mamamilkandme

Babies belong in this world. I don’t mean we need to procreate – I mean in our daily lives. I believe one of the strongest challenges to breastfeeding is our culture. Babies are so precious that they cannot be seen or taken out.

We make a separate room, we separate the laundry, we keep babies away from people. My goodness, what are babies but people? And most babies are quite social.

Let’s take the wedding for example. How many women have said “I have to go to a wedding when my baby is three weeks old – will I be able to pump?”  Guess what? A baby is not going to steel a brides’ thunder. But maybe the big wet stains on the front of your dress from your leaking breasts just might.

I recall several years ago my friend Deb was planning her wedding. Two of her closest friends were having babies about a month before the wedding. “Deb, you should tell them to bring their babies,” I suggested. “No way!” was her response. “They will be miserable,” I pleaded. “No they won’t and babies do not belong at weddings. “

(My dad says weddings and funerals are for families – babies belong!)

At Deb’s wedding I greeted Alexandra with a cheery “Hello!” and she nearly bit my head off. She was pacing back and forth like a caged animal. She was lost without her baby.

Lisa sat in the corner looking lost and uncomfortable (which she was!) They both left early – thank goodness for their babies and for them.

Another challenge that many moms encounter is siblings.

“I can’t breastfeed all the time, I have a toddler to tend to”.

“I need time with my other children.”

Here is the thing – all of your children need you. But they do not have to be separated. You have created a family. You can do things as a unit. Including the baby in the care of the older child and vice versa creates a family atmosphere. Strap the baby on and take that big kid to the park.

Strap the baby on while you are home and playing a game of hide and seek or reading a book together.  Let the older child help with a diaper change. Let the older child care for a doll or teddy bear.

If the big brother is old enough you can let him hold his little sister. 

You are modeling loving care for this older child. You can remind her that you cared for her in this way.

When the baby is asleep and in someone else’s arms or in a bassinet you can “baby” the older child.  Who doesn’t want to be cared for lovingly?

I recently watched St. Elmo’s Fire for the first time in years. One of the funny things that has always stuck with me is when Mare Winningham’s character describes her mother. “She whispers the words she thinks are bad ‘cancer’ ‘alcoholic’.”

It is like she wants to hide these things she would rather not address. We get uncomfortable unless we practice saying them or seeing them.

This is our American world – we hide what we don’t want to see.

What is exciting to me is that some of the hidden is breaking free and standing front and center. Specifically what I see is breastfeeding and same-sex couples. These seem to cause controversy. That is because for many generations these were hidden. “Oh, he is not married, he is a bachelor.” Or “she is going in the room to feed the baby.” I see these situations as similar. Both involve loving relationships, two people who are doing something so normal. I think it has to do with a fear of sexual expression.  People see a same-sex couple and think about sex. People see breasts and think about sex.

The truth is that humans are sexual and probably look at a tree or a car or a stranger walking down the street and think about sex. Somehow, though, we find certain social situations to peg as something we have to hide, something to limit our titillation.

Here’s the thing – if we see babies nursing and if we see two men or two women holding hands then we will all be freer. And, I believe we will all be sexually healthier because we will not be fearful.

Breastfeeding. It is a loaded word. It is powerful. Every piece of evidence says we should be doing it. Makes sense – we are mammals – what are breasts but mammary glands?

So why is it such a challenge? Why is it so loaded? My theory is that it is an integral part of mothering. Mothering is so complex, yet so simple.

In New York, in this newish millennium, life is complex – so many choices, so many options, so many acceptable variations on “the norm.” What is the norm? Who knows anymore?

For many years breastfeeding was considered special, exceptional. Well guess what? It isn’t – simply put, breastfeeding is normal. That’s all – normal. Of course, anyone who has breastfed will tell you that they feel special, exceptional. Well, being a mother is special, exceptional and normal. Procreation has kept the human race going. Well, breastfeeding has also kept the human race going. Mothering and breastfeeding go hand in hand.

So, what happened? Breastfeeding was replaced as was much of our nutrition and where has that gotten us? Going back to whole foods, sustainability.  We are shopping for organic foods, preparing fresh meals. What about those of us who don’t know how to cook, who don’t have time to cook, who choose not to cook? Do we go hungry? No, we go out! The trend in restaurants is to offer fare that is seasonal and locally grown.  It is green, good for the environment. The people have spoken and we want our health back.

