Weekends

This is about how I feel right now.

Someone stole my iPhone over the weekend. I am so naive. When I realized that I had left my phone in the washroom at my hair salon, I didn't rush back over to retrieve it; I was on a date with Alyce (she always joins me while I get my hair cut and usually tells me I look like a boy) and didn't want to leave our dinner to get cold on the table while we ran the few blocks down the street back to the salon. Because when you find someone's phone in the washroom at the hair salon you return it to the front desk, right?

Nope, evidently you steal it. I hate thievery.

There isn't much I can do and I just need to accept that I am now spending quite a bit of money on a new phone. I need one for my doula business, my camera, and I might as well just come clean and tell you that I'm addicted to Twitter (@mostdaysiwin, in case you wondered). I should receive my new phone tomorrow and so I will quit complaining soon, but not before I moan a bit about the loss of my photos. I hadn't uploaded my photos in a couple of days and lost some great ones. I have plenty of photos stored elsewhere but that doesn't stop me from wanting to show you that photo of Alyce and Shira dressed up as fairies (costumes over snowsuits), hiking through High Park in search of winter fairies.  But I can't, so instead I offer you a photo of Alyce taken last year around this time. She's clearly overcome by something, but I know not what.

Moving on. My weekend was filled with everything a weekend should be.

:: We had a quiet, but lovely Shabbat dinner on Friday. We'd had a long, tension-filled week, and Matt and I were both ready to snap. Actually, we did snap, but only had time to feel overwhelmed and cry (that was me, I'm a stress-cryer) for a few minutes, because Alyce and Shira were determined to welcome Shabbat with joy. It was one of the first times that Shira participated in saying the blessings and Alyce seems to have learned them by heart overnight.  It was just what we needed.

:: We joined the High Park Nature Centre for a nature walk in search of winter fairies. It was a great way to spend an afternoon, with the perfect mix of cheap ($2/person) and a great way to spend some time outside. Add in the fairy adventure and you had me at hello. They have nature walks every two weeks on Saturday afternoons, in case you're in the neighbourhood.

:: I held a snake for the first time and did not die. It was a garter snake at the Nature Centre named Snake, and he was sort of cute. I'd show you a photo of Snake but someone STOLE MY PHONE. (Sorry.)

:: Got my hair cut. I'm growing out a very short cut and I had waited as long as I could before buckling and getting a cut. Just a trim. A tiny one. Mostly mullet removal.

:: Shared a bottle of wine with a good friend. That's always fun.

:: Broke my tooth in half eating Doritos. That was less fun.

:: Spent a few quiet hours working and grading.

:: Watched the Oscars with another good friend (I'm blessed in the friend department) and consumed a delightful amount of sugar.

:: Made plans to give up sugar.

How was your weekend? Did you watch the Oscars? Did you also wonder why Kristen Stewart looked so mad?

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.

Smile

We spent the morning at a photographer's studio. I love photography. I am in awe of what people can do with a camera, like an actual camera that isn't my iPhone. And while I don't know what it's like to work under the pressure of potentially unhappy customers, we didn't really have fun. Yes, I'm sure we will get an incredible photo at the end of it all, and since the photo session was a gift from my mum and stepfather, I'm grateful that we had the opportunity. But trying to coerce my children to sit for the perfect shot is not my idea of a good time.

I don't have good feelings about bodies being in the centre of attention on a good day, or more specifically, my body being the centre of attention. Blame the mean boys and girls of my youth, my penchant for baking, my hips' homage to Ruben, or my years in ballet, but I've never been a big fan of my body, and this generally makes me feel uncomfortable in any setting where attention is thrown my way, even when it's positive. (This is not my best trait, but it is who I am. I even annoy myself, like when someone compliments my hair and all it does is make me feel terrible about the rest of body. Just accept a compliment, already.)

As a parent I often struggle with just how much attention is given to my daughters' looks. Don't get me wrong, their beauty stops me in my tracks. But they are my kids, and I'm hard-wired to think so. And I am also stopped in my tracks by their thoughts and feelings, and even sometimes by their jokes (Alyce over breakfast today: What letter makes honey? Me: I don't know. Which one? Alyce: "B"!) But strangers who only meet them for a few moments, or acquaintances we run into only now and again, they always focus on their looks and they just can't seem to stop going on. And on. In some ways this attention make me feel proud because I know that it isn't their good looks that gets the attention, but their enormous hearts that shine through their faces. But other days I start to worry about what Alyce and Shira are learning from all this attention.

Like most things, I'm conflicted (surprising, I know). Rebecca at Girl's Gone Child made an excellent point about raising our girls to enjoy their own beauty, and it has stuck with me since I read it last year. She writes:

I want my children to own their beauty, not be ashamed of it. I want them to know how to take compliments and to return them because we are the sum of all of our parts. In order to have healthy bodies we must know how to properly care for them, not ignore that they exist. Our bodies are more than just shells. They bring pleasure and yes, even happiness when treated with respect and love. So ignoring our daughters' physical selves does not protect them so much as it sets them up for potential guilt and insecurity. (Find the rest here.)

This is good stuff: we are the sum of many parts, bodies included. But my challenge comes in the form of having absolutely no idea how to teach my girls to love their bodies but not become defined by them. For them, right now, their bodies are praised. But let's face it, a few mean (or simply thoughtless) comments down the line and all of a sudden that praise turns to critique, and when that happens I want them to stand on the knowledge that their worth comes from more than bodies. I grew up thinking I was somehow second-class because I wasn't as skinny as my friends. Now that I'm a mother to two girls, I find myself in a bit of a defensive position when it comes to bodies.

