Boring and crazy.

Life for me as of late has consisted mainly of mundane days that blend in to one another with such ease that it's hard for me to recall which day is which, or even what I had for breakfast this morning. Winter arrived in one fell swoop (a blizzard, that is), and with it came these freezing temperatures that make it so painstakingly difficult for me to muster up the energy to bundle up and go anywhere. 

I'm still riding this colossal wave of hormones following my miscarriage. Certain days go by where it feels like all I really managed to accomplish was to quell the nearly insatiable desire in my heart to set fire to the universe and flush myself down the toilet. Needless to say, I'm waiting rather impatiently for my body and my hormones to regulate - and in the meantime, I'm crying over Christmas music and yelling at the boots sitting in my front foyer. 

Margot is growing up. I know this isn't news to anybody - least of all to me - but I'm really noticing it lately. She's sweet, she's beautiful, she's funny, she's curious, and she's all sorts of maddening, but she's this incredible person with ideas and opinions all her own.

She's starting to wean from breastfeeding. This is something that I knew would come one day, and probably someday soon, and my plan all along was for her to lead the way; but now that she is - oh, my heart... I'm sad about it. Just this morning I tried offering to nurse her, but "No, thank you," she said. 

"Are you sure?" I replied, as I sat down with her in my lap.

But instead of latching on, she again said, "No thank you," and then proceeded to push and shove my boob out of her face, saying, "Put it away. Put it away." 

...Oh. Okay, hilarious human being. Did you just turn into an embarrassed teenager overnight? 

Speaking of overnight, she's sleeping through the night. With this statement comes a wild and exaggerated dance number that I bust out every time I say it. Because SHE'S SLEEPING THROUGH THE NIGHT. You heard that, right? It only took almost two years... no biggie! 

I think in this picture you can see exactly how weary I am, how stupid-happy I am, and how in love with this girl I am. 

And the one thing you can't really see is the sweet little shiner I'm sporting on my right eye since Margot head-butted me last week. You know when something hurts so bad that you just instantly and uncontrollably burst into tears? That. My first black eye! 

Working toward normalizing breastfeeding

Margot and I are alone today while Daryl's at work, and we had a really lovely morning together before the shit hit the fan and she spent nearly the entirety of lunchtime bawling her face off because her yogurt was all gone. Nevermind, though, because I totally understand. Sometimes I'm known to scream and cry and let boogers and tears run down my face for half an hour when I finish my ice cream. I get it.

We went for a walk through the woods, and talked about bugs and green beans (her choice). And when we got home, I got to nurse her on two separate occasions - both of which came highly out of the ordinary since lately I only seem to breastfeed her before bed and in the middle of the night. But she asked, and I was happy to oblige, because is there anything more lovely than looking down into these eyes? For me, today, there is not.

Do I take too many breastfeeding selfies? Not as far as I'm concerned. But do I wish I cared less what other people thought? Yes. I'm working on it, though. 'Tis my mission with this blog; to overcome my insatiable desire to do what others think is best. Really, though, it's not that I care so much about what other people think as it is that I so fervently don't want to offend anybody. I'm a firstborn; I'm hard-wired to feel this way. I understand this quality within myself as much as I am annoyed by it.

But I am ashamed to admit that Facebook feels particularly scary today, with regard to sharing this post; I don't totally know why. But my circle of followers is far wider, and vastly more conservative than those on my other social media platforms.

A little voice in my head reminds me that this is not my finest effort at normalizing breastfeeding or uncensoring motherhood, but I'm trying to combat it with the knowledge that I'm taking my baby steps every day - and that for the record, they don't feel like baby steps at all. They feel like giant leaps off cliffs.

So... sorrynotsorry I'm flashing you my boob again.

Sometimes it's just a snack.

The other day I saw somebody on the internet defending the concept that regardless of circumstance, every instance of breastfeeding is a sacred time of bonding between a mother and her child.

