What no one told me about breastfeeding: Part One

Shira breastfeeding sometime last month.

Our first meeting.

This is me and Shira on May 11, 2007 2010*, her first day on the outside. After she was born in the water the midwives helped the two of us out of the tub (without grace I might add, as I had not yet delivered the placenta and we were still very much attached to one another) and into a welcoming queen-size bed. If I remember correctly Shira began nursing about 14 seconds after we settled into bed, and stopped only about six days ago. Two years, seven months, and four days is how long I breastfed my Shira Clementine. And no one told me just how sad I would feel.

I have been either pregnant or breastfeeding since February 2007. To say that my identity, my body, and my heart has been wrapped up in birth and breastfeeding barely touches how I'm feeling. You know how you stare at a mess of yarn or string that is so tangled in knots you don't even know where to begin to untangle it? You turn it around in your hands and try desperately to choose a  place to dig in, hoping to find that end you can begin to maneuver through and around and through again, using one strategy after another hoping to end up with one single, uncomplicated piece. That's a little bit how I feel looking at myself now, trying not just to figure out how to understand my new place in Shira's life, but to understand my own feelings in my own, seemingly new body.

So I give you a list (you know I like lists) of ten things no one tells you about breastfeeding. I'm offering this as a series in two parts, so check back next week for part two.

1. It's hard work. Ok, most people will tell you that now. In the weeks leading up to giving birth, many women begin to worry about breastfeeding. In the first days after birth, some women enter a state of complete anxiety about it. Is there enough milk? Why does this hurt so badly? Is she always going to nurse this much? Can I drink coffee? (The answers according to me are: usually, a bad latch, probably, and I did.) The moral of this story is that breastfeeding doesn't always happen the way you want it to, where you bring your baby to your breast, baby latches, and then baby drinks happily with the form of a gold medal breastfeeder that leaves your nipples happy and in one piece. Sometimes you have to try a hundred times to get a good latch; other times you try and try and you just can't seem to fill up your baby. But it's ok, I promise. However you figure out breastfeeding, whatever that looks like to you, it will get better. Alyce cried almost every time she tried to latch on for six months. We tried everything, visited lactation consultants, went to La Leche Meetings, cried to friends. Eventually, after some dedication on both our parts, it just worked. We got each other, settled into a rhythm that didn't stop until she was almost two, when I was pregnant with Shira.

Sometimes breastfeeding is just like breathing, and you can do other things while you feed you baby, like take ridiculous pictures of yourself. Or text your husband in the next room and ask him to bring you a glass of water. Done and done.

2. Sometimes it isn't hard work. Then Shira was born. She entered this world with one thing on her brain (milk) and continues each day motivated by the same thing (more milk). Sometimes breastfeeding isn't so complicated. Sometimes you don't need special pillows or pumps or covers for when you're out in public. Breastfeeding Shira was so uncomplicated and I an eternally grateful for her expertise, especially when I spent so much of her first year learning how to be a  mother to two children. I had other things to feel anxious about and Shira let me worry about those just as long as I had the time to lay next to her in bed with an open shirt.

Still nursing, two hours after birth.

3. iPhones were made so you could capture your child breastfeeding in digital forms as many as ten times a day. I didn't have an iPhone with Alyce and as a result I have about six photos of her at the breast, on account of those days I had enough forethought to sit down near an actual camera. But with my iphone always close by I was able to document Shira's most favourite past-time on a daily, if not hourly basis! Very little warms my heart more than a photo of Shira breastfeeding, cheeks rosy, eyes bright (or sleepily closed), relaxed in my arms. I will show Shira these photos throughout her life, and in between eye-rolls she will listen to me tell her that she was loved and held and adored so dearly that I never wanted to put her down.

Like this photo.

And this one.

4. Breastfeeding helps you steal time. I don't know what it's like to bottle feed a baby, and I hope it is clear from my writing on this blog that I care most about supporting parents no matter how they feed their babies, but I will tell you something about breastfeeding that I think is special. Because breastfeeding is often done privately, even for those of us (myself included) who are happy to breastfeed anywhere (synagogue, Target, the subway, in front of my nervous stepfather), you'll often find yourself alone when you breastfeed your baby. Breastfeeding requires a certain kind of focus. Since a baby can't look around a room in quite the same way (though they, ahem, try as best they can), breastfeeding an older infant or toddler often means finding a quiet place to nurse. I have stolen the most magical of moments while feeding by daughters, like the time we were driving from Toronto to Delaware, late at night and Matt and Alyce we re grabbing some food inside the service centre. Shira and I sat together in a quiet, darkened car, breastfeeding and looking at the stars. Stolen, just like that.

