The Joys of Nursing

Including an uncovered breast and that bizarre slurpy noise when latching happens in the WRONG PLACE.



Well, the wrong location on my body, anyway.



Today, Tyrannosaurus has been crabby. Not all day, just crabbier than his usual grin-and-laugh self. I put him in a bodysuit that read "Gigglesaurus," which might be the problem. All three of my kids like to prove me wrong. I think it's genetic.

So, while grocery shopping, I wasn't surprised when Tyranno-baby asked to nurse. Granted, I was a bit surprised at HOW he asked to nurse...

I was wearing my favorite Bravado nursing tank and shrug. Wonderful invention, that. Especially for nursing in the sling. Comfortable. The ties offer plenty of coverage. Well, this lovely tank leaves plenty of my rather generous cleavage out the top. Not enough to be indecent, mind you. But enough.

Enough, that is for the boy to try to latch on... to the top of my breast. It made weird slurpy noises. And then weird raspberry noises as he blew out in frustration. Well, it's where the milk comes from, Mama. Why won't it come out HERE?"

The entire aisle of people turned to see what the heck was going on (come on, wouldn't YOU turn around for a noise like a fart in reverse? Maybe it's just me...), and the hyena-like laugh of my amusement probably got a bit of the attention, too.

So I latched him on, hoping for quiet.

Well, he was quiet, but the merrily kicking legs sticking out under my arm might have suggested to a few people that the baby was not asleep. That, combined with the strange purring noises he makes when he's really glad to nurse...

And he fell asleep. So sweet, when a nursing baby falls asleep with that little milky face. So I draped the tie of the shrug over my breast and went with it...

We paid, we left. I got to the car to load the sleeping bundle into the car seat, lifted off the sling, buckled the buckles, and only THEN did I notice I hadn't lifted my tank flap.

*sigh*

My life would be easier if I became LESS distracted upon having children...

Count me in!

Veggie Way: Amber teething necklaces and a contest

I'm in this contest,well, because I've been really curious about these necklaces. This example is from a REALLY cool store called Little Sunflowers (I love, and MUST get these shoes). Tyrannosaurus is having a horrible time with his poor, drooly gums lately. Many thanks to Isil (and to Pixie at Half Pint Pixie, who first introduced me to Veggie Way) for the great information on the properties of amber!

Let's Make Daiquiris!

My family is so blended, it'd take a molecular physicist to sort us all out. Both of my parents are remarried. I'm remarried. I have three step-sisters I have met fewer than 4 times each (one I've only met once). I have another step-sister that I know fairly well, but we're not remotely sisterly (I was 18 and she was around 40 when our parents married). I have one stepbrother that I barely know, but like. His wife (second wife) is a hoot, and I like his step kids, although I barely know his daughter from his first marriage. I have step nieces and nephews, step-step nieces and nephews, step great nieces and nephews, a step kid... You get the idea: we're all mixed up.

So having three kids with two separate moms and three separate father figures doesn't really phase me. I get along quite well with my son's mom She and I both figure that we're much better off trying to raise our boy together than fighting, so it works out pretty well. My ex and I are on surprisingly good terms; we get along so much better when we're NOT married to each other. Shoot, we occasionally speak on the phone, just because, even. And now things get a bit weird. My ex is playing bass for my husband. It's odd, but it works musically, and they get along, so why not.

My mother, however, sees things a bit differently. She freaked out when she heard my ex was here last night to rehearse with the band (how else did she think they'd be able to play together? NOT rehearsing before taking the stage?). She asked "well, will that start to bother you? Can you stop them if it does?"

*blink*

*blink*

*blink*

Okay, Mom. Whatever. Because it's going to get stranger than the first time around. Because my husband and the guy who was my best friend in high school being around one another is going to be so sucky. And because I have to see my daughter's father, the guy who I see every Sunday when he picks up our daughter, and Monday morning, when he drops her off on his way to school, and every Monday evening when he picks her up again, and every TUESDAY MORNING when he drops her off before heading off to school again! Oh, no! I might have to see him on Saturdays, too...

So, my mom's strange, my life is strange, and my family is mixed with a blender. Let's make daiquiris!

Sometimes I find myself

Bored and with a pair of scissors. And then the electric clipper. This is that story. In pictures.

Idiocracy

Has anyone seen that little gem directed by Mike Judge? It's hilarious, tacky, and so, so frighteningly true.

Last night I couldn't sleep. At all. I got about 30 minutes. You see, a friend, someone I care a lot about, told me she stopped nursing last week. Her baby is less than a month old. Her two older children have horrible, horrible food allergies. Her baby is being tested for possible breathing problems or a seizure disorder. She KNOWS that formula can aggravate all of those problems. So why did she stop?

I'm not sure. I think she had sore nipples from a bad latch (the baby got a pacifier). Possibly it was normal nipple adjustment. "Formula was easier." The usual. "Well, I tried," she told me. I nearly cried. Ya know what? Nursing is hard work to learn. It's hard to keep going. But it's so damned much easier in the long run! Nothing to wash. Nothing to prepare. No time wasted with a screaming-hungry baby. And then there's this.

Why do I care so much? Why am I personally offended by the "organic section" in the baby store ad that came in the mail today that contains "organic" disposable diapers and "organic" chocolate milk for toddlers? Why do I find their "environmentally friendly" glass bottles a joke? Why am I so pissed off that my friend said she's using "that new formula that's so much closer to breastmilk. It has the immune stuff and all."

Hey, what comes out of a cow's udder and my udder is not really similar at all, especially when it's been processed that much. And my milk is alive. It's full of LIVING antibodies. It has proteins that have been broken down in a natural way to keep from irritating sweet baby bellies. It's customized for my own little Tyrannosaurus. You can't get that in a can!

I'm so tired of feeling so broken down, fighting against a cultural norm that's just plain WRONG. And yet, I'm considered the weird one because I nursed my daughter to age two (and was surprised that she weaned "so early"). I'm insane and a risk-taker because my second baby was born at home, in the bed in which he was created and in which he sleeps now (which would be where he's napping at this very moment).

I have done my research, fought to find where "what's best" fits with "what works for me." I battled to breastfeed the first time around when people kept telling me "if it's so hard, just give a bottle." I learned to cosleep in order to get sleep and found out that it has so many other benefits. I sling, not only for the convenience, but also for the help with language and interaction with the baby. I cloth diaper, not just because it's better for the environment, but also because it's better for tiny dino bums. I don't give vaccinations, because I just can't convince myself the benefit outweighs the risk. I fought not to circumcise my son because I believe babies come just right and that I have no right to alter his body without his permission (thankfully, I won that fight). And yet I'm the one that's strange!

I'm just tired of being "wrong" in a world that doesn't know it's a mile off base and heading quickly in the wrong direction.