Posts from — September 2010

I have pretty much never written about breastfeeding because it’s a subject that brings out the hate words.  People drop by your blog who don’t even read the post — they simply skim to get a sense of where you fall on the breastfeeding/formula debate, and then unleash their rage in your comment section.  And personally, I never like my blog being used as another person’s soapbox — especially since blogs are free, and people can start their own sites to discuss their ideas rather than use mine.

And that is the first key point to make — if you have the term “breastfeeding” on a Google alert and are coming here for the first time because my blog popped into your inbox, there is a terrible problem with the way you are communicating, which isn’t educating insomuch as it is berating.  I am all for friendly debate backed by sound research, but I’m not for name-calling.  And using Google alerts in that manner seems predatory rather than illuminating.

After all, this is my blog and I am entitled to express my own opinion.  And just as I wouldn’t enter your house and tell you how you are living your life is wrong wrong wrong if you were kind enough to invite me in, I expect that people who visit my comment box politely disagree and not hatefully disagree — and I think we’re all adults here and know the difference.  If you want to write your own blog post about your own feelings in your own space, I support that fully and will probably pop over to read it and comment nicely over there (though “nicely” does not equal “agree.”  It simply means comporting myself politely.)

Is my title inflammatory?  Yes.  But so is the “breast is best” campaign.  Any time we name something “best” and ignore all other possibilities, we are being inflammatory.  The way we feed someone isn’t a car or a computer or a dishwasher — it isn’t something quantifiable that lends itself to a ranking system.  It is a product of circumstance and ability just as much as it is a product of choice.

This is my story:

I wanted to breastfeed, very badly.  I heard “breast is best” and I wanted to give the twins the best.  I took a breastfeeding class with Josh so he could even help me when the time came.  I practiced holds with dolls.

My breasts never changed with pregnancy — they didn’t grow larger, the nipples didn’t get darker.  Though I was concerned, my OB wasn’t worried because not everyone experiences breast changes and it was more likely than not that I would be able to breastfeed.

The twins were born and my milk didn’t come in.  I never became engorged or felt my “milk come down.”  There was no colostrum.  But rather than have people treat this as a problem, the breastfeeding specialists at the hospital simply told me that I needed to pump more, eat more, and rest more.

The twins were premature and needed to be fed at first by IV.  I still tried to breastfeed them, and we have many pictures of me sitting with my boob in their mouths while they starved.  I pumped 8 times a day.  With 8 pumpings combined, I could sometimes get 30 ccs of fluid — which is one ounce.  The fluid looked vaguely like sweat or water.  It certainly did not look like the breast milk stored in the refrigerator by the other mothers.

The doctor wanted to switch the twins to an ng-tube, which meant that they would be fed formula and my sweat-milk via a tube in their nose.  A nurse pulled me aside and told me that if I loved my children, I would continue to feed them via IV and not allow them to take formula.  She promised that it was healthier to never give the twins formula, healthier to replace an IV several times a day — an IV that carried with it a higher chance for infection. The lactation consultant backed her up and encouraged us to tell the neonatologist that we wanted the twins exclusively breastfed — no formula allowed.

I was a hormonal, terrified mother who had finally given birth to live children and what do you think happened to me when I looked up at the wall where the “breast is best” posters were hung (they were every few feet on the walls in the maternity ward and NICU), and was told by a medical care professional that it was better to continue with the IVs rather than start formula?

We luckily had an excellent neonatologist who knew what was best for our twins, and she stepped in and not only had the nurse reprimanded and removed from the twins’ care, but she explained that while breastfeeding is wonderful, it does not trump getting our twins off IVs so they could learn how to swallow and put on weight.  That to keep to a mantra that does not take into account specific situations is to cause damage.

The twins thrived on formula and put on weight and learned how to regulate their body temperature so we could hold them for longer than 20 minutes.  But I always felt guilty because I had been told that breast was best (and I was reminded daily by the posters), and here were my children in the hospital with compromised immune systems, and I was not giving them the best.  If something was “the best” it meant that everything else was sub-par.

Our story continues with pumping and a medication to increase supply (Reglan) that gave me a horrible reaction that almost killed me and severe depression because I was spending every second I wasn’t with the twins hooked up to a pump and never seeing any progress.  I saw a slew of breastfeeding specialists who all let me know that my problem was that I wasn’t eating/drinking/pumping/sleeping enough.

And then finally, someone did a blood draw.  And it turned out that I produced no prolactin.