In the car at Allentown, Pennsylvania.

5. If you plan it right, you can get a lot of reading done. Once Alyce was a year old I could start reading a book while we sat together and breastfeed before nap or bedtime. She was tired enough at those times that her arms didn't wander around too much and grab at my book. But with Shira I learned how to breastfeed her lying in bed from the first day, and this opened up endless reading possibilities. As long as it wasn't a heavy hardcover book I couldn't balance in one hand, I was able to read almost every time I breastfeed Shira for almost eighteen months. In fact, I read the entire Sookie Stackhouse series before she was four months old. Now don't tell Matt, but sometimes I would keep reading a fifteen few minutes after she was done nursing just to keep reading. Glorious development that was.

Sometimes Shira would read, too. That was less comfortable.

Other times she prefers to hold friends. Friends, how can you resist that chubby arm?

Check back next week when I share how breastfeeding didn't make me feel oppressed and how both Shira and I are dealing with weaning. I'll give you a hint on that last one: Shira is fine and I am a mess. No surprises here!

*Update: Thanks, Christina, for reminding me that Shira was not born in 2007. That was my other daughter. Weaning=general anxiety and forgetfulness.

Stories

It seems that Instagram is in some trouble for scaring the pants of its users this week (concerns about selling users' photos without payment or consultation), but I'm not frightened. Yet. Like today I want to share some photos and a little about our past week, but it's December and there are birthdays and Hanukkah and Christmas and opening a doula business and I can barely find the time to breathe. I like how Instagram feels like story, and I'm sharing these with you here even though I've already shared them there. Are you on Instagram? Tell me how to find you!

So this is us this week. In between all the crazy we're making a lot of crafts (including that scarf Alyce is sporting above) and beginning to bundle up for winter. Here's to the crazy this month, and here's to all those moments in between, the pre-dawn colouring sessions, the hugs, the walking to school to pick up older sisters, and the naps (oh, how I wish there were more naps). I'll be around here a lot this week, but in the meantime, here's a little of our story.

What's your story this week?

Have you seen my doula blog?

It's here! I am excited to share my newest project with you, my business! I have been working hard for months to complete my birth doula certification (almost done!) and I'm so happy to introduce you to my new blog, Birthright. I am now serving as a birth and postpartum doula in Toronto and my new blog gives me the opportunity to share my experiences as a doula, as well as some of my thoughts on pregnancy, birth, and new parenthood. I hope you'll join me over there, stop by, and say hello!

Thank you to everyone who has offered kind words, advice, and some extra courage! And thank you to my first clients for such wonderful feedback.

And please, help me spread the word! You can also follow me on Facebook and on Twitter (@doulabirthright).

Eighth Night

Last night was the eighth and final night of Hanukkah. All week long we made the night sky a little bit brighter while we celebrated together. The world has felt awfully dark since the news on Friday and I was grateful for the little bit of sparkle the candles brought to our home these past two nights. I held my family close this weekend and my thoughts are with the families and communities in Connecticut.

Five

Dear Alyce,

Yesterday you woke up and you were five years old. Do you remember when you were born? I do. You'll learn about this when you're older, but grown-ups are always thinking about the past. We cling to it the way that you leap toward your future. I think about the day you were born because it was magical. You don't ask me too often to tell you the story of your birth, except for the part where we named you (and I love to tell that story). But one day you'll want to know that it was very, very cold outside on the day you were born. I'll tell you how I walked around the house for almost two days, encouraging you to move down, down, down.  How I was frightened of my labour pains but then you were born I wasn't frightened anymore. How when we met I understood that you were mine and I knew how to love you and everything was how it should be. Sometimes I make mistakes but I always know how to love you. I write you love letters all the time, like this one, on your birthday.

