Perfect Imperfection
March 6, 2011
I have been researching mother blogs and mother memoirs and it seems there are many women out there who came into motherhood looking for perfection. They had an idealized view of being a mother. At the PPLC conference I heard someone compare the people who focus on the wedding and not the marriage to those who focus on the pregnancy and/or birth but not not the parenting.
I suppose being the type “B”, middle child I never expected perfection. I always knew I was flawed but I knew also that I was good. I believe that is true of everyone – we are all flawed and we all have something to offer. I feel like a work in progress. Who needs perfection? Certainly not our children. That is way too much pressure for them.
Just be who you are, strive to improve yourself and when you can’t at the moment just be. Just be YOU!
Exploring ideas
March 3, 2011
Hey Everyone,
This is inspired by one of those days when everyone seems happy but you really don’t know what’s going on . . . .
(The next one will be upbeat – I promise)
You don’t know . . . .
You don’t know that the woman playing with her little girl in the park has a heart that is broken wide open because the love of her life, her soul mate, the father of her children has died, fell over at the dinner table, his own hear apparently broken beyond repair.
You can’t tell by looking at her that she is bleeding and every drop of blood represents the baby that is no longer there, that no one could tell her when the bleeding would stop, that there would be clots she could feel at the checkout at the grocery store, that they said there wouldn’t be milk in her breasts but she leaks anyway, the fullness swelling with no one to suckle.
You couldn’t tell by looking at her that her mother died last night, she thought she was going to say goodbye but instead is going to bury her mother.
You couldn’t tell by looking at her, with her flowing hair that she had just had her breasts removed and that in 4 weeks the flowing locks would give way to a bare head.
You wouldn’t be able to tell by looking at her that her mother at yelled at her, that she couldn’t sleep for having had bad dreams and her mother didn’t seem to understand her stubbornness, that she couldn’t physically move the growing little girl body, that she had used every bit of strength to pull herself together just so her favorite doll wouldn’t go down the trash chute.
You wouldn’t know by looking at him that he had collected 4 years worth of anti-anxiety pills and that threats from his lover, the verbal and finally physical abuse would inspire him to end the misery and that in a few hours he would be blue on the cold tile floor of his bathroom.
Ban The Breast Burka
February 23, 2011
Katherine, a new mom, called me to discuss her milk supply. She was concerned with keeping up the demand of her baby. Then she asked me other breastfeeding questions. She was not sure how to nurse Sadie outside of her house. She thought it was because she needed her “special pillow.” The truth is she doesn’t know how because few women really breastfeed in public anymore.
There was an orangutan at a zoo in Boston. The zookeepers mated her and she became pregnant. Ms. Orangutan had been raised in captivity. She had not lived among sister orangutans so she did not know what to do with her baby when he was born – the baby orangutan died.
The second time around the zookeepers asked volunteers from the local chapter of La Leche League to nurse their babies in front of the primate. When the second baby was born the primate placed her baby in her arms backwards but with some guidance from the staff quickly learned to feed and care for her baby.
This is how we learn. We observe the behavior of others. When I was a pregnant with my first baby I had met a few breastfeeding mothers along the way including my sister-in-law. I took a breastfeeding class to learn as much as I could before my baby arrived.
When Phoebe was born she was placed in my arms and we nursed for the first time for about twenty minutes. And then we nursed – a lot. I felt awkward. I fumbled to unlatch my nursing bras, some of which were too big, some of which were too tight and one that broke. I bought dowdy nursing clothes. I wore button shirts. I still felt awkward. Phoebe was born on a hot summer day. I am a gregarious person. I am best chatting with a group. As a new mother I felt isolated. I hungered for company
That summer we had a few social events – a wedding, an engagement party – “showing off our baby” weekends. I noticed that wherever I went the host always had a “nice air conditioned room with a comfy chair” for me to go and nurse Phoebe. And Phoebe nursed all the time. I was even isolated in my socialization.
Sandra, my brother’s wife had recommended attending a La Leche League meeting. The meetings had been a great resource for her as a new mom. I found the meetings helpful but even more important were the lunch dates after the meetings. Phoebe and I joined other nursing moms monthly at the Thruway Diner. We always sat at the big round table in the center of the bustling eatery. Six to ten moms and their babies smack in the middle of business suits, ties, skirts and silk blouses.