I'm telling you with confidence that I don't feel remotely guilty for disagreeing wholeheartedly. The look you see in my eye here should not be mistaken for an accidental fleeting look of annoyance; Margot was running around the backyard wreaking havoc, grabbing all our very unripe tomatoes off the vines, whining and yelling at me for not giving her more raspberries after she'd eaten every last one, and climbing all over me like I was a jungle gym with a pulse.

She needed a boob, and I had one. Win-win, but with a strong dose of COME ON.

My best tips on pregnancy, labor & all that follows.

Even though I ended up being one of the last of my friends to have a baby, there still ended up being a few stragglers who had their first babies after I did. And if I'm not mistaken, there are others of you out there who have yet to have babies. Here's my best list of things I wish somebody had told me in the days and weeks leading up to having a baby.

Diapers

- Without a doubt, I have to wholeheartedly sing the praises of Target-brand diapers (Up & Up). These diapers scared me for the first few months, because I had been gifted an extensive supply of Pampers diapers, and in my head, name-brand rules all while off-brand ends up being more of a Plan B thing. We used Pampers until they ran out, then decided on a whim to tap into some Up & Up diapers that a friend had passed on to us. As it turns out, they're AMAZING. Granted they don't have the frills that name-brand diapers have, like cute designs, wetness indicators or perfumes (not that I want that, though), but they're absolutely fantastic diapers with no tendency to leak, and they're half the cost of Pampers. Never again did I buy anything but Up & Up, nor will I for any future babies we may have.

- I will say, though, if you don't have access to Target or you prefer name-brand products, I'm inclined to tell you that if I could accompany a Pampers suggestion with lights and music, I would. They're great diapers, and more importantly, they're not Huggies.

- Because friends don't let friends buy Huggies-brand anything. Least of all their diapers. The consensus among anyone I've ever talked to is the same: do not waste your money on Huggies. They're awful.

Wipes

- Since we're on the note of Huggies, stay away from their wipes, too. They're like wet paper towel - they'll actually rip. No good.

- Pampers wipes are really fantastic. I got one large pack of them at one of my baby showers; they're great, quality-wise, and they have a nice smell if you're into that sort of thing. I thought I was, until my brain started associating that perfume smell with baby poop and now a whiff of them makes me want to hurl. Anyway though, that's neither here nor there. So as I was saying, Pampers offers good quality; the price, though, not awesome. I'm like a broken record when I say this - Target is where it's at.

- Target's Up & Up wipes. I swear by these wipes. I buy the unscented ones, so I can't speak for their perfumed ones, but they do the job well, and the price is fantastic. (And side note: I also use them as makeup removers. They're gentle on bums AND faces!)

Nursing Pads

These are something you're going to want to love, as they're going to become an extension of your own body. From the time that my milk came in, about 4 days after giving birth, I wore nursing pads round the clock, seven days a week. The only time I didn't have a bra on was when I was in the shower. You'll figure out your own groove, but for me, it was hard to even make it from the shower to my clothing without drip-drip-dripping milk down my legs and onto the floor. So nursing pads were my best friends.

Don't forget that for the most part, when you're nursing your baby from one boob, the other boob is leaking like crazy; and if your boobs are full (after an extended period of not feeding, for example), when your baby starts crying and you're getting settled and getting your boob out, watch out for spraying. Milk is just going to start shooting out in every which direction. So, again, nursing pads. You want. You need.

- Having said that, I've tried a few different kinds, and have pretty much (again), settled on Target brand (is this post sponsored by Target? No it most certainly is not. I swear.) They're not amazing, but they do the job well. Their only real downside is that they're kind of lumpy - i.e. they don't really conform to a boob as well as Johnson brand, for example. So if you're wearing a thin bra and a thin shirt, it'll be obvious that you've got a nursing pad in. but they're really absorbent, and they'll keep your boob relatively dry.