And still, deciding to stop pumping was one of the most painful decisions I’ve made as a parent.  It wasn’t even really a decision — no prolactin = no breastmilk no matter how much I ate, slept, or pumped.  But still, everyone had said along the way that I just needed to try harder, therefore, it was difficult to step back and see that there was a clear-cut problem that no amount of work was going to circumvent.  I still tried to get the twins to take my breast, even after Josh returned the pump to the hospital.  Because the psychological scars ran that deep.

Do I think breast is best?  Well … no.  I don’t.  The research is conducted in a vacuum, without actual regard to the people who read and internalize the studies.  Is breast best for the average child who is born healthy to a mother who produces an ample supply of breastmilk?  Sure, I can believe that is the case.

But there are too many of us who can’t breastfeed because our bodies don’t produce breast milk, or we adopted without time or inclination to prepare our body for breastfeeding, or we simply have a personal reason for why we don’t want or can’t breastfeed.  And in those cases, formula is not the enemy.  It is the saviour.  Without formula, my children would not be alive today.

And I say that utilizing the same research that people hold up to claim breast is best.  Breast milk is specially designed by the woman’s body to feed her particular child and it is formulated with a nutritional ratio that

… Changes it’s composition throughout the feedings, as well as throughout the day. As baby grows, breastmilk continues to change to meet the needs for optimal growth, at each stage of baby’s development . This means that mom’s breastmilk at four months is perfectly suited to the needs of her four month old baby, and at six months, perfectly suited for her six month old.

Therefore, I cannot believe that the random milk contained in a milk bank could ever deliver what my child needs at that particular time better than formula.  It’s why we didn’t choose banked milk over formula, since our specific problem was weight gain and studies have shown that formula exceeds donor milk in terms of helping preemies put on weight.

See, another case of where breast is not best.  It’s good, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not best.

I cannot believe anything is best in terms of body functions that has limited accessibility.  Where would we start a campaign called “sight is best” in order to get kids to stop using circle lens?  We wouldn’t, because it would be rude and reductive to people who are blind.  Where would we start a campaign called “hearing is best” in order to get kids to turn down the volume on their iPods?  We wouldn’t, because it would be rude and reductive to people who are deaf.

And frankly, if you’ve ever spent time within Deaf culture, you would realize that hearing is not necessarily “best.”  Is it preferable in certain situations — of course.  But can it also be a drawback in others?  Yes, this is true too.  And therefore, rather than spending time arguing which is best — hearing or deafness — we agree that whatever works personally is best for that person.  We don’t always have a choice, and best should be used as a measurement for places where everyone has a choice to make.

And that is how I wish we’d approach breastfeeding.  There are those who argue that they still need to fight in order to combat the formula industry, but my question is why we need a war?  Why it can’t be a personal choice; one that we believe women are intelligent enough to make on their own?  In all facets of life, we receive what amounts to advertisements for choices whether it’s a peanut butter brand or having a water birth.  And I believe that we’re all intelligent enough to make a choice that works for our particular situation.

If we ever get lucky enough to have another child, I will probably try breastfeeding again, even though there hasn’t been a clear-cut method found to combat a lack of prolactin.  I will pump and give it a go for a few weeks; not because I believe breast is best, but simply because I want to have the experience of breastfeeding.  And it will hurt a lot again if I have to stop, but I also believe that something that causes mental distress can never be best.  A woman’s emotional health is just as important as a child’s physical health.  One does not trump the other.

And if it turns out that I still don’t produce prolactin, I will do what I did for the twins to balance out using formula.  My children have never had jarred food.  I made everything from scratch.  The steaming and peeling and mashing and freezing — these were the physical ways I fed my children.  Do I believe my food trumped jarred food?  No — I’m sure the nutritional difference was negligible.  But I needed a way to be physically involved in their feeding that went beyond the twisting off of a jar top.  It was the leveled playing field to breastfeeding — of utilizing my strengths (cooking) rather than mourning my foibles (my body).

My thesis: breast milk is great for some kids and parents.  Formula is great for some kids and parents.  The decision about which one to use needs to be weighed in each individual case rather than creating blanket slogans.  And that decision needs to rest with the people directly affected by the decision.  We do more damage than good when we believe we know what works best for another person when we don’t have all the information of their specific situation.

And my lord, anyone who actually reads this blog (rather than swinging by here due to a Google alert) knows that I am a kumbaya-loving hippie freak who obviously would support another woman’s decision to breastfeed.  But I’d also support a woman’s decision not to breastfeed.  Because I’m an open-minded kumbaya-loving hippie freak who would really like to preserve individual’s self-esteem rather than question their choices.