Will you read this when you are grown and remember what it was like to be five? Let me help. You still believe in imaginary worlds, even though you pretend not to sometimes. One day at school I watched your librarian read you a story about bats sneaking into a library late at night to read all the books, and then she asked your class if this story could happen in real life. (Of course it could happen, bats love to read, we all know that.) You were the only one to raise your hand. So now I'm watching you learn that other people have already stopped believing in stories, and while it makes me sad to think you might have given up hope, I know better. I still believe in fairies, Alyce, so don't bother with what other people think.

Before you were born I thought children were sweet and delicious. You, my Alyce, are sweet and delicious, but you are also brave, and confident, and stubborn, and curious, and electric. The other day you asked me what would happen if a space rock hit the earth like it did the dinosaurs. Later that day you asked me to explain war. I wish you still asked mostly about unicorns, but you are five now and have one small foot planted firmly in the world. You already know why it is wrong to hurt someone else, that one of our most important tasks in this world is to be kind. You also know that things are complicated and that sometimes it isn't easy to be kind. But the thing is, you try harder than anyone I know, and that is one of the reasons I love you so much.

I struggled writing this letter. I started yesterday, on your birthday, but I kept putting it away. Nothing felt right. Ask anyone else and they'll tell you why: I'm not quite on board with your growing older. Why is this so hard for mothers to do, to get on board with the inevitable, and wonderfully exciting new things you'll experience as you get bigger and bigger, like wearing earrings, going to the mall alone with your friends, or falling in love with Buffy the Vampire Slayer (hands down the greatest heroine ever)? Is it because we worry about the not-so-wonderfully exciting new things you'll also experience? I think it is all true. But there is something else that makes me drag my feet. I have loved so much about you at every year of your life, and at each birthday I just can't imagine that there could be more.

So I'll use this special place, this blog I write mostly to you and your sister, to tell you all the wonderful things I love about you when you are five. I love that you pronounce scissors as zizzors, and say burgerker instead of burger. I love how you spoon me when we sleep together, how you nuzzle your head in the space at the back of my neck. I love how you sing, dance, and leap your way through so much of your life. I love how you never forget your sister. I love that you asked for a fish for your birthday and you named him Periwinkle. I love that you care so deeply.

Yesterday you woke up and you were five years old. I predict that it will be an excellent year.

Love,
Your Mama

Monsters: My morning at kindergarten

Every Thursday morning I spend an hour or two in Alyce's kindergarten class. It is a split junior and senior mix, so the age range of this zoo classroom is three to almost six. Alyce falls into the almost-five category, as she reminds me constantly in the week leading up to her birthday next week. I volunteer in class for a few reasons: I'm nosy, I'm curious, and I'm a sucker for kindergarteners. There is one little boy who is so completely delicious that I want to wrap him up, put in my pocket, and take him home with me. (I didn't in case you were concerned.) There is also a sweet-as-pie little girl who almost knocks me over each Thursday morning to ask if she can read to me. Every week it is the same boring book about a train, but I'll take the boredom for the grin she gives me in return. Alyce is in a large class, twenty-nine monsters in total, but the teacher and assistant do what they can. They rely on parents for an extra hand, which is where I come in. It gives the kids another adult to pester with stories. No word of lie, one little one interrupted the teacher this morning with a story that went on for five minutes. He got lost in the twists and turns of his own plot and everyone in the room was glancing at their watch. We'll all cut him some slack, though, because the poor guy is only three.

Most of the kids don't like bananas. I know this because their first job of the morning, after hanging up coats and stuffing lunch bags into cubbies, is to write their name on the daily survey. Last week the question was "Do you have a sister? Yes or no." They all take turns with the marker and painstakingly print their names in the appropriate column. Today the question was "Do you like bananas? Yes or no." Like I said, most kids fell on the "no" side of this debate. I do like bananas, so this morning I sneaked my name on the "Yes" side, right next to Max's. Next the kids are instructed to find the appropriately aged book and sit down for some reading. This totally happens. Well, some of them try. One little one wanders around the whole time begging Alyce to sit next to her and rarely actually sits down with her book. I don't know what happens most days when I'm not there, but on Thursdays Alyce wants to sit with me, resulting in the other one threatening to un-invite Alyce from her sleepover (which I'm pretty sure is an imaginary sleepover, since all of these kids are too young and loony for a sleepover). A few other children spend reading time telling each other very loud stories about what happened on the way to school. About ten kids each week bring me very long books about dinosaurs to read to them. (Another dinosaur book! Again! Ok, fine.) And then that sweet-as-pie little girl asks me again if she can read that story about that bloody train. But how can I turn down that pile of sweetness in pink corduroy pants? I just can't. Can you?