- Johnson brand. I have a love/hate/mostly-hate relationship with these. I bought a box, really loved the way they conform to my boob (nobody can tell you're wearing them), but I absolutely hate their absorbency. They stay damp, and the absorbent gel stuff leaks out! One day I noticed this weird clear jelly-like stuff on Margot's face, and had no idea what it was...until I went to change my nursing pads and saw a bunch of it around my nipple. Awful! I have no idea whether or not she ever ingested any of it, but suffice it to say I never bought another box, and I was changing nursing pads very frequently. Invest in these at your own risk.

- Lansinoh brand. These suck. I expected more since they're name-brand, but their only perk is two sticky patches (to stick them to the inside of your bra...the others just have one patch). They're stupid because of a fold down the middle that divides the absorbency into two sections. totally defeats the purpose, in the name of easier packaging. Not good. Don't bother.

Nursing Bras

Hilariously, I wore a nursing bra with a hoodie overtop for like, a ridiculous length of time after Margot was born. My sister still laughs at me for it. I laugh at myself for it. I couldn't wrap my mind around how to comfortably wear a regular shirt and maintain insta-access to my boobs, so a zip-down hoodie and jeans was my outfit of choice for months. Because I'm really trendy like that.

Rather than just being hoodie-clad for months, I recommend a nursing tank top that you can wear over a nursing bra (or instead of one, if your boobs can handle that. Mine couldn't.), and underneath a normal shirt if you're concerned with keeping from exposing your whole torso when nursing. I don't have a wealth of information here since I went with a Gillian & O'Malley tank and hated it.

- So as far as nursing bras go, don't have much to say about these, as i don't own multiple brands. I invested in Bravado brand, and realized after awhile that they just don't withstand the test of time. I was really happy with them at first, but I wore out both of the ones I purchased within about six months or so. These are the ones I bought: Bravado's OriginalNursing Bra (Basic Style), and their Body Silk Seamless Nursing Bra. I preferred the body silk one over the original, because the body silk comes with inserts, and because the original is a lift-over-your-head one. In the end, though, neither of them were offering me great support and for future babies I'll do some more bra-foraging before buying anything else.

Breast Pump

- I own the Medela Harmony. I got this at the recommendation of a good friend of mine who has used it for all three of her babies, and swears by it. I also got it because the concept of an electric pump really creeps me out. Anyway, the Medela Harmony is great.

Breastfeeding

- I really recommend Ina May Gaskin's Guide toBreastfeeding. I read this while I was pregnant, and it's full of fantastic information that'll get your confidence up, and help you learn methods, positions, proper latch, etc.

- Whether or not you read that book, know that a proper latch is VERY important. Do your research. And don't be afraid to break the latch while you're feeding, time and time again, if you need to. It's worth getting it right.

- To cope with my nipple pain and to advance healing, I used Lansinoh-brand lanolin. It's fantastic; get some if you need it. Actually, get some anyway. Your nipples will thank you.

- If you're being threatened with mastitis due to a blocked milk duct, address it STAT! I'm not saying this is a hard and fast rule, but take heart knowing that I was able to avoid mastitis by making a concerted effort at freeing the duct. Hot compress, nurse your baby with his/her nose pointing toward the blocked duct, and (this sounds crazy, I know), take a fine-toothed comb into the shower, lather it and lather your boob with soap, and comb your boob downward, as though you're combing the block out of the duct. It WORKS.

- Another good resource for breastfeeding information, aside from Ina May's book, is Dr. Jack Newman. He's from Toronto, and is a leader in the field. http://www.breastfeedinginc.ca/

- And, of course, La Leche League - a community of women all over the world dedicated to providing breastfeeding help, support and resources to new and seasoned mothers.

Childbirth

- Back to Ina May Gaskin: I can't speak highly enough of her Guide to Childbirth. Whether you're planning on giving birth naturally, doing it with the help of drugs, or haven't yet decided, read this book! It will empower you, and give you everything you need to know about how to work your way through pregnancy, labor and delivery. It's a fantastic book, and it taught me virtually everything I know - relief positions, deep breathing, etc. It also offers tons of birth stories of women who've done it naturally and had really positive experiences.