* If you’re here for the first time on my blog, I apologize for this rant.  I just read yet another blog post that touts “breast is best” which demonizing formula.  And for those of us who didn’t have a choice, who are being told that we gave our kids second-rate nutrition and missed out on the bonding experience of a lifetime (which, apparently, men or non-breastfeeding women never get to have), it’s incredibly hurtful.  While I tend to shy away from hot-button topics, I realized I’d get nothing else accomplished today if I didn’t release this.

Last week, I said I’d answer your questions, and here I am — doing it (by “doing it,” I mean answering your questions.  I don’t mean “having sex.”  Though I am having sex.  Though not right now).

Kymberli asks: “With your new book on the brink of release, are you ‘cooking up’ any ideas for new books yet?”

So funny you ask this.  When you asked it, the answer was sort of yes.  I mean, there is a sequel to the first fiction book that I’ve been picking at and a non-fiction book proposal I’m finishing up at the same time.  Then, on Wednesday, I had lunch with Calliope, Lindsay, and Jen, and as I drove home, this story idea I’ve been trying to figure out for over 10 years suddenly … well, got solved?  Is that the right way to put it?  I could clearly see how the book needed to unfold and that idea of how it had to happen started buzzing around inside my head while I was with them.  So I sat down and started writing it on Wednesday night and I’m already fairly deep into it.  So … that’s what I’m working on.  A sequel, a non-fiction book, and this super-cool project that I’m not ready to talk about yet, but is over 10 years in the making.

A asks: “Will you color your hair or let it gray naturally?”

Right now, I’m letting it go grey.  And I’ve always said that I wouldn’t touch it and that I thought grey was hot.  I may have to eat my words … but grey isn’t fitting my look right now.  I think grey will look good when it’s all grey, but right now, it just ages me a lot.  So I’m considering covering up the grey.

Mrs. Gamgee asks: “We all know you are a  very talented cook/baker.  What was your most memorable flop?   Have you been able to master the recipe since it flopped?”

Beyond the fact that most of the things you eat from me have been perfected over many recipes (my hamantaschen, for instance, took something like 20+ batches to get the recipe right), the biggest flop — without a doubt — was the time I forgot to add salt to a loaf of pain de campagne.  You start with a poolish, which takes hours to ferment.  And then the bread itself took 8 hours to make.  When we cut into it, a few hours before a dinner party, I tore off a piece and tasted it, and it was completely wrong.  That’s when I realized that I forgot the salt and I was so pissed at myself that I stormed out of the kitchen and slammed the baby gate so hard that I knocked it out of the wall.  I don’t remember what else was happening at that time, and I’m sure the overreaction to fucking up the bread was tied to something else.  But damn, every time I make bread and Josh is in the kitchen, he cringes and says, “did you remember the salt?”

Oh — and literally, as I wrote this, I burned a batch of cookies.

Annie asks: “My question is – how do you manage to do soooo much so well?  You sound like a really great mom and wife, you manage a bloggy empire and help lots of people that way, you write books, you cook . . .”

I don’t sleep a lot, I multitask fairly well, and I barely watch any television.  Though I probably do a lot less than you think.

Angie asks: “as someone who is told that you are shorter than imagined in person, which blogger, that you have met in person, was much different, i.e. shorter, taller, stranger, kinder, deeper-voiced, etc, than you imagined in real life and how so?”

Such a great question!  There have been a few, but the one that has thrown me off the most was Serenity.  For a while, I couldn’t picture the real Serenity when I read her blog; I had to keep the mental image I had of her before we met.  Over time, those two images merged and now my mental Serenity looks mostly like the real Serenity.  But she was so different than how I pictured her.  I’d love to hear how other people answer this question.

There were more questions, so another installment will be along soon.  In the meantime, answer the final question yourself and submit any others you have.

We got a new dishwasher this week and it’s gorgeous.  It makes the rest of the kitchen look like crap, but the machine itself brings shivers of newness.  I’m still creating a new loading system, shifting around plates and bowls so everything fits neatly and unloads quickly.

The man who installed it at first appeared as if he didn’t want to talk, but when I sat back down to work, he started calling out friendly questions to me — mostly about the area since we both grew up here — and I sat down to watch him work, chatting on about best swimming spots on the river and restaurants in Frederick.

At one point, he asked what I do if I’m no longer a teacher, and I answered that I’m a writer.  He looked surprised and said, “there’s money in doing that?” and I answered honestly that for most there wasn’t, but I had been doing this long enough that I was able to make a living — at least enough to float us — by being a writer.  The next logical question was “what do you write?”