Relax, you're thinking, and you're probably right. This isn't the first time I've over-thought something. At the end of the day I try to teach my girls to enjoy their bodies and not to take things too seriously. We dress up as princesses and fairy ballerinas, dress up in my clothes and make-up, and then spend hours forgetting about what our bodies look like as we chase each other around the park playing tag and secret agent. What I didn't like about this morning was that I felt like we signed up for an hour of picking on my daughter's bodies. It became an exercise in choosing the best clothes, brushing the hair out of Alyce's eyes, and placing their bodies just the right way. When the photographer asked if I could fix their wispy, fly-away hair, I said no, that's who they are. When he wanted them both smiling directly into the camera, I refused to beg constantly for them to listen and sit still. When he looked disappointed by their ability to listen, Matt and I were laughing on the sidelines at Shira's determination to thwart his every attempt at control. I think we were terrible customers, but I was unwilling to make this a moment for (mostly) Alyce to feel as though there was something wrong with her, that her body didn't look just right for the pictures. There are so many things for them to learn as children, between all the talk of manners and rules and learning how to be a kind and generous human being, I'd rather not make an issue out of some fly-away hair.

This gift from my mum is a wonderful one, and I can't wait to see what pictures did come out of today. If we ever do this again I'll see if we can find a photographer able to come to our house and follow them around, capturing them the way I love best: up to no good. For now, though, I'll mostly just enjoy these blurry photos I took with my iPhone. They're blurry because Alyce and Shira are children and don't like to sit still. Also, I was laughing so hard. That's way more fun than static free hair styles and matching dresses.

More thoughts on breastfeeding a toddler

The perk of nursing with your iPhone handy? Capturing grins like this one.

Shira is turning two in a few weeks and I'm starting to get a lot of questions about breastfeeding. How long will you continue to breastfeed? Don't I want to stop? Is she going to permanently fuse to your breast? Fair enough. I don't think these questions are unusual by any means. Women just don't breastfeed toddlers very much in our culture, though that is starting to change. My friends and family have always been very supportive about my breastfeeding Alyce and Shira, but since for most of them it isn't the norm, I naturally receive a lot of questions.

A lot of people expect that I will stop nursing Shira once she turns two. Again, I understand why they expect it will come to an end. She's growing up and standing so much on her own in the world. It makes sense that she will no longer want to breastfeed one day, busy as she is. But right now she isn't ready and I have no need to enforce an arbitrary deadline on her. There are many reasons women need or choose to wean, but I don't have any of these reasons at the moment. I'm home with them full-time, so I'm always available. With the exception of that crazy week in Vancouver, it doesn't cause me any pain. She clearly still wants to breastfeed because she asks for it throughout the day and enjoys it when I am able to. (Also, in case you were wondering, you can't make a baby breastfeed unless they want it. They will absolutely not latch on if they don't want to.) There is no question in my mind that she still needs to nurse. This doesn't mean that I think harm would come to her if I decided to wean today. She would adjust and adapt just fine. But with no reason to stop, we'll continue on, my little nursling and me.

And of course, she's not the only who gets something out of breastfeeding. I love nursing her. It's my time with just Shira and no matter how much she will always love me, she will never snuggle with me again like this on a regular basis. I came to terms with that when I weaned Alyce at twenty-two months, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. In fact, it makes me quite sad to think about ending our breastfeeding relationship. It would mark an end to so many things and I would grieve this transition. (Many women suffer depression when they wean. You can find one women's story here). In a month from now I might feel very ready to stop, and I'm happy that I have the freedom to wait for that time to come. Who knows, I could feel that way tomorrow. Or, Shira could decide for the both of us. Either way, as sad as I will be when this is over, it will be ok. I find transitions of this sort so difficult, but I always get through them.

If you've read any of my blog before you're probably wondering if I will ever stop talking about breastfeeding. It's not looking good for you, I'm afraid. Breastfeeding your baby, or any kind of close relationship you share with your child, is transformative. It's going to change you, and if you're like me, you want to share that with the entire internet. You're welcome.


What about parenting has transformed you?

P.S. Here is an article by Dr. Jack Newman, a breastfeeding expert with some wonderful advice on nursing a toddler.

P.P.S. Another post on breastfeeding a toddler. And another one.

Because then you'll never miss these

Are you on Instagram for iPhone or iPad? I'm probably the millionth person to say this, but it's amazing. Instagram lets you steal parts of your day and share them with others: good parts, hard parts, or any parts you like. You can follow me @mostdaysiwin.

P.S. Since we're talking about following, you can also find me on Pinterest. If you need an invite to Pinterest, send me an email and I'll forward one your way.

Daily communication

  

Matt and I used to spend a lot of time together. Between the flexible hours of his previous job and my staying at home with The Children, we rarely spent time apart. Now that I'm back at work (at my temp job for now), we've had to change how we communicate. No longer able to just wander in the kitchen for a conversation, now, with thanks to our beloved iphones, we send texts and photos back and forth all day long. Matt sends me updates about his day and photos of Alyce and Shira (do you like her new winter coat?), and I send him photos of recipes I write down on post-its, hoping he'll start dinner before I get home. As mundane as our messages can be, they keep me sane. I need the reminder right now, that some things haven't changed. When my life feels so upside-down, I rely on these constant little messages from home. We're still here. You're missed. Alyce just asked for her millionth snack. Where are Shira's boots? I receive these details on my phone and all feels right in the world. 

What keeps you sane when you're away from home? Do you want Matt to send you messages, too?