- Don't forget the power of your mind once you go into labour. Pick a focal point that works for you. Have your partner or doula squeeze your hips, massage your lower back, be a lean-post for you... whatever you find you're needing in the moment, go with it. Your mind is a powerful thing, as is your body, and you can really retreat within yourself to help work through contractions.

- BREATHE. This is number one. Swift breath in your nose (count to four), slow breath out your mouth (count to eight). Relax every muscle in your body. Keep your brow un-furrowed. Relax your lower jaw. keep your shoulders loose. And breathe.

- Take classes! I was never really into this idea since I did so much reading, and felt like there wasn't a ton I could learn from classes - and I really didn't want to pay for them. But then I found this group of doulas in my neighborhood called the Childbirth Collective, and they offered a free class each week about something different. I got to choose which ones I wanted to go to, and skip the ones I wasn't interested in. It was a great time to pick up bits of information here and there, hear again about all the things I'd read, ask questions, and chat with other expectant mums. The classes can just be really fun - if only to mingle with other big bellies! and you'll get peace of mind and confidence out of them.

- One thing that I learned in one of my classes is that through each of the four stages of labour (early labour, active labour, transition, pushing), the hormones that your body & brain need to cope and push forward take about 30 minutes to kick in once each new stage comes about. So you can be totally in the zone for early labour, then you bump up to active labour, and there could possibly be a half-hour lag time where you start to feel overwhelmed. This is where most women give up and feel like they're defeated. But then the hormones kick in, and suddenly they're back in the zone! Once during Margot's birth I actively felt ready to throw in the towel and toss to the wind everything I'd been hoping for with regard to a natural childbirth; I remembered throughout labour consciously telling myself, "do not say out loud that you can't do this." Because I didn't want to let the thought in. It did happen - once! - i said it - but the struggle passed, and on i went. Just remember you CAN do this! Women have been doing it for a bajillion years. And once you're done, you'll feel like the most powerful amazon woman there ever was.

General

- kellymom.com is an AMAZING resource for all things baby-related. Take advantage! It's a goldmine.

- Hormones. Don't feel bad if you find yourself overwhelmed in the days and weeks following birth. Postpartum hormones are real and powerful! And not lasting. So don't worry if you're completely scared, anxious, overwhelmed, freaked out, confused, happy/sad/happy/sad...post-birth is a crazy time, but things will regulate, and you will feel normal again. Remember that as everything does, this too shall pass.

- Your body. Give it a break. It takes TIME to heal. Time. Time. Time. The body is a powerful thing, but don't overwork it! Stay off your feet, eat well, drink plenty of water, soak in the tub, and relax. And give your body what it needs to slowly but surely get back on track.

You're strong and you're powerful. You're superhuman. The end.

Breastfeeding is not for the faint of heart.

I wrote a post a little while ago about how often I inevitably end up nursing Margot throughout the course of any given night because she's a comfort nurser / Supreme Dictator who demands a boob in order to fall back asleep for any respectable amount of time (oh and I use the word "respectable" very loosely, since she prefers to sleep in a long series of nap-length stints rather than all through the night). (Side bar: I've talked to her pediatrician about it, who isn't remotely concerned about her inclination to wake up so often - as she says, some kids are just bad sleepers. She'll outgrow the habit eventually.) But in the meantime, we're going on 18 solid months of intermittent nursing while the moon and stars watch over the chirping crickets and the people in our corner of the world who are resting their weary eyes.

But make no mistake - I dare not ever take one of these nights for granted, in spite of just how very fundamentally draining and exhausting they are. I know that my time with a little nursling is limited, and I know that aside from the deep bond we share there are numerous health benefits that we both gain, but foremost I know that I have the ability to breastfeed my daughter when so many mothers do not.