Many mothers truly need to work to support their family. Many mothers are very fulfilled by their jobs outside of mothering and make a commitment to the balancing act of mothering, working, taking care of herself. The babies of these mothers want and deserve proper nutrition.

Babies can’t speak so obviously. Those of you with babies know better. They want their milk and they want what is theirs.  What about the moms who don’t have enough milk, don’t want to breastfeed, have to work and don’t have access to quality pumps, or pumping breaks? Shouldn’t these babies still get human milk? These babies deserve access to appropriate nutrition, their mothers deserve informed choice and these babies deserve access to banked human milk.  The people need to speak out on behalf of our future. There is nothing more sustainable or greener than breastfeeding.

How can we make this happen? Create a need – if you are pregnant tell your health care providers that you will be breastfeeding and you want to know how they will support you and your baby.  Talk to nursing moms, attend a La Leche League Meeting, take a breastfeeding class. If you are nursing, share your joys and challenges. Avoid nursing in the closet. If breastfeeding is not going well, surround yourself with support, seek help from an International Board Certified Lactation Consultant, tell your health care providers and pediatrician.

Mothers need support. Let us support one another in our mothering.  Sometimes we make different choices from our peers.  Sometimes choices are made for us.  Mothering is about the future – our babies are the future. Let us celebrate the next generation and work toward a healthier future for our children.

How many times have I asked or been asked by another parent “What are you making for dinner tonight?”  Making dinner can be stressful seven nights a week. Luckily, Rob, likes to cook too and is really great at it. The stressful part is cooking a meal that is healthy, tasty and that will appeal to five people. We have a few standards: pasta with mushrooms, lemon and cream, chicken chili – that is what I am cooking now, rice and beans, burgers. One of my favorites is Stir-fry!

The other night I made what Rob called “the best stir-fry” I have ever made.

So here is the recipe:

Fresh chopped ginger

5 cloves of garlic

organic chicken breast, cut into bite-size pieces

about 1/3 cup of virgin coconut oil

Gluten-free soy sauce

1 large carrot, slivered

1 small eggplant, chopped

2 baby bok choy, chopped

2 head of broccoli, chopped

1 cup sliced mushrooms

2 cups white and wild rice –

Start cooking your rice – it takes a while and can be cooking while you are chopping, add 1/2 cups rice and 1/2 cup rice to 3 1/2 cups of water, a pinch of salt and 2 teaspoons of coconut or olive oil, when the rice and water reach a boil cover and reduce heat to a simmer

saute the ginger and garlic with about 2-3 tablespoons of the coconut oil in a wok for a about 2 minutes, add the chicken and cook until done – about 7 minutes, remove the chicken and set aside, leave as much ginger and garlic as you can – some will stay with the chicken, remember, this is about stress reduction!

Add more coconut oil and a few splashes of the soy sauce

stir in the carrots, they are the hardest and take the longest to cook

after about 3 minutes add the egg plant

then broccoli

then bok choy (pretty bok choy flowers!)

then mushrooms (is this conjoined mushroom cute?)

Allow a minute or two with each addition of the vegetables

Keep stirring the vegetables, add more oil and /or soy sauce depending yon your taste

Add the chicken and stir for about another 2 minutes

Add the rice and serve to your hungry friends and family – they will thank you!

Just before the rice! So Beautiful. The colors! The textures! Yum!

Eleven years ago today I was in St Vincent’s Hospital on West 12th Street. My daughter Phoebe was with my in-laws at the pediatrician being diagnosed with scarlet fever and refusing to take her pink, cherry-flavored antibiotic. Rob was with me and so was my dear friend Allison. I nearly made Allison pass out as I had her stay with me in avery hot and steamy shower as I danced and twirled naked.

Chloe was stuck. I always tell her that she would not let go of my ribs. Eleven days past her due date, threats of induction and a few rounds of acupuncture had me believing that she was nearly ready to come out when we arrived in Labor & Delivery with my giant red exercise ball around 5:30 in the morning. I was at 4 centimeters. I could not believe it.  So, later in the morning, after my water broke and labor was super strong, and I danced and twisted in the steam so much that Allison, who is so strong asked, I could see begging and sorrow in her eyes in the few seconds between my tailbone seizing, if she could leave for a moment. Yes, go, I am fine, she will be out soon.