The truthful but vague answer of “books and articles” led him to inquire what these books and articles were about.  I realized in that moment that I usually speak with women and therefore, when I answer this question truthfully, I’m usually not squirming on the inside admitting that I write about reproductive organs.  I muttered something about women’s health and then changed the subject.

Because, come on, the next honest answer was staring him in the eye and saying, “actually, I’m going to write about you.  This week.  On Friday if you care to read it.”

Because that obviously would have been the truth too.

*******

Tonight begins Yom Kippur and it will last until Saturday night.  As much as I dislike the fasting aspect, overall, I really love the holiday.  The service tonight — Kol Nidre — is gorgeous.  And then you go home and you feel quiet and perhaps you read a book.  And then in the morning, you go back to the shul for another service, and home to rest, and then we’ll have some people come over to break fast.  And afterwards, it feels like you’ve been under a blanket for 10 days and it’s suddenly lifted and you can breathe again.

Part of the holiday is asking forgiveness — for the things you know you’ve done, but also the things you have no clue that you’ve done because the other person silently seethed instead of let you know what a dick you are.  And this aspect of the apology fits perfectly with the Internet because too many times, you have no idea how your words have affected another person — if they’ve damaged them or ruined their day or made them frustrated — by the mere fact that you can’t see the other person or even know if they read your words.

So I’m asking for forgiveness from you if I’ve upset you in the past year.  I am sorry, and it was never my intention.  Which doesn’t excuse it; it just serves as an explanation.

*******

And now, the blogs …

A Little Blog about the Big Infertility has a post about how infertility has affected her marriage.  It is a very raw, very honest post, and for me, the most interesting part came when she discussed how infertility has made her feel violated.  Once she said it, I completely understood what she described, and I’m glad they came to a place where they realized what was going on.  The post continues through so many loops and turns, through tears in a store and dreams, and she held me right there on their vacation until the end.

Expecting a Miracle also has a hard post as she heads into a personally hard weekend.  She begins, “It is starting again.  That ache.  That old familiar ache of wanting to be pregnant and knowing that another month has passed in which I’m not.”  It is a lovely, small post.

No Swimmin has a post springboarding off a commercial for the movie, Life As We Know It, wondering whether he’d be happy living child-free.  It was an option he considered before he was forced to truly consider it, and he’s now thinking through the what ifs.  I love this thought, “I think that, at first, back at the very beginning, well before the pulling of the goalie, I wanted kids mostly because Ms. Swimmin wanted kids, and I didn’t not want kids. In the beginning, that was enough for me. Now, things have changed.”  It’s a post you really need to read from beginning to end.

Lastly, A Little Pregnant provided food for thought with her post on whether infertility makes you a better parent.  It’s not only well-written with a very interesting thesis, but the discussion happening in the comment section is worth a read too.

The roundup to the Roundup: Suddenly I’m squeamish discussing my vagina.  Accept my apology.  And lots of great posts to read.

There was no Virtual Lushary in August.

For the first time in over three and a half years, we forgot to meet here and catch each other up.  I didn’t remember until September 1st, one day too late to squeak an August meeting under the wire.  And then I let it go until now, wondering how I forgot this ritual.

Was I busy — yes, but there have been plenty of other times when I’ve been busy and noted that the 15th is rolling near and I’d love to touch base and hear how everyone has been.  I was, apparently, at the National Aquarium taking pictures of jellyfish, or I was in Brooklyn, searching for the ghost stroller.

So … hello.  Creakily pushing the door open and hanging out the “please come in” sign on the door.  Who will show and let us know how they’ve been?

As always, it has been about two months since we met, bitched, cried, comforted, and caught up each other on our cycles and lives. Pull up a seat and I’ll pour you a drink. Let everyone know what is happening in your life. The good, the bad, the ugly. My only request is that if a story catches your eye, you follow it back to the person’s blog and start reading their posts. Give some love, give some support, or laugh with someone until your drink comes out of your nose.

I have a ton of assvice in my back pocket and as a virtual bartender, I will give it to you unless you specifically tell me that this is simply a vent and you do not want to receive anything more than a hug.

So if you have been a lurker for a while (or if this is your first open bar), sit down and tell us about yourself. Remember to provide a link or a way for people to continue reading your story (or if you don’t have a blog–gasp!–you can always leave an email address if you’re looking for advice or support. If not, people can leave messages for that person here in the comments section too). If you’re a regular at the bar, I’ll get out your engraved martini glass while you make yourself comfortable. And anyone new, welcome. I’m glad you found this virtual bar.

For those who have no clue what I’m talking about when I say that the bar is open, click here to catch up and then jump into the conversation back on this current post.

