Art Imitates Life

At 20 months old, Claire is a breastfed toddler. My goal is to continue breastfeeding until she's two. Once we reach that mark, I may reconsider and continue. Claire happens to be a child who loves to breastfeed. I don't have a problem obliging her something that seems relatively uncomplicated for me to do. 

But I'm not trying to make a political statement. Nor am I trying to tell others what to do either. I know many people find my choice offensive. After all, I wasn't living under a rock when the controversy surrounding the Time article on extended breastfeeding happened. Really, I'm not the type of person who openly courts conflict. It doesn't make me happy that people feel uncomfortable, embarrassed or offended by my decision. 

Lately, I've noticed more dirty looks from people when I breastfeed in public. What surprises me is that 100% of the looks come from women. And that they express their disapproval by staring long enough to make me want to shout, "Take a picture, why dontcha!"  Honestly, I do my best to be discreet (you see more boob on the red carpet, actually). I want to respect other people, but I don't deserve to feel ashamed either. 

When it all starts to get to me, I remember a time when I felt a calling from above. A higher power touched me on the shoulder. The Virgin Mary seemed on my side.

This summer, I was walking in a Northern Renaissance gallery at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. I looked around and counted. Ten out of 30 paintings showed the baby Jesus breastfeeding. And we're not talking "away in the manger" baby Jesus. Many of the images were of a big, tall, cherubic baby Jesus, who had clearly mastered the skill of walking. In some of the paintings, the Madonna was shown bare-breasted, as the Son of God reached for sustenance. 

In truth, it's probably more accurate to say that breastfeeding a toddler was well and good to the Northern Renaissance painters of those images than to the Virgin Mary herself (after all, who can say how long Jesus was breastfed). 

But that's fine too. It reminds me that beliefs about breastfeeding are culturally constructed and shifting. I realize that people's offense today is not an absolute. If I were living in the Renaissance, rich patrons of the arts would be sharing their living spaces with paintings in which breastfeeding is exalted. 

Of course, it's not the Renaissance. And I don't need these kinds of images in homes to justify my choices. The Met can keep their paintings right where they are. 

But I do have a wish for the world in 2013: I wish that people would let others do what they think is best for their children. I wish that women supported one another more. I wish that we could all be tolerant of one another's personal beliefs. 

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Victory over Sleep Deprivation

I have an announcement. I've waited a week to share it. I wanted to make sure it stuck first.

CLAIRE IS SLEEPING THROUGH THE NIGHT!

I want to shout from the mountaintops that the sandman cometh! I'm shamelessly giving myself credit for making it to the other side of midnight, since George is the only one giving me props for my long slog (Claire certainly didn't). I've been patient (most of the time) and we have persevered!

Another thing I want to shout is, "Sleep training, I told you so! Nah-nah-nu-nah-nah!" First, a qualifier, I have nothing against parents who sleep train. If this decision is right for your family or if it worked for you, great. I would never tell you what to do in your own household.

My target is sleep trainers. More specifically, the ones who sent the message to me that if I didn't get my daughter's sleep in order and pronto, I was doing irreparable damage to her in the form of lifelong sleep issues.

Their voices got into my head. I doubted myself and my decisions for my child. After all, they are called the "experts".

While I was sticking a pacifier back into my year-old child's mouth at 1AM, I was hearing the "experts" warn me that I would face an epic battle to pry said bink from her lips come kindergarten -- along with permanent orthodontic problems. (she gave it up at 14 months, by the way).

While I was rubbing my daughter's back deep in the night, the voices said I should be fostering independence in my child, because she needed to learn to put herself to sleep without my help (um…she did…at 17 months).

While I was breastfeeding her at 3AM, I was thinking about how my baby should be able to go seven hours without eating and of the plethora of advice about how to eliminate nighttime feedings.

It's not their fault the voices got into my head. I wish I had a better ability to believe in myself and have confidence in my decisions. I wish I could've trusted my baby's cues more. I wish there were more voices for me to look to for guidance.

There was one. It was Kelly's mom. Thank god for Kelly's mom.

I was sleep deprived and desperate, when the "experts" were telling me I was doing it all wrong (talk about adding insult to injury). That's when I turned to kellymom.com. I wrote a post about it awhile back. If you are struggling with baby sleep issues, I think it's worth a look. A lot of it still rings true to me today:

Kelly’s mom flat out says don’t believe the hype. Scare tactics are usually designed to sell product of some kind or another, and the product in this case is sleep advice that is targeted at sleep deprived parents not babies burning the midnight oil. In essence, parents are the ones with deep pockets; babies have no pockets at all.

I think she’s right. It’s easy to be swayed by slick websites and offers of professional help when you are near insanity, with a child glued to your boob and have come close to dissolving your marriage in the middle of the night on several occasions. You are willing to consider depriving your child of food. And the business of baby sleep is counting on this fact. 

Kelly’s mom didn’t have a solution to offer, but she provided evidenced-based information that explained the developmental reasons for this grueling sleep schedule. I still felt insane with a child glued to my boob, but I breathed a sigh of relief that our not so normal nighttime routine was normal. 