Two hours in the steam I returned to see Maureen,  the midwife. I was excited to hear her say I was at 8 or 9 centimeters. This pain was so intense she had to be near. Reaching inside me between the tailbone crushing contractions she said, you are at 5. Five I yelped. No way! She is sunnyside up, Maureen informed us. I thought I would die right then and there.

I mounted the red ball and begged Rob and Allison to push on my tailbone with each contraction. Chloe twisted and turned slowly, forcefully. With each contraction amniotic fluid poured over the ball.

Maureen said in a very casual tone that her Caesarean rate is very low. I will not have a Caesarean!

But I could not go on. An epidural. I want an epidural. Rob and Allison reminded me that I really did not want one after the experience of Phoebe’s birth. I cannot go on – I need one.

The anesthesiologist came in, a young Indian man. Can you hear me? he asked. Can you sign this ? he asked. No and No, I answered. I can barely think. Just give me the epidural.

It will not take away back labor pain he informed me after I managed to scribble something looking like an L. Oh, hell, just kill me now.

I got the epidural and about an hour later I opened up and beautiful Chloe arrived. Peaceful, wise, so very present.

She still twists me around from time to time but she is so wise and so very present. Sometimes she is so mysterious I wonder where she comes from. Then when I look at her I often see myself.

It is my honor to be her mother.

Happy birthday dear Chloe.

Chloe in 5th grade

Me in 5th grade

When I think of my childhood I often go to Okinawa where I lived with my family from 1969-1971. I was shy, little girl of four when we moved there.

I remember the ocean. I remeber the three houses where we lived. The first one was at the end of a dirt road and a cinderblock wall seperated our house from a potato field and just beyond was a hill where sugar cane grew.

There were lizards everywhere. Friday night entertainment was chasing lizards all through our house and capturing them in a glass jar. Mike and I would watch them for a while and then Dad would help us release them into the yard.

One of my strongest memories was of my dad tying my tan Hushpuppies loafers. Whenever my dad tied my shoes I felt safe. He tied them tighter and stronger than anyone.

Peppered in those memories are strong memories of my  dad.

Daddy was a soldier in the Army – a paratrooper! But he was my Daddy – he still is.

I remember going to Fort Bragg and seeing these young soldiers quake in his presence but he was my Daddy.

When I was six years old I had a purple bicycle with a white banana seat and a flowered basket. I did not know how to ride it. Dad ran along behind me a few times while I found my balance. Amoora Drive was a fairly short street that sloped down at the end. Our street formed a T with Shagbark. At the bottom of the hill on Shagbark there was a white house with two white painted lions. Daddy let me go and I had found my balance – I was soaring down Amoora Drive and soon I was facing one of those lions. We had not yet had the lesson on brakes. Somehow steering came somewhat instinctively and I veered just left of Leo and crashed in the yard. Dad came running trying not to laugh too hard. “Let’s get back on that bike.” I spent years spanning all of LaFayette Village bravely flying down hills with my hands in the air feeling like Amelia Earhart.

I learned much from Dad. My brother, Mike, was into Motorcross racing – he had a dirt bike, a Honda XR-75. When I was nine years old I wanted desperately to ride it. I straddled the  mini motorcycle in our back yard as Dad held me steady and instructed me to slowly let out the clutch. Before I knew it I was underneath the bike and stuck up against our neighbors chain link fence. I wasn’t hurt too badly – I considered crying. Dad said “get back on there, you can do it.” I got back on, I let out the clutch slowly and rode around the yard. I didn’t ride the chopper much more but I also wasn’t afraid of it.

I noticed Dad was always there to cheer me on and make me get back on when I fell. Sometimes he was quiet about it but he was always there.

When I decided to move to New York Mama was not very happy and I honestly don’t know if Dad was for it or against it. Both of my parents had left home at a young age so they couldn’t really argue with me. Traveling was in my blood. After seven months I was out of money and I didn’t have a place to live. I was standing on the corner of 54th Street and 9th Avenue having just looked at an awful apartment with the bathroom down the hall.  I called home hoping to cry to Mama. Mama and Traci had gone to the mall and Daddy picked up the phone. To this day I know that was a fateful event. Had Mama heard me crying from Hell’s Kitchen she would have jumped in her Cadillac and driven straight up I-95 and brought me back to North Carolina. Daddy listened and he heard me when I told him I didn’t think I had given myself enough time in New York and I didn’t want to kick myself in the butt for giving up too fast. Daddy told me to stay, that I could make it and I wouldn’t have to kick myself in the butt.