So have an imaginary cocktail and tell us what is up with your life.

What do you think of Carolyn Hax’s recent advice on giving a pregnancy announcement to someone experiencing difficulty conceiving?

I agreed with her up to a point, but I think how a person delivers the announcement truly makes a difference.  If the woman calls up the person and pretends nothing is wrong and chirps, “I have GREAT news,” that doesn’t honour or acknowledge anyone beyond herself.  And it’s one thing if she doesn’t know there’s a problem — we can’t be held responsible for gaffes we inadvertently make.  But she knows there is a problem (and it sounds like this woman is being berated for going along with the message which is sent to all women which is — if you want to have a baby, you just have sex, and 9 months later you end up with a live baby, no problem — by talking openly about her desire to build her family), so to give her announcement without any nod towards that seems a tad cruel.

Just me?

*******

I am struggling with dragging myself to mid-term election voting as well as the guilt I receive when I consider (okay, when I admit aloud) not voting.  Please let me explain my newly-acquired apolitical nature.

There is a fairly simply umbrella reason: when I get to the end of my life, I am going to be happier that I spent that half hour swimming in the river with my kids than I will be ensuring that someone else gets to do a job.  When Josh says, “you could do both!” it’s not really true.  I can’t be in the river and voting at the same time.  I may be able to do both activities in one day, but if I am voting, I am not in the river.

And if I died tomorrow, I would really kick myself that I made myself do one more thing I didn’t really want to do which took me away from something I really did want to do.  Such as swimming in the river.  There are enough dental appointments to keep and dishes to wash and laundry to do and meals to cook that are necessary and keep me away from doing fun things.  I don’t need to add voting to the mix as well.

The other reason, perhaps one that is more important, is that I am incredibly turned off by the concept of campaigning.  I hate receiving piles of junk mail daily that go straight into the trash without a glance.  I hate people knocking on my door to tell me about someone that wouldn’t represent me well at all.  I hate receiving countless phone calls from campaign helpers, and I hate cleaning the answering machine of countless hang-ups because I never answer the phone during election season.

This is what I want — a simple handout that tells me where the candidate stands on a handful of issues.  Something prepared by a non-partisan group who can list all the places on public record where the candidate has stood behind their words with actions.  Where they take the claims made by each candidate, research them carefully, and prepare a booklet for all voters to read prior to voting.

I am sick of people begging for my vote — trying to get me to vote for them not by being the best person for the job, but because they are the loudest or the most obnoxious or have the most money to spend on handouts.  I want to vote for someone whose campaign is simple and straightforward, stating where they stand and letting their words and actions be their audition for the part.  But I can’t find any candidates I’d want to support since they’ve all practiced this most obnoxious behaviour — because they must practice this obnoxious behaviour in order to stay in the game.

I wish voters would take a stand and say, “stop.”  We’re not going to vote if you’re going to waste money.  We’re not going to vote if you call us at home and leave leaflets on our doors and flood our mailboxes with glossy, non-recyclable handouts.  We are simply not going to vote, and when zero votes come in on election day, demand real election reform so that it doesn’t come down to money or energy.  It comes down to taking a clear stance on issues, while  honestly projecting the work you’ll do in the future.

I get really worked up about this because at the end of the day, candidates are just would-be senators and congresspeople begging for a job.  And while it’s an honour to get to choose the people who will represent you and do this work for you, for every other job in this world, we turn in a resume or we show expertise.  We quietly send an essay or fill out a form or complete an audition and then we sit back and hope our words or actions were enough to convey how well we’d fill the part.

We don’t apply for a job at the bank and then stand outside the bank waving signs and calling the bank every 10 minutes to ask if we’re getting the position or leaving leaflets on the bank’s front door.  And we shouldn’t conduct campaigns this way either.

One piece of paper — a booklet compiled by a non-partisan group that everyone can read and know the candidates — that’s all we need.

Of course, not voting doesn’t really create change.  But it’s sort of like attending a dinner party where the host has treated you like shit.  I feel like the candidates have treated me like shit by making me throw out their rubbishy campaign flyers and tied up my phone line, and the last thing I want to do is go attend their figurative party by going out to vote.

Such political crankiness from such a kumbaya-loving girl, but I really am fed up with the way campaigns are run.  More energy is put toward getting elected than actually doing the work once in office.  And I hate the guilt I feel when I consider not voting so I can get on the road and do something I really enjoy that — at the end of the day — matters more to the people I love.  Whether this democrat or that democrat represents me is sort of beside the point when I don’t even know in all honesty why I should vote for one over the other.  They talk a lot, but say very little.

Again, just me?