I don't have a lot advice for moms, because I don't want to give advice. But I do have one piece of advice: Be careful about listening to advice.

The Boob Police

 

I was suspicious. A relative was taking a curious interest in Claire’s breastfeeding habits. Her queries came at me with a jagged, little edge. I wondered about the subtext. Non-committal retorts like “uh-huh” reinforced my hunch that disapproval lurked just under the surface. As she was saying one thing, I was hearing another:

She says: When do you plan on stopping breastfeeding?

I hear: You should stop breastfeeding.

She says: Has she started asking for milk?

I hear: When she’s old enough to say “milk”, she’s old enough to eat ‘real’ food.

She says: Doesn’t she bite you with all those teeth?

I hear: When she’s cut a mouth of teeth, she’s old enough to eat ‘real’ food.

She says: Do you also give her cow’s milk?

I hear: When she’s old enough to have ‘real food’, you should stop breastfeeding.

She says: What if she won't stop?

I hear: That baby's gonna be five years old and still on the tit.

She says: What do you do when you’re outside?

I hear: You should be ashamed of yourself for breastfeeding a 16-month-old in public.

I wanted the interrogation to stop. But I just calmly provided answers to the ‘questions’. Really, I'm an unlikely ambassador for breastfeeding. I don’t want to make people uncomfortable. If other breastfeeding mamas want to make a statement, they have my blessing. I just want to feed my child.

Breaking a Military Taboo: Public Breastfeeding in Uniform

Breasts are trending again. This time, the controversy comes not because the bare breasts are attached to babies, but because they are attached to babies and military uniforms. Apparently, several people were so offended by the photos posted on a Washington State blog for breastfeeding military moms  that they compared the images to public urination and defecation in uniform. Thankfully, the military had a more measured reproach. Air National Guard Spokesperson Captain Keith Kosik responded to the photos by saying that the military had no problem with female soldiers breastfeeding. He stated, however, that the breastfeeding going on in these particular photos violates “regulations to use the uniform to promote a civilian cause”. On the surface, I don’t have a beef with the military’s stance on this one. Soldiers do strip themselves of their identity and replace it with a uniform when they join the armed services. That’s why it’s called a “uniform”, right?

But then I started wondering why breastfeeding is considered a “cause” in the first place. Comparing breastfeeding to a cause is like saying that breathing is a belief. And in case you find this comparison strident, I can guarantee you that, if you pulled the offending babies in the photos off the breast for a moment, they would protest loudly enough to assure you that they agree with me. So let’s try it out: “the breathing going on in these particular photos violates regulations against using the uniform to promote a civilian cause.” It sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?

Unfortunately, though, breastfeeding isn’t considered something essential in this country. It has been reduced to a belief; and the military isn’t to blame for this fact. After all, the women in the photos were promoting breastfeeding in the Mom2Mom blog. I doubt they intended to create such a stir, though. What I think they were trying to say is “hey, look how unexceptional breastfeeding is” or, in other words, “relax, it’s just a boob”. It’s ironic that women have begun calling attention to themselves precisely because they want to be able to do something without calling attention to themselves. The phrase “Don’t Tread on Me” comes to mind. If I’m not mistaken, a whole revolution started because of this principle.

Time Breastfeeding Article: Whose Body is It?

As a breastfeeding blogger, I have felt compelled to comment on the recent Time article about Attachment Parenting and breastfeeding toddlers, as well as the controversy surrounding it. It’s taken me awhile, though, because I’ve struggled to collect my thoughts on the matter. Personally, I found the images of women breastfeeding their three-year-olds to be both shocking and beautiful. I tend to like things that put me slightly off-balance. I am reminded that much of what we “should” and “shouldn’t” do is culturally constructed and shifting. I am reminded that if what a person does isn’t hurting anyone, then it’s really none of my business.

But, after reading the reactions to this article, evidently, most people do feel that extended breastfeeding is hurting people -- mother, child and society at large. I was stunned by the viciousness of the comments. People called these women perverse, unnatural and disgusting, among many other cruel judgments. The quality of the criticism smacked of that which is unjustly waged against the LGBT community all too often. I felt defensive. I wanted to get into the fray, defend these women. After all, I’ve done my research. Anthropologists put the age of weaning in societies throughout history and around the world at anywhere between age two and a half to seven. Who are these people to argue with this research? People’s comments were dismissive of this statistic too. Evidently, our society is better than the others. The story goes that we are a “civilized” country, while theirs are primitive. I realized that I really didn’t want to waste my time arguing about it (even though I kinda just did). I don’t want to fight about who’s right or wrong. No one is. The issue is about personal choice.

So I decided to get personal. What I’d really like to talk about is the relationship that Claire and I have to one another, and our relationship to breastfeeding. To put it simply, Claire loves to breastfeed. She comes to me around eight times a day (or more) with the words “mama, mama”. When Claire says “mama”, it means she wants to breastfeed. The milk and I are one and the same to her, inextricably bound. How could I possible take that away from her? Especially when she is an age at which she really wouldn’t understand why I was depriving her of me.