This is where I learned to nurse out and about with confidence. I watched the moms with older babies. I saw unspoken communication between them. I saw how a baby might start to wiggle a bit and like Houdini the mom had unhooked her bra, lifted her shirt and latched the baby in seconds flat. It looked effortless and it also looked like there was a baby in her arms – no breasts hanging out, no cover ups – simply a babe in arms. I wanted to be like them. I wanted to feel that assured. I wanted to look that smooth and at ease. As I expressed my envy at their mastery they all assured me that they too had been awkward. They encouraged me to nurse Phoebe in front of a mirror and I did. I grew confident in my ability to nurse Phoebe whenever she needed. At the next social gathering Phoebe started rooting and I said to Rob, “I am going to nurse her here.” He put his arm around me and kept talking. From there I declined offers for the “air conditioned room with a comfy chair.”
I eventually became a La Leche League leader and then lactation consultant. I gave birth to two more children. I nursed them all over the place: the bus, the subway, Saks, Barnes & Noble, fancy restaurants, diners. Usually no one except other mother’s knew I was nursing. I was not hiding behind anything just nursing my babies.
When my youngest child, Finn, was about 6 months old I was at the pediatrician’s office for a well check up. In the waiting area were two new moms discussing a new product they had just discovered – “The Hooter Hider” one of them said in an embarrassed giggle. Then I started seeing breastfeeding covers everywhere. This was the antithesis of the Thruway Diner experience. A baby begins to fuss, the mother searches her bag for the cover, the baby fusses more, the mother opens the cover, ties it around her, by now the baby is wailing, the mom fumbles with the cover and the baby, the baby kicks about, perhaps not wishing to be under a tent. Now everyone knows what is going on under the fabric.
How challenging this makes everything. Breastfeeding by its very nature is designed to be simple. We have complicated it. We have made it shameful and difficult. Like the orangutan new moms today have no real life positive breastfeeding images.
Courtney, another new mom, asked me a question about nursing in public. I asked her,
“ Do you have any friends who are breastfeeding?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“So go hang out with them, learn from them,” I offered.
“They use a cover or expressed milk in a bottle.” she answered.
“Go to the thruway diner!!!” I want to scream. But that was another time, another place.
I walk down the street and look into the windows of Victoria’s Secret, American Apparel and Abercrombie + Fitch – this is our provocative world yet we must put a tent around us to feed our babies? We flaunt our breasts to sell products. Breasts are sexy – until they become functional. Then we hide them.
A few years ago I could spot a breastfeeding mom because I had a keen eye and I had been there. Nowadays anyone can tell a breastfeeding mom – she is the one hiding behind the overpriced piece of calico.
The Things I Carry
February 23, 2011
These are the things I carry:
My wallet, at least one lipstick, keys that now have a key card and at least
two obsolete keys. I sometimes carry a small purse, sometimes one larger,
just recently I stopped carrying diapers and wipes. I occasionally carry a
child, I carry a bag for work with an organizer full of handouts and
breastfeeding information. I have a bag of finger cots for testing a baby’s
suck, I carry nipple shields. I often carry a scale for weighing babies before
and after nursing to prove to mom’s that they do have milk or to
understand why a baby is fussy all the time. In my head I carry milk
storage guidelines which I can rattle off but I keep a printed copy for the
parents I see. In my pockets I carry super heroes and fairy dust. I carry
secrets told to me by my children, my other family members, not Rob – he
doesn’t seem to like the concept of secrets. I carry secrets from the moms I
meet, I know who had abortions, I carry milk in my breasts, I carry the
memory of the babies who died in my belly, I carry the feeling of birthing
my three children, I carry the wisdom of my mother and I carry the grief of
her loss. I carry words to songs in my head, I carry the residue of
secondhand smoke in my childhood lungs, I carry the secrets of growing up
in an alcoholic family. I carry a light inside that my mother never let me
forget was bright. I carry love, fear, joy. I carry hair ties.
mamamilkandme 