could have gone to when she was in the NICU to get help with low milk supply) and the lactation consultant walked in to us giving her a bottle. You would think that a lactation consultant, or anyone really, would be happy that at least the baby was getting food. But no. She seriously yelled at us. As in raised her voice and yelled at us for giving her formula. And so I explained why I was giving her formula and that's when she became helpful. She told me to breast feed, then give the bottle, and then pump to try to increase my milk supply. She also gave me some herbs to try and told me that there was a prescription medication that could also take, but she hesitated going that route (as did I, Daughter had had quite enough prescriptions in her young life). So I tried all of that. This was my routine:

feed for an hour

bottle feed for a half hour

pump for a half hour

sleep for a half hour

get up and do it all over

It worked fine the week my husband was home so that he could do the bottle feeding and I could get an hour of sleep, but when he went back to work there was no way I could keep up that schedule and still stay sane. My milk supply never increased even though I was told it should within a week. I just physically and mentally couldn't do it anymore and so we switched to formula.

And if I thought the nurses and the lactation consultant were bad they were nothing compared to others (some complete strangers). One said it was a shame because breast feeding is the best thing about being a woman (now I'm a bad mother and just a shame to women everywhere? Might as well take me out back and shoot me; I'm sure the jury will understand). I was told that my child would be stupid, overweight, would hit puberty early, and wouldn't be good at math (I'm still trying to figure that one out). And the looks strangers would give could be horrid. Which is hilarious because I've seen strangers give those same looks to breast feeding moms; so the only thing I can come up with is that moms who are still feeding their children from a bottle or breast just aren't allowed outside the home.

I can't help but wonder if without all of the pressure to breast feed and with actual support from people I knew and from people who were caring for my child I might have made it a little longer. I'll never know and as guilty as I felt then I don't anymore. Daughter is 5, is not stupid, or overweight. I have no idea if she'll hit puberty early or not and I'm not going to worry about it. Girls are hitting puberty early, some have even been breast fed. I do know that I had a Son three years later. Everything went right and I still didn't produce enough milk for him. I started to do the same thing in terms of breast feed, bottle feed, pump until it suddenly occurred to me that I was exhausting myself and not being as good of a mom as I could be. From that point on I just breast fed during the day and pumped only when Husband was doing night feedings. And I was a much better mother.

Being a mom is a hard enough job without people judging you on how you feed, whether you cloth diaper or use disposables, or whether you cosleep or babywear; and I can't help but wonder if we supported each other instead of judging each other if maybe (just maybe) this mothering thing wouldn't be as hard.

...............................

I am honoured to host this guest post from Sarah at Cerlandia, and invite you to leave supportive comments as well as visit her lovely blog.

xox
Farren Square

I talk about Breastfeeding. A lot. Here's Why:

You may have noticed I talk about breastfeeding a lot. I post pictures of me nursing, I ask questions about breastfeeding on twitter, and I blog about breastfeeding, too. Hell. I've even written a poem about breastfeeding.

There are more than a few reasons why it's always on my tongue, and I think sharing those reasons is important.

I talk about Breastfeeding a lot because I do it all the time. Right now I nurse Baby D about 12-14 times in a 24 hour period. If it sounds like a lot, that is because it is. I am his only source of food right now, and both his body and his brain are growing exponentially. So we nurse. And of course I'm going to talk about it; I think you would talk about it, too, if it took up many hours in your day.

Nursling Smiles

I talk about Breastfeeding a lot because I'm curious about it. I like to be a smart-ass, it's true. I like to know a lot about the things I know a lot about. Meaning, when I set out to be good at something I want to be all the way good. I want to know the secret things, the tiny bits of information, the loud things, the things everyone knows. Breastfeeding is intricate, a delicate relationship between a mother and a little one, there are a lot of details to know about supply, physiology, mistakes to avoid, and inevitable struggles. I want to know all of those things.

I talk about breastfeeding a lot because I want it to be normal. I want people to think nothing of my breastfeeding baby at the restaurant. I want to nurse in the middle of the mall without a cover and not get any glares or stares. I want to educate women before they are mothers on those small intimate secrets about breastfeeding so that they aren't secrets anymore. I want people to know that breastfeeding can be a positive experience and have it be a natural first choice for every mother.

But I don't talk about breastfeeding to make anybody feel badly. I don't talk about breastfeeding to make anyone feel guilty, or judged, or like less of a loving mom. I don't talk about breastfeeding to make mothers who do otherwise have any negative feelings, ever.

I support all women, and I support the informed and educated choices that they make. I support mothers who feed babies, mothers who have a different story, mothers who are doing their best; I support all mothers.

So yes, I talk about breastfeeding a lot, but it doesn't dictate who I am as a mother.  And it certainly doesn't have any effect on my respect for all women and mothers.