I have also noticed an interesting inverse relationship between breastfeeding and independence. Claire used to breastfeed every hour, even at night (much to my dismay). As she grows more independent, the number of times she breastfeeds decreases. As she grows up, she needs me less. There seems to be an uncanny correspondence between these two things with its own rhythm, which I don’t want to disturb. And I have good faith that Claire will let me know how much emotional attachment she needs from me and; therefore, how much breastfeeding she needs.

To sum it up, breastfeeding serves a purpose for Claire and me that’s greater than nutrition. Still, I don’t plan on breastfeeding until Claire is three or four, like the women in the article. I do support their choice though. For me, quite frankly, I find breastfeeding to be too challenging. My decision to stop has more to do with me than Claire. I carried her in my belly for nine months, and plan on breastfeeding until she is around two (the age recommended by the World Health Organization , by the way). I am ready to have my body back.

Plus, at two, I figure she will be old enough to understand why we are stopping. George’s friend Kristen has led the way for me on this decision. She shared with George that she and her daughter Nora had a conversation (at two) about how and why mama needed to stop. They cried together and that was the end of breastfeeding. I’m grateful that Kristen has blazed this trail for me. If she hadn’t, I might be feeling like a pervert or sicko right about now. Instead, I get to envision an experience similar to Nora and Kristen for Claire and me.

Kraft Breastfeeding Ad: Cookies and Milk

This ad is creating quite a stir. Kraft corp. put out an official statement distancing themselves from it by saying the ad was not meant for public consumption (pun intended).

I would like to think that the distasteful part was that an infant was eating an Oreo. I have a sneaking suspicion that I’m wrong. Silly me; I forgot that breasts are best served up to sell Sports Illustrated magazines or are considered in good taste when used to prop up Victoria Secret lingerie.

I think it’s high time we let babies in on the fun too!

But seriously, I agree that Kraft shouldn't be creating any advertising campaigns like this one in the near future. I'm not ready for these ads either. I'm glad that Corporate America finds it too controversial to co-opt breastfeeding to sell product.

31 Flavors

I bought baby carrots today. A team of Danish scientists found a connection between a child’s palate and what their mom eats while breastfeeding. I don’t like carrots that much. Maybe Claire will. As uncanny as these findings seem, I'm not that surprised. There’s that old wives’ tale about mom craving something during pregnancy and the child loving that particular food. It’s not such a stretch to see how breastfeeding would have a similar impact.

I have to admit I was disappointed. I was told I’d made a great choice to breastfeed. Evidently, I’m not doing it right. I find it hard to be health conscious with a new baby. It’s not as if I have loads of time on my hands to prepare four daily servings of whatever I don’t like. Hence, the baby carrots that don’t need to be cooked. Before reading about this study, I relied on multi-vitamins and power bars as a quick fix. I was only worrying about breast milk being nutritious. Now, I have to think about how it tastes too. Next, those Danish scientists are going to give my breast milk a Zagat’s rating. There’s one thing that’s for sure, if this study is right. Claire’s sure going to like chocolate.

It would make life easier if she liked lima beans, though. I should try and think about broadening my palate as an opportunity, not a responsibility. If I have trouble on some days, I need to remember that even bland breast milk is a good thing. And that there really aren’t too many people who don’t like chocolate anyway.

Not a Rock Band!

My husband, George, laughed when I told him the breastfeeding problem that I was having was called “Forceful Letdown”. He said it would be a good name for a rock band. I said how about a blog?

Eventually, I settled on a different name, but not before I thought about the meaning of Forceful Letdown to me. For those of you who do not know about the breastfeeding condition called Forceful Letdown, it’s when a mother produces more milk than her baby can handle.

The result for Claire and me was that she would eagerly come to the breast and would face a flood of milk spraying in her mouth. She would pull off the breast, first sputtering and choking, then screaming.

No number of helpful tips from google made a bit of difference. Many websites say that the baby can go on a “nursing strike” after continually being thwarted at the breast. The whole experience was gut wrenching and I was terrified that breastfeeding was out for my baby and me.

But, time after time, Claire still tried. I found her to be brave, heroic and resilient. She came to each feeding eternally optimistic, so powerful was her need and desire.

Motherhood is similar -- hard, exhausting but you wake up everyday determined to give your baby everything she needs. Even if you don’t always succeed, given your best efforts.

I want this blog to represent the hardships, doubts and, even, humiliations that are faced on a daily basis. You will never find me saying that the worst problem I face is getting a good Christmas picture of my child. Motherhood is much more significant and challenging than that.

These posts will represent the sometimes silly, sometimes crazy, thoughts that go through my head as I try to make my way through the daily struggles with, hopefully, a modicum of humor and grace.

Oh, and, in case you were wondering about the conclusion of our Forceful Letdown condition…after a week of doing "block feeding" (I won’t go into the details of that term), we were finally through it. 

Two months of breastfeeding and counting.