Directly after Margot's birth, during my 3rd-degree-tear repair surgery (one of two I would inevitably end up having), she latched on to my right boob and breastfed for a solid 45 minutes. Okay; wonderful! Great! What magic! She was a champion little nurser with a powerful suck. But after 24 hours or so, I realized that my right nipple was really sore. I knew breastfeeding was something we both had to perfect over time, but I was wincing in pain every time I'd nurse on the right - and was that a blister forming? A crack, maybe? What the hell is going on with my right nipple, now that I'm really studying it? Oh God, I thought. This is terrifying.

I had a lactation consultant come and take a look after someone had come in and suggested that Margot might have a tongue tie - thankfully, the woman we saw reassured me that actually Margot's latch was fantastic, that there was no need for any sort of tongue tie repair procedure, and that the likely cause of my nipple pain was due to an initial sub-par latch that irritated it. Forge on, she said, and handed me a tube of lanolin.

I'd love to have you relive the ensuing five weeks of Margot's life and our nursing relationship at the same pace that I endured that time, so that I could really hammer into you exactly what I went through, but I want you to stay and be friends with me, so I won't. Here's the quick version: something....happened. To my nipple. To this day neither my husband nor I can say exactly what, but it was something gross. Something horrendous. It wasn't decidedly a cracked nipple, nor was it obviously a blister. Suffice it to say it kind of looked like...uhhh.....like I could see something of the inside of my nipple that was never supposed to have been seen by the naked human eye. Just remembering what it looked like and what it felt like is making me weak in the knees. It stung, it throbbed, it bled, and it had its own heartbeat; and I can't say for sure that I've ever thrown out so many swear words at once in my life. Twice it brought me to tears - which may not sound like a lot of times, but it was. It just was.

I was determined not to lose my milk supply on that side though, so I never stopped nursing her on the right - but in hindsight, I really could have used a leather belt or something to bite down on. And I can't tell you how many times I'd find black specks all throughout Margot's poop because she was ingesting my blood along with my milk. (God help us both...in retrospect, what troopers we were! She and I should both have a medal. And maybe a tub of Haagen Dazs.)

But as you already know, I stuck it out. We made it. After the five-week mark and a dependence on lanolin that likened it to my own personal brand of crack, my right nipple healed. I know I never had an issue with milk supply, or with latch, which is the story of far too many women who have lamented a lost nursing relationship with their babies - but at the very least, hear me when I say that I know just how hard it is to establish that relationship in the first place, let alone see it through the days, weeks and months that unfold before you.

I've heard many a professional and layperson say that if you're doing it properly, breastfeeding your child won't hurt. Can I safely assume that all of us nursing mothers would love to punch that idea (and maybe those people, actually) in the face? Breastfeeding is a learning curve for both mama AND baby and it's incredibly misleading to make a woman think that she's doing something wrong just because the initial feeling induced by her newborn baby sucking on her nipples - her nipples, for God's sake! - ranges anywhere between unpleasant and downright excruciating. 

And without excluding those who've been unable to establish or maintain a breastfeeding relationship with their children, I cannot stress enough how important it is to seek out - and simultaneously offer - support from and to our fellow mothers. Without a secure support system, the mere concept of nursing a baby can feel staggering and unsurmountable. There are also scores of women who struggle with supply issues. It should go without saying that not one woman or man need ever pass judgement on a mother for how she feeds and sustains the life of her child, whether it be milk straight from the boob, breast milk from the bottle, or formula; whether you're blessed with an oversupply of milk, you're the recipient of donor milk, or you've opted to formula-feed for any series of reasons, remember that what matters most is that you're doing everything you can for your child - and don't let anybody let your confidence sway. 

So for those new mamas on that sharp learning curve, take heart - it'll come. You'll get the swing of it, as will your wee babe - and your body will adjust. It's working hard to give life and sustenance to another little person, and this comes at no small cost to both of you; both on a physical and an emotional scale. 