Seven years ago when Mama got sick, Daddy was her rock, he stood by her side through chemotherapy and through hospitalizations and oxygen tanks. I don’t even know everything he did but I know he was there for her. She told me she knew for sure that he loved her through and through.

I so often think of Mama and all that she taught me but there is Daddy, solid, quiet, steadfast. Dad and I don’t always agree on many things in this life but we sure love each other and I sure got so much of my confidence and resilience from him because he was there for me and he didn’t let me walk away from my fears.

I love you Dad!

There are times whenI feel like I am doing things for everyone else. I suppose this is the battle cry of many a woman and certainly most every mom.  So, I made a list of some of the things I do.Enjoy!

I make dinner

I make babies

I make milk

I make money

I make cookies

I make appointments

I make phone calls

I make piles

I make breakfast

I make love

I make people happy

I make people mad

I make lunch

I make tea

I make art

I make the bed

I make things clean

I make trips

I make a mess

I make people look

I make peace

I make cakes

I make people listen

I make a difference

So, I had a great opportunity to get back into the groove of writing. My son is home sick with a mild fever – not enough to make him miserable but enough to keep him home from school which keeps me home with him. Perfect opportunity to write something important or interesting. Actually I am working on a little piece about breasts – shocker !

Anyway, I checked e-mails, I sent e-mails, I talked to colleagues, my sister. I did a bit of laundry. I was on my way to change the sheets on my bed. A few months back I bought a new comforter and two sets of matching sheets. So I go to put the brown sheets on and the flat sheet is missing. I go through the utility/linen closet and I cannot find it. I go through the linen chest – no brown queen size flat sheet. Rob prefers no flat sheet but not me – I must have it.   I looked on Phoebe’s bed – she has two – one below the loft – a futon actually where she has been sleeping lately and a bed up in her loft. I checked the lower bed and no brown sheet.

Surely, that dang thing has to be somewhere. So I commence emptying the shelves in both the closet and the cabinet.

We have way too much stuff!

I reorganize the closet and Phoebe calls to tell me she is heading home from school. “Oh, by the way, do you know where my brown flat sheet is?” I ask her casually so as not to show irritation – at 16 she is a doll but prone to snap at me over little things and after all, it is only a sheet. “Yes, it is on my loft bed.” she says. “OK, thank you, see ya soon. I love you!”  I say.

It is the end of the day. Finn is feeling better. My bed is made – there is a green flat sheet which blends nicely with the brown fitted sheet. I am going to start dinner and I did not write my piece on breasts.

But, look at my closet!

Sean, one of my youngest cousins was married this weekend to his lovely girlfriend Shauna. It was a wonderful big Irish Catholic Boston wedding with lots of gregarious New Englanders.

I remember babysitting Sean when he was a baby – I think I was about 19.  Sean is the youngest of four siblings. I know that they were all born vaginally and that the younger three were all breastfed.

At their wedding I spied at least five pregnant women.  I wanted to grab the mic from the DJ and call them and all the young women to a young women’s empowerment circle.

Women having babies today are up against a new wave of disempowerment around birth. Birth centers are closing and any little problem puts you in a “high risk” category of lots of monitoring of pregnancy.  The Caesarean rate in this country is creeping toward 50%. Of those women at the wedding, at least three will give birth surgically.  I doubt any of them will have the “permission” to allow their baby to remain inside for 42 weeks. There will be pressure to induce which will lead to a series of complications and fear for the new parents. All of this intervention leads to breastfeeding challenges.

To all pregnant women and women considering pregnancy I encourage you to empower yourself with knowledge. Find what is normal. Ask what you would like for yourself.. For your baby.

Read some good books. Create a birth plan. Meet a midwife. Interview more than on ObGyn. Go to La Leche League Meetings. Watch birth videos. Hire a Labor Support Doula.

I dream of a future where birth is a normal empowering part of life and where breastfeeding is commonly seen.  I worry about the young families today. I challenge you to make a difference, to challenge the status quo.

I hope Sean and Shauna’s babies and all their friends have the same opportunity that Sean did to be born normally and to be fed normally.