The rest of the morning follows the same lines, with the teacher giving instructions on a variety of projects. Today it was drawing pictures about the last time they went to the doctor. I thought Alyce would illustrate a scene from a few days ago when she went completely over the edge screaming about a flu shot, but she went for a generic (though, lovely) smiling Alyce next to a figure in a white coat. There wasn't a scream, tear, or terror on her page. The teacher gives instructions, the kids set off running, and the rest of the time is spent on damage control. I like to keep close to the sweet little boys in the corner who try so very hard to sound out the sentence "I went to the doctor because I was sick" with their thinking tongues poking out the side of their mouths. In the end it looks more like this: "IWntTDrirCSk."I was so proud.

At snack time it's my time to escape. Alyce has usually enjoyed my time there, showing off that her mama is in the classroom, snoodling in my lap when the teacher reads them a story. Today I threw her off by bringing my own snack, pulling up a chair, and eating with a table of four year olds. I like to shake things up in kindergarten, I'm telling you. Until next week.

P.S. I forgot to tell you one thing: watching and listening to twenty-nine three to six year olds yell the Canadian national anthem is up with my ten favourite sounds. If you can only give up a few minutes of your week, I suggest you show up in Room Two around ten o'clock in the morning, just before the birthday announcements. They won't let you down.

A few favourites

It's cold now. Last Friday fall fought the good fight, and fought right alongside it in my ballet flats with no tights, but winter has bested the both of us. It is here now, the snow clouds are beginning to appear, and I've reluctantly pulled out my boots. I'm reluctant not because I dislike winter (because I love winter), but I hate wearing boots because I hate wearing socks. It's complicated. Maybe I just haven't found the right pair of socks.

The rest of these photos were taken yesterday on the way home from school. Our usual walk home was interrupted by hunting down a mailbox to send a card to Nana (why can't I ever find a mailbox?) and a stop for a victory hot chocolate once we finally tracked one down. This week I hope you, too, can find a moment for a victory hot chocolate. You could even put whipped cream on it, as Alyce and Shira did. I would not put whipped cream on my hot chocolate because not only do I not like socks, I also do not like whipped cream.

Here are some things that I do like:

If you celebrate Christmas with children and you're looking for an advent calendar, check out this homemade one from The Knitty Gritty Homestead. I adore the idea of spreading out all the fun over 25 days.

I sometimes (only sometimes) complain about waking up at 5:00 am with Shira. Helen Jane starts her day at 4:00 am on purpose. What I like the most is how she makes use of her day, even if her rhythm is a little different than most 9-5ers.

I don't know how to crochet, but I am going to make this for my girls. Just you watch me. P.S. Please send help. I really don't know how to crochet.

Vegetarians may want to avert their eyes!  Whole Larder Love had me reading for hours. I have no interest in living this particular off-the-land life, but I'm encouraged that there are such people in the world. I also wouldn't mind an invitation to dinner.

I love learning how other people find the time to make food in their kitchen. I also love it when they snack on a potato chip or two after baking their homemade bread. We can't all be perfect. Life is far more interesting when things are a little complicated. (I sound like a broken record.)


And speaking of eating, heaven is brussel sprouts and pecorino cheese.

I would like to make dinner in these.

Grilled cheese with pesto and applesauce.

And this grilled cheese, too. Brie and cranberries, you had me at grilled cheese.

It's not always about cheese, you know. This roasted squash salad also includes creme fraiche.

I must have squash on the brain, because I also need to share with you this squash and apple salad. Read for the recipe or just read to enjoy one my favourite blogs. I could read Molly's words all day long, and when her latest blog post pops up in my reader I save it for last, so I can savour it just that little bit longer.

I'm going to try this new pumpkin bread recipe tomorrow. I have fresh pumpkin in the fridge just waiting to become bread.

 P.S. Matt took Alyce to the her first ballet this weekend, the National Ballet of Canada's performance of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. I'm not posting any photos from their date because he promises a guest post all about it. Let's hope he's not just all talk. But this last photo was taken last night as Alyce tried to recreate the ballet in drawings. She's been taking the photos torn out of the ballet program with her everywhere she goes, so I think they had a good time.