At any rate, sit down, have a glass of wine and take some deep breaths. It'll help.

On sleep, and why it's important to lay your shit out on the table.

I birthed a bad sleeper. Whether that fact is purely coincidental, or whether it's some sort of karmic retribution for the amount of times that I chose sleeping over social engagements, I'll never know. But regardless, Maggie is a staunch advocate of prying me out of bed every night so that she can comfort nurse anywhere from 1-11 times per night. (Yes. I said 11. It only happened once, but it counts, and for the first year of her life, she woke up around 5-7 times per night, making me lucky if I got more than two hours of sleep at any given time).

As the first weeks and months of her life went by, I knew that I was just doing what it took in order to get both of us the most optimum amount of sleep in a night - if she whimpered, I'd spring out of bed and rush over to her (or, more accurately, as time went by I'd roll out of bed and make my way to her, pulling myself across our hardwood bedroom floor, leaving a trail of drool in my wake), then I'd bring her back to bed with me, where I'd nurse her back to sleep. I eventually started questioning whether or not I was doing the best thing, tending to her upon a moment's notice, or whether I was creating a monster by sticking a boob in her mouth every time she made a peep in the night - but never at any point did I feel I had reached a comfortable point at which to cut her off and trust that her tummy wasn't empty, or that in spite of being empty she could survive the night and sleep soundly until morning without nursing.

I don't know how many people this will resonate with, or whether you have to have been in this position to empathize with me, or whether my iron will is actually more like spaghetti will - but at any rate, I know now full well that I did indeed create a monster. A sweet, lovely little blue-eyed, milk-drinking monster. And not a bone in my body is ready to cut her off.

Because ...the bond! The BOND. Aptly known as The Bond That Physiologically Prevents Me From Weaning Even When I Start Looking Like This.

I took these pictures two mornings in a row, when Daryl was out of town, and Maggie was in the throes of an awful head cold and so, as it goes, neither of us were sleeping. And I was so desperate for help, so weary and so tired of feeling so alone and so at the end of my rope that not only did I take these pictures to forever immortalize This Feeling, but I posted them on Facebook. I let all my friends see me, pyjama-clad, at my sad and sorry worst, with bags under my eyes so heavy I thought they might be about to reach my chin. And I posted these with fervor on a whim of feeling so liberated at the thought of showing people how I REALLY AM and not how happy I look in my profile picture. I posted a rundown of exactly when and for how long Maggie had woken up both nights prior, and told people to make no mistake about how things were going at home, because here's what I look like so you can imagine how I'm feeling. Like death itself.

And my friends saw me, heard me, and felt for me. Because of course they did. Because as it turns out, who gives two shits about what you look like?? Amidst my anguish there existed not only sympathy, but here were these other mum-friends of mine who had gone or were going through the same thing. It takes so much energy putting up pretenses and making it look as though we're conquering every day as superparents - I can't understand for the life of me why we aren't being true with our friends. And as a friend, do we not love others completely, and hope for nothing less than that with those we choose to spend our time with? Maybe not - maybe it depends on the friend - but I make a point to surround myself with close friends - those with whom I willfully desire meaningful relationships, because quite frankly I'd rather stuff my face with Doritos and focus on the crunching sound in my own ears than I would rather make banal small talk with acquaintances. (I have a love-hate relationship with my introversion.)

Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself. What I'm getting at is that I realized that - duh - I'm not alone in this. As if I ever had the gall to think that I am the first and only one in the world to experience anything I'd been going through.

I realized how important it is to talk this all out - every hint of desperation that seeps in and takes over your mind, every moment in which you feel may be your final undoing - because none of us are alone. Every feeling that I as a parent have ever felt is something that scores of mothers and fathers have felt a hundred times over. It takes a village, they say, to raise a child. And make no mistake that it takes that very same village to raise up a parent.